Disclaimer: I do not own Gakuen Alice nor any of its characters. It all belonged to the genius creator named Higuchi Tachibana.
Author's notes: This idea struck my mind when I was reading dark stories, all I had to do was compose my mind and listen to depressing songs. So yeah, just beware of the dark fic ahead, it might not even be your type but let me know what you think, nonetheless.
Apparitions from Exile
By Frustrated Bookworm
It was his birthday. The twenty-seventh of November. Seasons had changed, and it was already three years after a particular accident had happened, but even after those long years, he was still haunted by the memories. It was all he could think of before sleeping at night and in his dreams, it was all he could see. He can't forget, and maybe he won't. Just the thought of that made his skin rise up.
Natsume sat languidly at their porch, waiting for the arrival of his father and little brother. They said that they'd go somewhere, that they'd give Natsume his gift. And as moments passed, he saw an old lady walking at the middle of the street, just looking at her, he knew that walking was difficult for her. He was standing up to help the old woman when a realization struck his mind. She was their neighbor and she was dead years ago. He gulped, and understood what was happening, it was starting, he thought. Lost in trance, he hadn't even noticed that his father was outside, beside him. Then he coughed loudly, causing Natsume from snapping out of his trance. He looked at him without saying anything then his old man beckoned for Youichi.
"Youchi! Natsume's waiting, let's go!" he shouted, loud enough for his little brother to hear. His father was staring into space, not even wishing him a happy birthday.
Few moments after, Youchi came out groggily, his silver hair disheveled, just like Natsume's. The similarity of the two of them made Natsume smirk. Except for the color of their eyes and hair, they looked identical—in every way possible.
"He's never going anywhere, Dad," Youichi complained.
Natsume felt a pang in his chest upon hearing those words come out of the very mouth of his only sibling but he didn't manage to say anything, he just stood up.
"Don't be so ill-mannered, You! He's your brother!" his dad scolded his brother, glaring.
The latter merely shrugged. "Can we just go?"
Then they started walking. The place where they're going wasn't very far, just a couple blocks away. It was full silence between the three, it was like they were not a family, to begin with and with every walk, Youichi always grumbled.
Natsume was not used to his brother's rotten behavior, he knew that he had that kind of attitude, too, when he was his age. But not to the extent that he would even raise his voice to his father. He cleared his thoughts, it was his birthday, he should be happy. That's what normal people do, be happy on their birthday, not noticing that time was ticking very fast, enjoying that they're a year older and that death was nearing its way to their doors.
"I wish your mom could have been here with us," Ioran, his father, mumbled silently to himself.
Youichi chanced a glance at his dad. "I'm sure she's watching from somewhere."
Ioran smiled. "I hope not. I'm terrible at raising you."
Natsume watched them converse, just like the good old times.
"I have an attitude problem, Dad. That's not your fault, it's all on me." He said, looking at the place they were going.
"Well, I'm your father, I should've learned to put you on a leash." He opened the black, metallic gate to enter the place.
Youichi didn't say anything more, for he knew that if he did, his father would blame himself even more for what happened three years ago. The time that changed the entire course of their lives, the accident that had eaten him completely, the time that changed his actions toward almost everything.
Natsume scrutinized his surroundings and noticed that there were flowers everywhere, and that, after every particular measurement, there was a rectangular stone on the ground. In the center, there were words, and numbers.
He doesn't understand why, so he looked at his family but they were giving him no explanation.
Why would they want to celebrate his birthday on a cemetery?
Why aren't they speaking to him?
He knew that the accident three years ago was his fault, entirely his fault because if he hadn't drunk and insisted on driving, they wouldn't have ended up in the river. He also knew that he deserved to be blamed but not like this, never like this. The torturing had gone so far, he was sick of it.
"Please talk to me!" he pleaded, but Youichi and his dad resumed on walking, as if not hearing anything.
But he was at his side, how can he not hear his shout?
The questions was boggling his mind, there were so many questions but there were never any answer. He couldn't figure everything out by himself, he needed them.
"Why are you acting like this?" he tried again, but no response.
This was the only time that Youichi and his father would ever visit him, because they went somewhere together for three years. But what's going on?
Natsume gritted his teeth, holding back his tears that were threatening to betray him.
He tried to reach them, but a ghastly expression crossed his features.
His hand went through.
His hand went through his father's back.
He stared at his hand, trembling, knowing what to do no longer.
Is there such thing as ghosts?
Because for him, this was it, a phenomena that will never leave his life.
"Dad?" he called out, shaking heavily.
He blinked multiple times, thinking what the hell just happened.
Then his tears fell, all at once. But he ran toward them, to where they were headed, to make a conclusion about this occurrence. He had to know, he had to.
And with that thought in his mind, he moved toward them drastically, as fast as ever, trying to keep pace with them. And when they halted, Natsume was breathing frantically, like he competed in a race. But he let his sweats trickled on his forehead down his face and when it reached its peak, it dropped to the ground where there are tombstones, lined perfectly.
He didn't make out what the name of the owner of the headstone, first, but when he did, he gasped. Maybe his mind was just playing tricks on him.
This is not real.
This is not real.
This is not real.
I'm just dreaming.
This is just a mere illusion.
A figment of imagination.
This is not real.
Those phrases were playing on his mind, repeatedly. He was still staring at the tombstones, couldn't make out how that could be.
Because on the first headstone, there were words and they were:
RIP
Kaoru Hyuuga
Date of Birth: October 13, 1978
Date of Death: November 27, 2014
Then he fixed his disheartened crimson gaze at the next and on it was written:
RIP
Ioran Hyuuga
Date of Birth: January 27, 1976
Date of Death: November 27, 2014
He couldn't bring himself to face the last tombstone, because he knew what would come next. He knew, but he needed to confirm it to be able to completely accept the truth, so he did. He read it out loud between sobs.
"RIP. Youichi Hyuuga. Date of Birth: January 13, 2004. Date of Death: November 27, 2014."
His knees gave up and he was kneeling in front of them, the three of them being six feet under. Then it came crashing in his mind, what his dad said when they were walking.
I wish your mom could have been here with us.
He cursed himself.
It was three years ago.
Why can't I let them go?
How can they be free if I can't even envision myself without them?
He punched the ground, with tears flowing freely and dropping to the earth.
"Will you ever forgive me?" he muttered to himself, as he looked up, realizing that the ghosts of his father and brother was gone.
With a flower that fell on his lap, his question was answered.
"He was muttering things to himself again. I pity that boy," some old man commented, looking at the young man behind the bars.
He had on a full white clothing. And he was staring into space, as if dreaming and he was crying intensely, like something bad had happened.
"You know what they are, this is the asylum, after all. Crazy-nasty." The other man laughed, saliva shooting from different directions.
The old man continued to stare. And he noticed a very particular thing on his hand.
"What was that?" he pointed at the hands of the man he was staring at.
"That's purple hyacinth, the flower of forgiveness. But I don't know where he got that from."
Author's Notes: I made up their birthdates,
Maybe you're annoyed at me, even angry, but no flames, okay?