A very quick ficlet I wrote for my friend's birthday. This fic is irrevocably influenced by XSeed's PSP game, Corpse Party. (It's a really great game!)

Because I wrote this in literally 30 minutes, it's not the most solid thing I've ever had the joy of producing. It was very satisfying, though.

I originally wasn't thinking of uploading this until I'd finished another thing I'm working on, but CurlyWirly's "The Sparrow's Gift" inspired me enough to post this. Great fic, that one.

Minor spoilers for S3 ep12.

Uncertain Reality

He knew he was a cursed child. Everyone told him that. They told him he was creepy and stared off into space, and he knew he must be funny in the head because no matter what he told them, they didn't believe him when he said he wasn't staring at nothing. After all, if so many people agreed, then he must be the one in the wrong, right?

But it all looked so real. He wished they didn't, sometimes. Sometimes, they were downright scary. He remembered fainting when he saw a woman appear outside the window. Her hair was dangling straight down, at a corner-angle from her head, tilted slightly as her grayed skin tightened around her eyes when she narrowed her eyes at him and whispered, "Can you see me?"

If they were less real, he could pretend they didn't exist. He could pretend he didn't see them.

He tried once. Pretending he didn't see them, that is, but it was too much to ignore when some thing with a giant mouth came chasing after him, telling him he was tasty.

He wasn't tasty, because if he was people might like him more. He liked tasty things.

He didn't want to lie, though. He didn't like liars, because the only thing worse than his foster parents forgetting about him was the fake cheer showered on him when he returned from school. He knew they were lying because they saw his 30 on a test and said that he did such a wonderful job.

The jumping furry thing on the desk in front of him had distracted him so thoroughly that he hadn't been able to finish the class. He'd almost gotten in trouble, too, when the teacher saw his eyes off his paper and thought he was cheating.

Everyone thought he was a cheater until he got the lowest in the class. Then they just called him stupid.

He was OK with that, though. He was fine without friends. It was better than having fake friends. At the very least, if they were ignoring him, they were honest about it.

He didn't remember his parents much, other than sun-bright hair and warmth and gentleness, but he did remember that they liked honesty. Somehow, if he lied, they always knew the moment the words were out of his mouth.

He liked it that way. He tried once, with his foster parents. They couldn't tell the difference. They only believed what they wanted to believe. He didn't push the matter, though, because he was the strange one and not them.

So he just kept quiet.

Even then, though, he sometimes hoped. Maybe he wasn't the only strange one? Maybe someone else was like him? After all, he'd met so many people; one of them was bound to be like him, right?

And so he sometimes pointed out what he saw. Every time, his face fell when they said he was crazy and he was seeing things and maybe he should get his eyes checked?

It really was a stupid hope, and one he should do well to stomp out.

So he stopped trying.

"Hasegawa-sensei! Natsume's looking at me funny again!"

A shrill cry reached his ear and Takashi jerked, realizing that the smoky ball he'd been staring at had been resting on the girl's shoulder. He didn't even know the girl's name.

"Natsume! Pay attention!"

Takashi reluctantly turned his head to the front of the classroom. He heard giggles, but he wasn't sure if they were from the girl or from the wisp resting above her head. He decided it was the girl because the wisp didn't exist. It was him imagining things. He could ignore it because it was cute, but not scary.

The teacher glared at him throughout the class. It was a little scary, but he knew it wasn't because of him. When he'd came, his new parents had explained their concerns to the principal, and told him that he was such a strange child and might bring trouble. He saw things out of nothing and said strange things. The man had said there would be no worries, but his teacher, usually a kind lady – he saw how she was with the other students and he liked her because she was nice – was superstitious and had taken it to mean he was cursed. A bad omen.

He kind of agreed with her. He knew he was strange. Maybe there was a reason for it. Maybe he was bad luck.

The children certainly did. Even if he didn't tell them anymore, the things were scary. He didn't want to stay and find out what would happen. He was the clown, the attention-seeker. The teacher's pet.

Which was funny because the other teachers didn't really like him either because he didn't pay attention. Even the principal was starting to have doubts.

And then, one day, it happened and it was all his fault. If only he hadn't run away from that one scary thingwhen it'd tried to chase him. He should have stopped when it cursed those near him.

If only he hadn't come to school. Then no one in class would have been hurt. The thing had definitely followed him.

If only he'd opened the door. He'd heard the clatter and the shriek, but it wasn't real. These things were never real, because real was normal and hearing scary noises like those weren't real.

Seeing the red pooling from under the door definitely wasn't real.

It was scary, though, so he'd ran. He'd ran as fast as he could, trailing crimson footprints behind him.

The police had finally found him curled up in the bathroom, tear-stained and smelly from puke. He had his eyes shut tight and refused to open them even when they told him they were the good guys.

They said he'd run out of fear, but when the teachers had heard that Hasegawa-sensei hadn't died immediately when the bookshelf had fallen on her, they knew. He'd pushed it and run away, they said. He was a mean child who hurt others. He was cursed.

He didn't say that he'd heard a moan and thought it was a thing waiting to eat him. He didn't say that he saw red pools in the school basement all the time. It was why he hated the color red and squelching sounds and avoided the basement at all costs. They wouldn't believe him. When his parents came and asked him for the truth and he gave it to them, they didn't believe him either.

They never tried to lie to him afterwards with false smiles. He never saw them again a week after because they let him go to another man and woman who were to be his new parents.

He started talking about the things he saw again, though, if only just a mention. It earned him more scrutiny and dislike and bad rumors, but he preferred that to making another mistake again. He preferred transferring several more times. When that demon – he knew they were demons then – offered him a way out of the world, this tiresome world where everything he saw was neither real nor make-believe, he almost accepted. He would have, had he not met the Fujiwaras.

The Fujiwara couple was nice. He could almost call them mom and dad, but the words wouldn't leave his mouth. They wouldn't believe him either, or maybe they would and they'd be better off not knowing. Yes, the latter was more likely because they were too nice to not detect the truth, just like his original parents. He didn't want to tell them, though, because what he saw was scary and the least he could do for them was to keep them away from this world.

No one deserved to be unable to be able to tell what's real or not.