Warnings: violence, character death (this will make sense at the progression of the story), undecided rating
Prologue, "Death"
Sirens blared in the dead of night. Louder and louder, they grew as an ambulance neared the bloodied scene with their flashing red lights alerted unsuspecting bystanders.
Noisily and noisily they approached a scenic automotive accident that should have been her death. Blood was splattered along the asphalt in the most artistic of ways—it almost seemed…premeditated. From the many corridors, many stairways, many minds, many imaginations of any individual with masterful creativity—the form, the blood, the way she failed to lose consciousness as the pain turned unbearable—her twitching, battered form read masterpiece.
Any painter could immortalize what she considered should have been the day of her death. Any artist, really. A musician could write poetic lyrics or a poet could scripture wonderful verses in her honor, maybe a novelist could paint the scene in one of their future bestsellers. She would surely be worthy of inspiration then.
Normal, sickly Wakatsuki Haruka always paled in comparison to the rest—in terms of beauty, presence, and personality. Those around her always shone brighter with their bigger personalities, their god-like beauties, and their unforgettable presence, but her twin brother was the brightest. In a constellation of stars, he would be the one blinking to make himself known. If he were a singer, he would have the most powerful, moving voice. If he were an inventor, he would certainly be the best.
She paled in comparison, but…if he were any of those things he would help her stand out, too. He would urge her to blink if she was a star, he would force her into a duet to show her talent, and he would create a concoction to make her smart, too.
So it seemed illogical that her brother—who would do anything to make her shine as bright as he—would purposely push her into a moving vehicle.
But he did.
He pushed her hard enough for her to stumble over her clumsy feet and reached to her with a slower arm while crying out her name.
"Haruka!"
He yelled at the top of his lungs, but his voice was drowned out by the brakes screeching loudly, the car spinning out uncontrollably as her motionless body rolled off the roof and hit the ground with a seemingly noiseless thud. The car crashed straight into a lamppost, windows shattered, and screams sounded.
The bulb overhead flickered and flickered until it shrouded the car along with its wounded passengers into darkness.
By that time her field of vision had blurred and her body had grown cold. Arashi, her brother, had frantically rushed to touch her dying, picturesque form when the raindrops started falling…only they were on her face. He whispered for her to stay conscious but he may have hoped for her to lose it.
Maybe it was his special way of helping her.
She could be every artist's desire—the inspiration and motivation they have searched for years to find—or a sick necrophilia's best fantasy. Whatever it was…maybe, it was perfection.
She might be on the news, too.
Wakamura may or may not regret bullying her all throughout middle school.
Takahashi might once say, "I dated her for a week in Eight Grade. She was a horrible kisser."
She was. Oh, she bet her money she had been. If anyone could see the look on Takahashi's face it would have been easy to understand its reason.
Her father will certainly be sad. The same could be said about the team of doctors in charge of her. Kurosaki and Ishida, was it?
My memories are hazy now…is this it?
She was dying anyway and it might have been an uglier scene.
She has been suffering for a decade now with an incurable illness, slowly but painfully rotting from the inside out.
Haruka blinked her somnolent eyes.
They wouldn't focus.
It was useless.
Suddenly, the sirens started blaring, they were getting closer and closer, and every time they got nearer…she found them annoying.
Annoying enough to induce sleep once the pain turned numb and there was nothing left but the trickle of blood all around her body.
I think I broke a bone or two.
Maybe, she thought as her vision started going black, death can be beautiful, too.