Quick Author's Note: Submission to Naka-kon 2014's Iron Fic competition. It did not win. In this competition, I was given 1 hour to write a story based on a separation. Critique will be very much appreciated. I will not modify the story from its original state as I wrote it during the competition, so errors will remain. But, as I said, constructive critiques would be wonderful.
I'm not very good at writing stories. Realistic; fictional; eccentric; real. And although this is a reflection upon events I've already lived through, the events in this story are far from real. But bear with me. I can only write on a competent enough level to give a brief description of the events that played out; I won't even be able to state my emotions given the short amount of time I have. What you can get out of this depends on how well you can interpret my clinical text.
The funny thing about text written in the past tense is that although the author may change his mind of the plot threads that occur, the character has already liven through such events. In that respect, I may be no more than a character in some dull, simple story. It may be entirely possible that I don't exist: this story is just a story, after all. I can never go back to the older days that involved my ignorance, and yet I will have to feign ignorance again.
Life was mundane; life is mundane. Actually, life will always be mundane in some ways. Whether you're living in a solitary room or in the bursting city, you always find some way to make life dull. Be it the repetition of life, the loss of innocence, or some other kind of going on that causes such a state of mind, all eventually becomes plebian in our eyes. I lived with the animated Mankanshoku family in the Tokyo Bay, in a household bursting with a never-ending supply of energy, and life was still mundane. Yet, it was mundane in the greatest way possible, for I had a family for the first time in my life.
My father had died recently. Murdered: the house was burning down. I saw him die, and decided I wanted revenge. Sounds like the perfect premise to a simple story, right? And it was - until it wasn't. Despite being away from my father from my father for the majority of my life, I felt like I had lost my only connection to a real family, so I believed I didn't need one. And perhaps it would have been better if I hadn't found one.
The reason I am reluctant to give away most of the details to what seems like a whimsical and large scale tale is because they do not lead up to or affect the main focus of this short recounting in any way. I am short on time, as I mentioned earlier, and can only give you the bare bones of what is important. Forgive this short interruption: there will be no more.
The Mankanshoku family took me in after a series of strange events. And amidst many following and continuing illogical happenings, they were no outlier. They seemed, for the most part, unaware to the lighter problems going on around them, but always focused on my problems in most hazardous of situations. The family was made up of a back alley doctor, an unconvincing housewife, a child whose expertize was thievery, and the endlessly bubbly Mako, who soon became my dearest friend. And to make up for their lack of wealth, they were rich in energy.
Dinners with the Mankanshokus were a personification of the family's madness. The father would stuff himself full with his wife's croquettes as Mako would poke me to make sure I was awake. Their dog would sit next to the mother devouring these pastries even more rapidly than the kid, who would fight the hound for them. As subdued as it may sound, the scene was out of this world, and against my initial confusion to the family, I'd wish for the scene to never end.
But then it didn't.
The groundhog day scenario started when I woke up to the same bucket of water I had encountered the previous say. The entire family would wake me up that way with the same nonchalant face they always had. I hadn't noticed at that point, as this had begun happening every day. The walk to Honnouji Academy was a long haul, so it was a nice - albeit strange gesture for the family to make as some sign of acceptance. Despite the energy the family had, every morning with them was calm and serene compared to the unending struggle I had with the academy.
On the way to school, Mako would ramble about incomprehensibly. Her very presence brought life back to the dreary atmosphere the lower part of the Tokyo Bay seemed to have. I didn't notice that it was all the same because this had become daily habit by now. I appreciated it and took it for granted. Life is mundane because you take the grand things around you for granted, as you can't help getting used to it all.
Routine was the end of me - I didn't notice that life was disturbingly similar until I had the exact same chance encounter with a particular enemy of mine that I had the previous day. I think it clicked with me at that point. Explaining the events that followed from this point on would bring nothing new to the mindset of the reader.
I couldn't figure out why it was happening. I had sudden emotional outbursts. I explained things to Mako; to the family; to my enemies. I tried to play around with fate; I tried dying. Nothing worked. I woke up to the same day, over and over again. It was the typical groundhog day scenario, and yet I could do absolutely nothing to stop it. And as tired as the concept sounds, it was a revolutionary event in my life. It devastated me: the mental effects caused by the predicament must have felt similar to that of an anime in a room. You can do whatever you want, but you can never escape the room you've been forced in. Despite living around such a colorful environment, I felt like I was living in a box. Life was mundane in the worst possible way.
And then days stopped circling around the way they did. I was only seeing snippets of the day. Major parts of the day such as my chance encounter with my enemy stopped happening. Life was not even moving in a straight line, anymore, at this point, as even the solitary day I had to sit through was falling apart, until I was trapped into a singular scene: the Mankanshoku family eating at dinner.
A chill ran through my body - not from my spine or through my head; it started from my heart and spread from there. The dad was gorging himself in his wife's pastries and the rest of the family was no more graceful. Even then, Mako turned to me, mouth stuffed; eyes unwavering, and she spoke.
"Don't you want some, Ryuko?"
And I stopped. Over and over again, I had heard the genuine, innocent question. And all I could say back was the same thing I had always said.
"I'm not… really hungry, Mako."
But she would shake her head, as she would have none of that.
"Ryuko-chan, you won't get very big if you go through every day eating nothing."
So I sat for a moment. I looked at Mako's warm face for a while and sighed.
"Well, I guess I can't say no if you're looking at me like that."
So I grabbed a croquette and started to eat with the family.
When I woke up, I heard a single line.
"The operation has malfunctioned. Erase the subject's memories and reset."
But when I looked at the big white machine with paper and pen in hand, the only thing going on in my mind was my own voice.
"Life would be better with simple, incomprehensible things like that around."
And I fell back to sleep.
Final Note: The main criticisms I'm looking for is whether it's possible to understand what happened in the story or not. If you do not wish to leave long commentary, at the very least, I would like to know if this text was incomprehensible or not. Thanks, I appreciate it.