I don't really remember what I was thinking that day, as soon as I had woken up.

Why is everything blurred.

I just remember hearing chaos, if that's even something possible to hear: phones ringing, papers being ruffled at, footsteps everywhere. People from all sorts of directions were talking, and I was lying on a lumpy bed, and I could smell insulin. An IV was hooked up to my arm and machines were beeping, so those were spot-on clues that I was in a hospital. But …why? The last thing I could extract from my memory was walking to work, because the radio had said something about no rain or harsh winds for the first time in a long time, and I thought, well why not.

"Nezumi, you were in an accident."

"Who's talking?" I had asked, my voice coming out shaky. "Why can't I see who is talking to me?"

They ran a series of tests and examinations before diagnosing my… (for lack of better word) "problem" as color blindness. Like, complete blindness. I can't see shit, which I guess is self-deserving. I wasn't a very respectful human being to start with, and this must have been God's oh-so fitting punishment to someone as cruel and shallow as me.

Well, I used to believe that until the little rat came along, and he made me feel like I should have received a more severe punishment than blindness that day.

"Morning," my boss greeted awkwardly when I entered his office the next day. Inukashi waited until I had shut the door completely and taken a seat. "Look, the entire floor heard about your…" He paused too long for my comfort, his peanut-sized brain searching for a euphemism to cover up the fact that I couldn't see anymore.

"Accident," I helped, keeping my voice cool and collected, although it was a struggle. His choppy sentences and usual mumblings were difficult to endure day after day, except for when we were together in the operating room. Those were his high, powerful moments. Plus, I knew he was going to fire me right now, because I was now highly unfit to perform the tasks my job required.

"Right, your accident. We're terribly sorry this happened, but we can't have you working here anymore," Inukashi said calmly; I would add in that he was staring directly into my eyes as he spoke, but that I can only leave for assumption. "You're one of our most brilliant surgeons to have entered our hospital, and we're proud to have had you since you graduated med school. Nezumi, you've contributed so much, and to have this happen… we-"

"Inukashi, I've had my fair share of firing and releasing employees. You know we have the same job. You don't need to do this," I interrupted harshly.

Another pause.

"It's all just protocol, Zumi, you know that as well," was all he finally responded. I hated that stupid nickname; he'd been calling me it since we were in our first year of residency, and even when I said it wasn't funny (still had been at the time, that time being six years after being physicians) he still did it, anyways.

I got up, holding my cane next to me. I wasn't actually mad, but I think I was just acting mad because I hated Inukashi; he knew how I felt about him, and he could show no compassion, or mercy in letting me go. He was treating me like a stranger as opposed to his actual only real friend. Although the treatment was crappy, leaving the hospital felt kinda great anyways, since all of them now looked down at me and I wouldn't have to see them again. I was rendered useless, a disabled person.

"Oh, and Zumi," he called, just as I was down the hallway of my old floor.

Turning around, I faced the direction of where he called me, waiting.

"I'll have Secretary Gatsuo send your things home." I could hear the sick grin in his voice.

How inappropriate a time to yell that down the hall, I thought. All the other open offices of this hallway probably heard, and felt embarrassed for me. Awh fuck it.

I turned around, refusing to respond. It took a short while to feel the edge of the elevator, my fingers struggling to find the down button.

Eight weeks later

"Hi Nezumi, this is Sen from The Crying Beagle, I just wanted to let you know we got your application. I'm the head editor and was hoping we could sit down and have an interview."

"Hello, Nezumi. It's Sen again, from The Crying Beagle. I called earlier, and we're actually kind of running low on writers. Don't take this in the wrong way, but I kinda did a background check, and saw your previous works; my boss really would love for you to come in. Well, please call us back as soon as possible, thank you."

"This is Sen from The Crying Beagle, I'm looking for Nezumi. This is the same number he wrote on his application, and we'd love to get in touch. Thank you, and have a splendid day."

Sen scratched his hair neurotically, his breaths getting heavy. He needed to get a hold of this guy quick, he was the only applicant his boss demanded come in! Closing his eyes immediately, he breathed slower, attempting to drive out the anxiety. If he didn't get this guy, there would be yelling and things would be tossed, and he would end up going home with his pay cut in half.

I'll call tomorrow, and then that's it, he told himself, hoping his boss didn't come to the office tomorrow.