Suicide Bomber: Oh my goodness. I didn't know I took this long to update. I'm really sorry. Even had my hard-to-get-a-review-from cousin to give me one. Ehehehs. I re-wrote chapter one, half done on chapter two but my computer seriously got hanged and viruses are now spreading like wild fire. I'm using the advantage of my father's laptop to make this work. I sincerely appreciate every review good or bad, I don't bother so I hope you guys still continue reading. Don't lose faith on me! Haa...
Disclaimer: Don't own Fullmoon-wo sagashite.
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Forgotten memories
Chapter 1: Runaway
Suicide Bomber
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My eyes opened with much pain and effort. A splitting headache conquered my mind and I felt my legs getting weak. I knew nothing of my state, where I was, or who I am. But a questioned struck me. Was I... dead? At that moment I could not think. I could not breathe when the thought of being lost from my loved ones shook me. Then again, I had already forgotten my loved ones. Did I love anyone? Did anyone love me? The headache grew worse. My sight was a blur, and as I stretched out in reach of something I didn't know was there, darkness capture me. Everything else was blocked from my vision and I felt I had forgotten something.
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She sobbed and panted heavily, leaning against the wall for support. Her cries grew softer as she pressed her palms against her chest. She prayed for safety. Her wounds were enough for her to go insane. Mentally and physically, she could not tolerate the sufferings she was going through. She was at the tip of breaking senseless, the highest level of endurance. She opened her swollen eyes, red from all the weeping. She controlled herself, trying every means to stay unbroken. She did not wish to be weak; she did not want to be seen as a petite form of fragileness. Taking the slightest precautions as she dapped the cool liquid onto her arm, she winced in agony. Slowly and carefully, she washed the open wounds on her knees before applying some lotion. She knew that these bruises and cuts were not going to be hidden for long. Injuries after injuries, she could not hide them anymore. They were beyond curable. Her heart ached worse than ever, seeing her state of helplessness. She was known for being strong and defensive in school, the girl who never bow to weakness. But now, she was swallowing her pride, allowing herself to be beaten by her own –foster- father. She was useless under his care, hitting her like she was anything but humane. She was like a punch bag he could use every now and then. She wanted to die.
Mitsuki cried painfully, every tear she dropped burnt onto her skin. She had cried every night like this, without anyone's acknowledgement. She did not want anyone to notice either, but every time her foster father looked at her with that look in his eyes, she felt her eyes sting. It was a look of disgust. Still, whenever her teachers called her name, she would feel a sense of belonging. For they say a name is represented by the parents' love. Though she was fully aware that he was not her biological father, she treasured the fact that her foster father actually had the heart to adopt her. She would be at orphanages being bullied, neglected or depressed if he had not taken her in. Of course, sometimes she wondered if living in orphanages would be more fortunate. Mitsuki did not want to think about that. She knew she was lucky, but at the age of fifteen, she was still unsure of herself. She was always thinking, diving deeper into the pools of complicated reasoning. Her thoughts often left questions unanswered, leaving her confused and lost. She held her breath; calming herself and trying to get at least some sleep for the night. Was the pain unbearable? Did it hurt as bad as it looked? She cried again. Seriously, she thought she would be brave enough to stop sobbing. She scolded herself for not being strong, for not being able to control her stubborn tears.
"Why... why... why?" She muttered, her voice shaky. "What have I done to except this fate?"
A short breeze blew passed her windows, a silent answer from the wind. Her question once again left hanging without a proper answer. No one cared. No one bothered. Alone. It was how she always thought. She was deeply hurt and trapped in a bubble. A bubble that may look hard on the surface, but it can be easily burst with one slight touch. Mitsuki laughed bitterly, finding humor in her own brittleness. Smiling solemnly, she closed her first-aid kit box and placed it gently into her drawer. She slowly advanced towards her futon, feeling tired and drained. Tugging in the covers, she closed her puffy eyes with much difficulty. The waterworks seemed to be spoilt tonight, for she felt moisture rising to her eyelids. Sniffing quietly, she drifted off to darkness. Hurtful as it was, she needed as much sleep as she could get, because tomorrow would be another tiresome day.
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Suicide Bomber: updated, and hopefully, improved. I'm working on my language and emotions... I hope I did a better job this time. Really like to write so I hope I'm always advancing... Sorry for the long wait, please don't lose hope in my fiction!
I'm okay with critics but I hate rude people. Everyone is untitled to their options, including me, so respect my decisions. Thanks.