AN: Okay, background time! 'Kagerou' can be translated as 'heat-haze', which I assume is talking about how the figure seen in the PV is referred to as the 'heat-haze'. However, 'kagerou' also translates to 'mayfly', which I find fitting and perhaps even intentional as mayflies have such short lifespans. (youtube . com)/watch?v=PF4QihNAYmU&feature=mfu_in_order&list=UL Here is the PV for those who haven't scene it, this is also one of my favorite renditions of the song, because of all the emotion put into it.
Mayfly
A boy holds a still girl in his arms as tears stream down his face. As he screams.
They sit in a dark sticky puddle.
A bracelet lies broken on the sidewalk.
The crowd is gathered tight, whispering amongst themselves. Their words don't matter.
The words of a sole hooded figure are the only ones that can make a difference. His lips move.
It is August 15, 12:28 in the afternoon.
They are sitting on an old swing set, content with doing nothing. She gently strokes the cat on her lap. They talk, because what else is there to do?
"You know, I kinda hate summer." Her voice is soft. That cat leaps from her arms, dashing away. She runs after. What stand out the most is the traffic light, changing to a glaring red.
She's in the middle of the street and he stretches an arm out as if to stop her.
The truck comes from nowhere, she only has time to turn and look at her fate, to scream before it's all over.
The vehicle hits her and she falls to the ground, her bracelet breaking on impact. It doesn't happen in slow motion, like in the movies. One second she is there, and the next she is lying still in the road.
There was blood every where. Her familiar scent now masked with the stench of the unknown crimson could blood even splatter that far? He is covered with it. He can only hold a hand tightly over his mouth, thinking how can this be happening. He dares to look at her, her mangled form, still, dead, lying on the pavement. He has to look away. He squeezes his eyes shut. He's covered in cold sweat and he can feel the tears gathering.
A figure is suddenly there. The new person looks identical to him, but there is quite obviously something different. He is the heat haze from the hot day. The new figure speaks. "This is all real." He isn't quite sure what this strange person is offering, but taking in the scene around him it is all he can do to accept.
The one that was him but not him speaks again, but he doesn't know this person is saying, but he waves and the light blue of summer fades to dark.
It is August 14, right around 12:04.
He awakes. He looks out the window, to the beautiful blue summer sky outside. The crickets chirp annoyingly.
They are in the park, walking past an old swing set. It's strange, he thinks there's something wrong. He had a dream of them in the exact same park.
The cat jumps from her arms and she moves to hurry after it.
He recalls his dream as he catches her wrist. "Why don't we go home now?"
They are walking through the city, making their way home through the industrial steel. Everyone is pointing and looking up, their mouths agape.
She moves forward pushing him just slightly to the side as the iron pole drops out of the sky. It pierces her straight through, and the only sounds are of distant wind chimes and her scream.
He can't keep himself from shouting "No!" from moving, as if to run forward. Even though she isn't there anymore, she's on the ground, pierced through and surely dying.
He is pushed back and the figure is here in the form of shimmering heat. And he laughs. "This is the real thing!" As his vision blurs away and the hot summer day fades to black, looking at her he thinks he sees her smile.
(A single clock is smeared with blood.)
He wakes horrified in a cold sweat. He pulls his clothes on and runs out into the warm summer day.
He runs to her, sitting on the old swing set with a cat in her lap and grabs her arm. He pulls her away. She's asking questions but he can't really answer them.
He makes it to the top of the stairs when the figure of heat waves that is growing all to familiar is at his side.
He is horrified. He whips around, facing her, and he can feel her hand slip out of his. She looks mildly surprised as she falls back, ending in a bloody, motionless heap at the bottom.
(Another clock, the time it represents, stained red.)
Scissors.
Car.
Shoelace.
Train.
Power line.
Pills.
Glass.
Her smiling face.
Blood.
Pain.
Death.
Horror.
Sadness.
Loss.
Over and over.
It is all he can do to grab his head and scream out.
This is a cycle, he's realized a long time ago. Hundreds, thousands of clocks, covered in the red he's grown to detest. He's blacked out, faded away and started over countless times. This has been going on for decades, he knows. Day after day he can see her die.
But for this kind of cliche, there can truly be only one ending.
Because something has to exist beyond this repeating summer day.
So as she chases after the cat he grabs her arm and throw her back, propelling himself forward. He turns and smiles as the truck smashes into him, a reflection of a different time, different blood. And she is the one standing by, thinking how can this be happening.
The figure made from visible heat waves looks just as surprised as the girl, 'serves you right'. It feels like slow motion, like in the movies, and he has time to look at her and say "I love you," before he hits the ground.
She draws her hands up to cover her mouth in abject horror.
(He is on the ground, blood running from his mouth, smeared across the pavement around his body, coming from so many places where there should not be blood.)
This would be a normal summer day, and even the figure formed from the wavering heat has tears in his eyes.
There are memories. Of her and him. She, smiling as wide as she can. The strange figure content walking invisible behind them. She can remember the face of that person, he looked hysterical next to the sign post splattered with blood.
There is a figure beside her, made from the cool breeze. And she clenches her fists. He just sees this, his eyes widening as his body slams into the unforgiving concrete and it all goes dark.
(Clocks splattered with color, broken, shattered, destroyed. The pounding of her frustrated fist breaks another.)
It is August 14, just past 12:04.
A girl awakens in her bed.
There are tears in her eyes, streaming down her face as she cradles the cat in her arms.
The figure of a girl, the same as her but somehow different, made of a cool breeze appears beside her, ready for another go.
"I have failed again," she whispers.