December 2nd, 1999.
Side: Minato

Disclaimer : Persona 3 and it's respective characters belong to Atlus.

It took him a long time to register that he was all alone.

He had sat up among the white sheets, and had tried to pick up whatever he could from what the man in white said. Evening light had filtered in through the blinds, apparently opened by the petite lady that had followed the man in. She was in a soft, pink uniform, keeping a file close to her chest. He had not really remembered how she looked like, but what was clear was the look in her eyes: they tell of pity. Too much of it. She was the reason why he kept his eyes plastered to the man speaking, instead. He did not see anything after the middle aged man stopped talking and the two hurried towards him.

Xxxxxxxx

Dad was smiling. Mum gave a heartful laughter. All was well when we went to Paulownian Mall for supper; my parents treated me to my favourite takoyaki there, after watching a movie together. The moon was bright and full that night, as if it was there to bless our small family that was enjoying whatever happinest we could find. Along with the light mood came the appetite to appreciate the takoyaki offered to me, since dad and mum only buys it for me when we go out together. Dad and mum frequently had arguments, but I always got the feeling that my presence would calm both of them down significantly, like a pail of water dousing a fire.

On the journey home, our laughters died off slowly in the car. Mum had to concentrate on driving, and dad was apparently reading some night time newspapers. In disappointment that the night would soon be over and all would be back to the regular boring day the morning after, I sighed and stuck my head out of the window. The breeze that came by when the silver vehicle zooms through the night streets was rough but not unpleasant; one of the many joys of living near the sea. The winter night air was nothing compared to the warmth resonating from the heater within the car, and the warmth in my heart.

The radio was blaring the boring news, along with the countdown towards midnight.
And just when it precisely struck twelve, our car drove onto the Moonlight Bridge.
The bridge was empty, devoid of life.
The weather's hue had turned a sickly green.
The moon no longer shone pure white; it was now tainted with yellow.

Dad stopped reading and looked in front of the car. Mum panicked, trying to maintain control over the dying engines, desperately attempting to reignite the machine back into motion. The breaks no longer work, but the car was skidding towards something dark, something black, something that was right in front of them. She turned the steering wheels sharply to the left.

The rest of what I remembered were mostly in fragments. There was a sensation of flying and landing harshly on the green-hued tar, my bleeding fingers and arms leaving a stark contrast of red on it. I vaguely remember hearing gunfires, some floating bunch of cloth, and a figure. Then I remembered my parents.

I hurriedly stood and raced towards my family's now overturned car; fire erupting from beneath the seats, smoke and soot emanating towards the pillars supporting the bridge. I remembered crying, wailing, and screaming for my parents to respond, all the while trying to open the doors leading to the front seat. The fire seared my hands numb, but I disregarded it, my only goal to reach mum and dad. To drag them out. To call for help. To do anything but leave them there.

The fire continued to blaze brighter, but I kept on scrambling. They did not budge from the pull of a desperate seven-year-old. It was then when a pair of hands plucked me from the car and taken me to safety, right before the car exploded and the propulsion from the explosion plunged the car into the sea. I hated the hands. They pulled me away from my only source of happiness; the light in my darkness; the hope in my despair. I hated them so much that I forcefully turned around and slapped the hand's owner as hard as I could muster.

The lady just stared back in a dead glance.

She dragged me back into her arms and held me close. She provided no warmth, but her sincere pity could be felt. Finally not being able to hold back any longer, I broke down and wailed within her embrace. Tears flowed freely. No boy could have endured this without crying, despite how mum had always told me not to because I'm a boy. Now that mum was no more. Dad liked to tell me bedtime stories. He can no longer. I can no longer hear them whisper secretively to each other, argue to each other, give me praises when I'm good, or punish me when I'm bad. None of those will be existant to me any longer.

The sympathetic lady held me closer and muttered "I'm sorry," over and over.
Sheer curiosity suddenly held my tears back and I looked up, into her face.
Then there was nothing.

Xxxxxxxx

And so he ended up in Tatsumi Memorial Hospital, alone.

When he finally comprehended that, everything clicked back into place like some locking mechanism. And a locking mechanism it was. There were no tears; there were no screams; there was no big impact. The damage was already done, back on the bridge. There was nothing he could do. The only thing he can manage, is to relucantly accept it all.

And so he did.

He thought that perhaps, after that incident, he would never feel emotions ever again.