Our Story
By Kitara Lira
Chapter One: In the Beginning
It all began nine years ago in a place not too far from here. Upset, the world crumbling all around, I found myself in a familiar setting with not so unfamiliar thoughts. Nothing I knew ended with smiles. Nothing I did was not without vengeance. The life I led was everything but simple; everything but right. My mother had been murdered, my father had abandoned me, and my life had been severed: severed until you stepped into my life piecing together the shattered remnants of my soul.
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Nearly a year passed until I opened my eyes again. The first image to grace my haze was the grotesque wash white: hospital white. The doctors informed me that I had suffered major trauma. I was informed that our house had been broken into, my mother killed, my dog killed and I had been beaten into such a state that I remained breathing through a tube for the next twelve months. Of course that was all they would tell me. When I asked for details, I was provided with none. Two gruelling weeks after I re-woke and I was finally released, free to live my life they said. What a joke.
I was only thirteen at the time but I was a quick learner. Never trust anyone; never show emotion; never wait. Exactly one month after I was released I broke into the police station that held the records of the accident and I stole them. If they would not provide me with what it was I sought, I would get it no matter the cost. I was only thirteen; thirteen and a criminal.
Before opening the file, I had to brace myself. Hands shaking, heart racing, everything was a blur. Inside this manila folder contained the exact details of my mother's murder. Little did I know opening it would spur me forth on a mad spree to find my mother's assaulter; a chase that would take me four years and right to you.
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All of my life I had lived in a small city on the southern most coast of Japan. By the time I had awoken, everyone had forgotten. Everyone had moved on. My mother and I was just another tally to the statistics - a name without a face. So we were forgotten. I'm not sure what was harder: knowing that there was no one left who cared about me, or knowing that no one cared enough about me to save me.
The gentle woman; who everyone loved; who baked cookies for the neighbourhood kids; who taught piano to anyone who was willing to listen. The gentle woman no one cared about, or cared about her daughter. The gentle woman who had been raped and beaten to death. The gentle woman who was now no one. That was my mother. That was my life.
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After reading the contents of the file I packed the few things I owned, took one last look at the house I had grown up in, and never looked back. The man I wanted was half way across the country, in the city of Kyoto.
I hitch hiked the entire distance as it was surely something I could not make on foot. To pay for meals I would scout out the most crowded corner and take to one simple method: begging. When times were desperate I resorted to petty theft and by the time I reached Kyoto fifteen months later I was a successful pick pocket. Not a skill I am overly proud of but when one is faced with life and death, anything becomes acceptable as a means to survive.
With no money I was unable to begin my search. Here I was in the same city of the man who had robbed my life of everything and I couldn't do a thing. No one would take me seriously; no one would attempt to work with a fifteen year old who did not even know how food would be provided for in the evening. I felt isolated, with little choice of what to do. My newly acquired skills came in handy. Kyoto was a huge city with over crowded streets and subways. To any normal individual it was simply a nuisance, all those extra bodies preventing one from getting to work on time. To me it was life; opportunity.
However that was not how I met you. You were not one of the thousands of individuals I stole from, though I suppose you could have been. You were not one of the sources I gathered information from. You were not a client of mine at the shop. You were not anything. At least not then.
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