"Suddenly you're ripped into being alive. And life is pain, and life is suffering, and life is horror, but my god you're alive and it's spectacular." Joseph Campbell
"If you take my right hand, you can start over. You will be reborn as a different character; your personality will develop along a different path. Your story will be irretrievably altered. And this time, there will be no mistakes. You will live, love, and die, blissfully unaware."
― Dylan Randall Wong En Lai, this is how you walk on the moon: an anthology of anti-realist fiction
Chapter One: Ending and Beginning again (The Golden Shogun awakens)
Hey.
You really, honestly want to know something?
Life is overrated.
Rather, life is nothing like what we think it will be. We all think we will live forever, be immortal, be with our families forever.
The truth is, life just isn't that simple. If it were, trust me, I'd be dancing with ponies and probably not be here, in this situation, living this kind of life.
I leaned backwards on the chair, letting my gaze drift up to the ceiling, then my hands brushed across the thread of the golden scarf that hung from my neck, idly. Whoa, I'm awfully young to be so serious, aren't I? Trust me, some teenagers are dead serious-and others are downright goofy, maybe I'm a mixture of both.
Lemme just say something here before I begin my story; it's not necessarily the most pleasant tale around. It involves death.
Death is really the last thing we want to think about-we'd rather just ignore it and parade around, acting like we're always going to be alive.
My classmates definitely didn't think about that, and neither did my cousin, who was a reckless driver who wound up getting killed in a car accident because she couldn't stop her goddamned texting, and at the age of only 21.
I remember thinking to myself when I attended her funeral: 'I definitely want to live to a ripe old age.'
Life's a bitch-little did I know, that several months later, I'd be dead, at only age sixteen.
You might be wondering, if I'm dead, how I can talk to you, I understand the feeling of being dead, but I'm still alive, impossible, right?
What I mean is-yeah, I have died before.
But I came back, you see, as an entirely different person.
It's just the way in which I met my end that is both ironic and cruel.
I was just an ordinary girl, and then I got cancer and died-cut down at the prime of my life, like I said, when I was only sixteen flipping years old.
But then, I was given a second chance-a chance to live again.
I blinked as I flipped open my cell phone, in time to see a message: "Hi, Masaomi! Can we hang out?'-R. Mikado.
Yep, that's Mikado Ryuugamine texting me.
Second chances don't turn out fair, you know.
The person who gave me this chance didn't tell me, but I would have more than just a chance to live again-that there would be other consequences thrown in with this so-called easy life.
First, I would suddenly be in the world of anime, in the world of Durarara, to be more specific.
Second, that my sex would be changed and that I would have to live the rest of my life out as a boy. Now let me tell you, it's hard enough being a girl, but to remember being a chick and then suddenly, bam, you're a dude, enjoy it, that shit's hard to cope with, especially when you never had any male siblings or role models.
Yeah, fate hates me.
Not just any boy, however, nope, I was reborn as an anime character-I was reborn as one Kida Masaomi. Yep, the gang leader kid who has a lot of issues.
There's only one of him, or should I say, one of me now. Things are...complicated, however I'm used to this life now, though shit was weird when I first got here.
I never dreamed this would ever happen to me.
You might be wondering-how the hell can I go from being in the real world to suddenly being thrown into fantasy land? That doesn't just happen, you tell yourselves!
This must just be some story I'm making up, some insane rambling!
Well, the second you're diagnosed with cancer, everything becomes believable, from my viewpoint, anyway.
I swear I'll explain everything.
Anyways, back to the main topic.
I was an ordinary kid before anime, gang leaders, and Izaya ruined my life, I swear I was.
Before all of this madness, I was a girl named Marisa; a girl with brown hair and brown eyes. I was born in a pretty ordinary family, with one older sister, and a younger sister. We sisters were all very close, given that we had no brothers, this meant that I had no clue how boys acted.
Makes the whole being a boy thing ten thousand times more complicated, doesn't it?
You know, we were just like your regular, every day suburban family, middle-class, American, and Christian.
And yes, of course, I was into anime, however, I was not a weeb like some of my friends. You know, the kinds that walk around with cat ears on their heads and speak bad Japanese. That wasn't me.
My favorites were Durarara, Attack on Titan, and Owari No Seraph.
My father died of cancer when I was only five years old, so I suppose my being diagnosed with cancer was something my mom saw coming, but chose to ignore.
It's true, however, that I was born with something else first that made my life hell: I was born with chronic asthma.
That made it pretty difficult for me to exercise, to participate in school events, and of course that attracted bullies to me like ants come to sweet things. Bullies loved to pick on "The Gasper", as they called me. I tried my best to ignore them, but sometimes I would try to start fights with them. That wound up in me going to the principal's office a lot. School can be shitty sometimes at helping you.
You can imagine how hard it was for me to go running without breaking into a coughing fit.
My mom once told me she was always scared from hearing my coughing at night that I would die from an asthma attack. That was why she always kept my Eppie pen near me when I needed it. I was a pretty healthy kid, aside from getting sick a lot-contradictory, I know. But I never showed any signs of cancer until that day. Cancer is sneaky like that-it sneaks up on you and then steals everything from you, your life, your happiness, even yourself.
I can still remember those words that changed my life forever, when I was only fifteen years old, a few months short of my sixteenth birthday.
"Marisa, honey," My older sister said, "You have odd wounds on your arms."
Yeah, so what if some odd wounds had appeared on my body? That meant nothing.
"I'm fine." I said, certain that what was going on was nothing out of the ordinary.
However, I started complaining about having pounding headaches and how my head literally hurt so bad that I couldn't sleep at night. Then, I started having problems seeing, and it was suddenly difficult for me to walk, because my head hurt too much.
Mom took me to the doctor-and what they said froze me to the core.
"I'm sorry, but your daughter has brain cancer and it's terminal-it's called glioma. She also has tumors behind her heart and a tumor-"
I couldn't breathe all of a sudden.
Terminal cancer, at only fifteen.
I knew what terminal meant. It meant death.
I was going to die. Lovely.
What had I done wrong to deserve this?
I was a good kid who did her best in school, with good grades, a good home life-everything typical of an ordinary kid.
Why would this happen to me?
That changed our lives, and not for the better.
I couldn't stand to go to school and have to deal with the looks of pity my teachers cast me, and all the questions my classmates sent me. It was just irritating to get so much attention. I was an introvert, for god's sake, I didn't like getting constant attention!
My siblings were very protective of me after they learned this.
"I can't afford to pay for chemotherapy." My mother said, after I'd practically begged her to keep me alive, what with all my pounding headaches that were making it hard for me to even sleep at night, and making it even harder for me to complete my homework and keep my grades consistent. Too much on my plate.
"I don't want to die!" I cried.
I had gotten quite vehement in my outburst to protest that I was going to die from a stupid disease. I've always been impulsive, short-tempered and easily incensed. Perhaps that's why I am who I am today. Personalities match up, I guess.
The doctor's words rang in my head as I stood there, determined to make Mom see reason.
"We give your daughter around four months left to live."
"Mom, put me on those drugs. I want to survive." I repeated.
There had to be some slim chance that I could live. No way in hell could I just die now.
"We can't afford it." She repeated. Her eyes were rimmed red from crying.
It had affected my mom as much as it affected me, obviously.
"There's no time for that!" I snapped at her.
Eventually, she started me on chemotherapy because of it.
So began the long, long journey of me on chemotherapy.
It did not go over well.
I lost my hair, I was so sick that I couldn't go to school or do homework, I wasted away in a bed and had to wear wigs, and I could barely walk without support.
It really sucks losing all your mobility and being sick all the time.
Hospitals are really gloomy, boring places and being stuck there sucked.
I guess the worst part was how hard it was on my little sister.
Being only seven meant that her understanding of what was happening was not as good as someone who was much older like my older sister.
"Marisa, why are you bald?" She asked.
"I have something called cancer."
"What's that?" She asked, looking at me with wide eyes.
Why did I have to explain this to a child? Why do I have to be the one to tell my sibling that I'm going to die?
"It means...I'm going to heaven soon."
"Why? Why, big sister?!" She moaned. "I don't want you to die!"
"I don't want to die, either!" I cried, and we held each other as we sobbed.
Four or five months passed by, and then the doctors called to say that my cancer was receding, and I could go home again.
A miracle had happened to us-a cliche phrase to use, I know. But nothing else described the elation I felt.
For a while, all was good.
I was so happy.
I was naive, I celebrated.
I'd forgotten how to live while being cooped up in that stupid hospital.
It had been only a few months since the cancer had receded, I'd taken a simple walk when it acted up again.
That's all it takes, a split second-and then your life is over.
Every silver lining has a dark cloud, I guess, in an ironic reversal of the cliched saying.
I had been able to live until my birthday.
Just one more year of school and then I could go to college.
"This is all so wonderful," My mother said.
"I know. I'm so glad I'm going to live." I said, while we were eating dinner.
However, suddenly, a sharp pain tore through my head. It felt as though my head was literally trying to tear itself apart.
I fell to my knees, unable to control the spasms of pain going through me, dropping my fork on the floor.
"Marisa!" My mom cried as I fell to the ground, and of course, I passed out.
They rushed me to the hospital, and I remember waking up to hear the doctors saying that my tumors had returned, especially the one in my brain, which had metastasized and was now much bigger.
"Can't you do surgery?" My mom's voice drifted into my ears as I lay there.
"I'm afraid as it is now, it's too big. If we try to remove it, the complications from surgery would most likely lead to internal bleeding, and that would be fatal as well. It's best if we just let her die like this. You can say your goodbyes."
I felt my heart break upon hearing those words. What a joke.
I'd fought cancer for several months, and then it was all gonna end like this.
They were just going to give up on me like this.
It was gonna end with me dying.
When I was in the hospital again, my mom let me binge watch anime. I also watched some of Durarara, which had been one of my favorite anime, that and devour some Owari no Seraph novels, with all the MikaYuu yaoi imaginable. Seeing two people happy helped me deal with it better, even if it was fiction.
"Sweetheart, you'll be all right." My mom said.
I was so pale and weak now that I think just seeing me smile made my mom feel better about what was coming, even if it hurt.
I could barely even lift my head or walk and I had barely any stamina anymore.
"I'm feeling just fine," I said, but suddenly it was harder to see my mom.
The book I was holding fell to the ground, out of my grasp.
The world was becoming a blur.
"She's going to pass soon." The doctor's voice said, seeming to float above me.
What? No!
I don't want to leave so soon!
"Mom, I don't want to leave you!" I cried out, but my voice felt strained, weakened.
"I don't want you to leave, either!" My sisters cried, sobbing.
My father had died long ago and now I was going to join him.
"Take care of Sammy for me." I whispered to my older sister, who nodded determinedly.
"Big sister, please don't go!" My little sister said.
"I don't want to go, either!" I cried, feeling tears fall down my face.
I didn't want to leave them.
But I knew I couldn't control it.
Death had taken me and wasn't going to leave without me.
I could feel my hand turning cold.
I could feel the beating of my heart slowing to a halt.
I wanted to keep my eyes open, but they felt so heavy and I just wanted to rest-yes, get some rest and the light was bothering my eyes, so maybe I should just close them-
My eyes slowly closed.
Death was calling out to me.
And then, I flat lined.
The last thing I remember hearing is that of my mom screaming my name as I heard the beeping of the monitor.
"MARISA!"
And then all my senses faded out to black.
Just like that, I died.
Really pathetic, isn't it?
I'd been a mere kid, only sixteen.
I couldn't accomplish anything now.
I'd been unable to graduate from school.
I'd died before even being able to go to med school, I'd been hospitalized instead of getting to treat hospitalized patients.
Not like I could go to school now-I'm dead.
I couldn't do it now.
It's not like a dead person can apply for a job, right?
The least that would do is give a person a heart attack-and then someone else would be haunting along with me.
I don't know where I was at that exact moment, all I know was that I was in darkness.
All I knew was that I just really, really, wanted to go back to them. I wanted to be alive again.
'That's all I want,' I thought desperately, 'All I want is to live again...just be myself again. Please, if anyone can hear me...'
As I drifted through the blackness, I thought I could hear a voice answering my vain thoughts.
'Your wish has been heard,' An oddly familiar voice called-and then all was blackness.
Perhaps at this point, I should be called the person who faints a lot.
I awoke to find myself in a very strange place.
It was a place in complete darkness, covered with odd golden shards floating everywhere, their lights illuminating the place I was in. It kind of reminded me of some sort of mosaic. The shards were golden in color but there was something odd-I could see myself in these shards, my family and I, my friends...how odd.
I could see my life replaying in these little shards. This reminded me of something I'd watched a while ago. The crystals were very pretty but there was something eerie about watching my life play out in something like someone videotaping my every moment of my life.
Was this my judgment day or something? My own personal purgatory?
I reached out to touch the shards, but found that I had no hands.
I blinked, or it was more like I sensed the movement and found myself watching the whole activity.
I was literally an orb of some sort, 'Is there really another way I can live...?' I asked no one in particular, "After all, it's gonna be a bitch if I'm stuck without a body for the rest of my life."
Life? Afterlife? I don't know. If this is the part where Flowey shows up and I'm in Undertale, I will be ticked.
"I'm glad you asked, there is indeed another way you can live again, however, there is a price." A new voice said from behind me.
"If it means I'll never suffer from cancer again, then so be it!" I snapped, apparently still able to talk while being formless. I moved slightly, floating upward in time to see the figure appear before me.
The figure was a girl with long blue hair and purple eyes.
The figure resembled Rika from Higurashi.
"Rika?" I asked.
She chuckled. "Some call me that. I'm sure you weren't aware that your life is a shard. And your life just ended. However, you can cheat the rules. Barely any people get to do this. All of us live out our existences in our own worlds. Most die and then start over. But you, you are special." She grinned. I didn't like the way she was grinning, it seemed...weird. But I was more curious than afraid at this point.
"How am I...special?" I asked, feeling a bit weirded out.
"Oh, nothing particular, it's just odd that you're here with me. You're the first person to be here in a long time. Most of the time, people die without ever meeting other universes or realms. They never are supposed to intersect, yet here you are, interacting with me. You know me well, don't you?" She grinned.
"Bernkastel?" I asked.
She nodded. "That I am."
"A-Anime is real?" I stammered. "But I thought-"
She nodded. " Yes, we are real, however, we exist in different universes besides your own. But our lives are just as real as your own was. So, every time you grieved and mourned for a fictional character, that gives them more energy and strength to continue on. We thank you for that." She said. "I can tell you are unnerved by this information, I do not blame you."
How creepy was this person?
"Very creepy, I assure you. I can read all your thoughts right now, it's like an echo chamber." She said, "Let's see, your name is Marisa. Average home, average family, average life. You had two sisters and no brothers and a dog and cat."
I sighed. "I want to know how you know all this information about me!"
"I exist outside reality, so I can watch over all the worlds. Not just this one. Some might be ones you're familiar with. How about this one?" She held out a glowing orb which showed a group of five girls in fancy outfits fighting creatures.
"Madoka?" I asked.
She nodded, before holding out another shard, which showed a boy with blond hair and a girl with brown hair, dressed in red, hugging a black-haired man near a gravestone.
"Pandora Hearts?"
"One of many. Let's see...how did you die? Oh, I see...cancer. Cruel, but it happens to many souls. They're reborn, though, so what's better than that?" She said flippantly, "Only sixteen, hm? How tragic, but what makes you any different? You're utterly ordinary."
"Hey, stop insulting me!" I cried. "If I'm supposed to be dead, why do you have me here to begin with?"
She made a familiar, condescending gesture, a finger over her lips.
"Shhhh," She said, lightly, "This is only an offer from me. Refuse and you will simply be thrown into heaven, no second chance at life. So keep your mouth shut and listen, child. As impatient as you are, you can be reincarnated if you just listen to me."
"Second chance? I can be reincarnated?" I said, moving around eagerly, if I had feet right now, I'd be scampering around.
"You've caught on, I see. Yes, like I said, I watch over numerous realities, not just yours. If you'd like, I can take you to another world altogether-one where you will live. I can give you a second chance at life, a second chance to continue where your existence ended."
If I had a mouth, I would be smiling. All I knew was that I was happy.
I could live again!
"Are you sure you cannot put me with my family?" I asked.
"Not possible," She said, "This is just one offer, take it or leave it."
"Okay, then, take me there already! I don't care about the details!"
She silenced me with a finger to her lips. "My, my, Marisa, you've shown me a great deal of your personality already. Let's see, you're very naive, spontaneous or rash, intelligent yet reckless, impatient and quite headstrong. Rude, too. I think I already know where to place you."
"Wait a second, don't I get to choose where I go?" I demanded.
"Marisa, this is not something you choose. I choose where you go." She said dismissively.
"Where? Where am I going?" I said.
"Well, where would the fun be in letting you know where you go? Besides, it's against the rules for me to tell you where you go," She said simply, "Besides, you haven't heard my end of the bargain yet."
"What is it?"
"Well, first, it's not quite like rebirth. Oh, and you won't remember anything of this conversation and your memories of your other life will slowly vanish. It will be up to you to decide what to do in this new life with your fate. Of course, eventually, you will forget your existence in your other world altogether. But that is ultimately your decision. Linger in the past, or seek the future?" She said.
"I don't give a damn what it is! I want to live!" I snapped, "And stop being so vague, and tell me what the cost is!"
"Very well then. Ah, your hair is brown...your personality is like sunlight, hm?"
"What does that have to do with anything?" I inquired.
"You will see once you wake up. Oh, and another thing, you can't choose who you are. But you can influence what you become. Being yellow doesn't mean you're a coward, also." She looked like she was smiling sadistically. Had she tricked me into something?
"What is that supposed to-" I began, but then noticed she had a fragment in her hands, and suddenly felt weaker.
I felt a powerful feeling pulling me towards the fragment in her hands, which was now glowing brightly.
If I looked closely, I almost swore I saw a familiar black-haired figure running inside the shard before I blacked out.
I almost didn't catch her last words, whispered as they were.
"Good luck in your new life, and have fun, Marisa...or should I say, Masaomi?"
And then everything faded to blackness, rinse and repeat.
I was falling.
That was the first sensation I registered.
I was falling down through the blackness that seemed to be all there was.
As I did, I thought over the things that had just taken place.
I had died.
Then Rika Furude appears before me and tells me I get to live again and now I'm stuck in darkness.
Real nice.
If I was going to come sailing out of this as an infant, I'm gonna kick something, throw a temper tantrum and then scream.
I don't want to grow up all over again.
I was definitely dreaming all of this.
(Durararaverse: Not Kida-ing around here)
If you remember the saying curiosity killed the cat, I would like to correct you and say a better term would be that curiosity skinned the cat alive and threw it outside to be hit by a freaking car.
In other words, don't trust anything your mind tells you.
The darkness continued until I felt it falling toward me, no, rather I was, falling toward a bright light.
And then, the darkness receded and I hit the ground...the light.
The light was swallowing me up. Everything was so bright that I was just racing toward that light, I wanted to be free from this darkness.
The first sensation I registered was that of something soft around me, covering me up.
I snuggled closer to whatever it was for comfort, feeling safe. It felt fluffy, like it was a cloud.
I felt safe, warm and protected here.
Is this what heaven feels like?
Then I realized-I had a body.
Of course.
Why wouldn't I have a body?
Surely, me dying of cancer was nothing but a bad dream-it had to be, right?
As I slowly became more conscious, I let out a groan and rolled over, trying to find a more comfortable position on my bed-my bed normally wasn't so foamy.
I was content. My hands curled around my pillow. I was happy and satisfied here. I just wanted to go back to sleep and keep on dreaming.
Then, I felt something warm hit me.
Ah, curse the sunlight.
It was clearly morning. I could also hear birds chirping outside, very annoying.
I let out a yawn and stretched my body.
My fingers moved, as did my toes.
I could feel every joint in my body moving.
So I am still alive, then, I reasoned.
What am I even saying? I'm supposed to be alive.
And then I heard a horrifying, raucous sound that woke me up. Imagine it being like a horrible sounding car alarm, now imagine that's being blasted into your ears.
I knew that sound well, as I held my hands over my ears.
For a second, my hands brushed across something cold on my ears.
I shook it off as hallucinations.
It was an alarm clock.
I groaned, in annoyance. The last time I checked, I was not a heavy sleeper, I didn't need alarm clocks, so who the fuck put an alarm clock in my room?
That was so stupid I wanted to hit something.
My eyes flew open, just so I could find that goddamned annoying alarm clock-and silence it.
Silence it permanently.
For a few moments, I couldn't see it. Then my foggy vision cleared, in time to show a clearly visible clock sitting on a desk, acting like it was having a heart attack, making an unthinkable racket.
There it is, the enemy that disturbed my sleep.
I whacked it to shut it up, switching it to off mode.
'Perfect,' I thought to myself, before slinking back under the covers, flopping over and closing my eyes, a smirk on my face.
Now I could sleep without any more annoying attempts to wake me up.
However, it came to my mind that while I was trying to go back to sleep, that I really had died. It'd been too real to be a mere dream. (But then again, a lot of dreams feel real, but actually aren't, right?)
Much like that movie about the dog who dies and then comes back to Earth for more time to complete what it is he needs to do, I was in that boat, or at least I thought I was.
I really had died. It all had felt too real.
I recalled my mom's screams, my hand turning cold, the blurring vision...
So, why wasn't I dead?
I wasn't Jesus, last I checked, people don't just get resurrected.
Last I checked, dead people definitely don't dream or wake up.
Puzzled, I scratched my head, until I realized: holy crap, I have hair. It wasn't just a wig.
I could clearly feel my hair on my head.
Before, my head was shaved and I had worn wigs.
So did I practically dream the past year of my life away or what? Did I get in a car crash and experience a dream inside a coma?
These thoughts, along with my growing annoyance with the situation, led me to open my eyes again, chasing away any hopes of future sleep.
I opened them slowly and was met with white covers. Hospital covers?
Slowly, I groggily pushed my covers back, letting out another loud yawn before rubbing my eyes.
Then I sat up, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes.
As I did so, I glanced around and immediately some odd things stood out.
My bed looked a lot different than before.
First, I don't sleep with two pillows, that's just odd. I sleep with one pillow like everyone else.
Second, holy crap, I was on a futon.
I don't remember owning any futons, what even was this?
How did I get on a futon, to begin with?
Was this a goddamned anime?
I felt the futon with my fingers. The texture felt squishy.
As I sat up some more, looking around, I realized that this was not my bedroom-not even a hospital room.
Definitely not.
The bedroom I was in was smaller than my own, like way smaller. Try and picture a bedroom for a Hobbit. That was this bedroom.
The walls and ceiling were completely barren of color, instead being that ugly shade of off-white you find in hospitals. Ew. Despite this, it didn't even look or feel like a hospital.
A small closet was on my left, along with a desk right near the bed I'd woken up on, which was crammed with paraphernalia of all kinds. There was an old t-shirt, thrown recklessly on over the chair near my bed, and some other things I didn't remember owning before, such as the comic books stacked up on a random shelf above my bed, along with some rather dusty books and some dusty photographs, and some video games.
And a laptop on the other side.
Also, there was a backpack slung over the back of the chair as well.
It looked more like an...apartment?
Well, this was weird and irrevocably bizarre.
Did I teleport into someone's house, or was I kidnapped?
I couldn't just teleport into someone's house-unless I've been comatose for centuries and Star Trek has become part of this dimension. In which case, I'm screwed.
I scratched my head, as I once again yawned and stretched my body.
I hadn't felt this well-rested or healthy in ages.
Blinking, I opened my mouth to speak, feeling quite irritated.
The fact that there was no one else around to take my irritation out on just made it worse.
"What kind of joke is this?" I snapped, but then I paused.
Was that...my voice I'd heard just now?
If so, then something was off, because my voice sounded...well, different.
Our voice is probably the thing we humans know best, because, well, while other people see our faces every day, we can't see our faces unless we look in the mirror. It's really our voices that help distinguish us from each other, so you know your high-pitched, slightly effeminate voice is that of you, whereas your friend who smokes a lot has a deep, gravelly, scratchy voice. It's how we know what actor acts in what, because they all have different voices.
Regardless of how sci-fi that seems, it is the truth.
Anyway, philosophical ramblings aside, I knew what my voice sounded like better than anyone-my voice wasn't so high-pitched that I sounded like a chipmunk, nor was it particularly low. It was just in-between, though by the time I was near death from cancer, I sounded like your old grandma that smokes too much. Real pleasant. Nothing quite like scaring your little sister when you talk because you sound like Darth Vader.
Apparently, my voice was now a lot higher than I recalled it being, but at the same time, it was also raspier, scratchier, and a bit deeper.
"W-What the fuck?" I spat, then did a double take, my hand clapping over my mouth.
Once again, my voice was too low, and raspy.
Way too deep for a woman.
If I didn't know better, I would almost say that I sounded like a guy.
Whoa, what?
I blinked again, my eyebrow twitching.
I must be losing my mind to think like this.
"I must still be dreaming." I sighed, again sounding like a guy.
I coughed. "Stop it, voice!" I snapped.
No use, I still sounded like a guy.
Help, how do I get rid of this "sounding like a guy" thing?
In pure confusion, I raised my hand and put it on my neck.
But I noticed a subtle difference as I did so-my hands brushed across something.
Something was there that hadn't been there before.
Whatever this something was, it felt like a lump on my neck. As I rubbed the object, it suddenly dawned on me.
At first, the paranoid part of me thought I had a tumor, but I figured out what it was right away.
I had an Adam's apple.
What the hell, females don't have that!
Well, trans women do, but that's a story for another day.
I jumped back in alarm upon realizing this hair-raising fact.
"W-What the fuck is this shit?" I stammered. Once again, I was Bro-risa.
Can I stop sounding like a boy? This is so much cringe.
I had to be dreaming this.
I quickly shut my eyes, then opened them.
No use.
I was still here, still in the strange room, still with the irritatingly loud birds outside, and still completely alone.
I called out the names of my little sister, older sister and mom, but no one answered me.
Apparently, I was alone.
Now I felt a surge of fear go through me, as I sat up, pushing my covers away.
"Fuck is going on here?" I cried, springing from the bed, only to realize I'd made a horrible mistake in doing that.
First, I lost my balance on my bed, so I tumbled off the bed, only to get ensnared in my own bed covers and then, epic fail, my face met the floor, which was not carpeted, but hardwood floor. Who the heck thought it was smart to not put carpet on a wooden floor?
Either way, it hurt like hell.
Ouch.
"Fuck!" I cried, rubbing my head, trying to ignore the enormous headache I now had and struggling to get untangled from the sheets that were now wrapped around my legs.
I flipped off the floor.
"That hurt! What's with my balance?" I grumbled. My balance wasn't usually this wonky. But on the other hand, I noticed as I sat up, it didn't really hurt at all to sit up. No more aches and pains. What...? No pain, at all?
The fact that I wasn't in any pain at all only confused me further.
"Will someone please explain to me what this means?" I grumbled, ignoring the goose egg on my head as I pushed my hair out of my face. When were my bangs so long, anyway?
On top of that, I needed my glasses.
But then it dawned on me, as I sat there, on my floor, that my vision was fine. I'd been looking at things and hadn't squinted once.
I closed one eye, my bad eye. Then I did the other eye. Everything was fine.
"Okay, I am definitely dreaming." I muttered.
I had horrible eyesight-I could easily think the letters on a stop sign spelled out "S-T-O-O-P" or "S-T-E-P" if I didn't wear my frames.
Apparently, now I have zero vision problems, and now my vision is 20/20?
Freaking hit me.
No vision problems, no pain, and I sounded like I'd started smoking.
I was at a total loss to explain the utterly perplexing situation I was in now.
'What is going on?' I thought, for like the fifteenth time today.
Then I noticed something else. Was it just me, or was the ceiling higher than it used to be?
I mean, like, the ceiling shouldn't look so high up and yet it did.
The door looked totally huge and so did the bed.
I glanced back at it, wide-eyed, wondering why that was.
Shakily, I stood up, noticing that something was wrong. A lot of somethings. Something just didn't feel right today.
I glanced down at myself.
Nope. I didn't recognize the t-shirt I was wearing; a strange-looking shirt that had an unfamiliar symbol of some kind on it.
I guess I just need to find where my bra is to change out of this shirt.
My strap should be on my shoulders, and...
My hands didn't feel any strap as I felt for one.
I couldn't find my bra.
What the hell.
Bewildered as all hell, I pulled my shirt up and placed one hand on my chest, where I should definitely feel my breasts.
I then realized something, something very alarming, as I retracted my hand from my chest.
My chest was now flat. Too flat, in fact.
My boobs were gone.
Apparently.
I looked down again, trembling slightly, looking at the impossible sight. Let's face it, a woman waking up and seeing her "friends" are gone is about as likely as waking up to find that you are now a giant insect.
'Where the hell are they?'
I whimpered slightly.
Something scary was happening here.
Though I'd never liked my boobs much, for them to just vanish like this was not a good sign, not at all.
Instead, my chest was too flat for my liking, and now more muscular.
On top of that, I noticed that I was also a lot...shorter than I remembered being. From where I'd been a good five six, now I was five three. That explained why my bed had felt higher up than usual and also why the ceiling looked so freaking huge.
What the fuck is this?
I gulped, distinctly uncomfortable now, as I got back to my feet. My legs were smaller than I remembered, and...hairier? The fuck. When did I have so much hair on my arms?
My skin was a lot tanner than I remembered it being.
"Did I enter a tanning bed?" I muttered. My voice sounded familiar, I just couldn't place it.
"I do not like where this is going," I stammered. My voice sounded like a prepubescent teenager's.
Pre-pubescent? How...?
I had to be dreaming this.
I pinched myself. It hurt.
Frowning, I examined my hands.
My hands were smaller than I remembered, and again, tanner. And they were more muscular, and...hairier?
Whoa...
What the hell.
Then I realized that I really had to pee, for some random reason.
"Crap!" I cried, bolting to the bathroom, and somehow managing to find it. It was like I knew where it was, but wasn't sure how I knew that I actually knew. Anime logic.
For some reason...when I sat down, it hurt.
"Ow! Shit!" I growled. This was one hell of a weird day.
Groaning in frustration, I stood back up, and then when I pulled down my underwear again-actually, I had boxers on-and when I actually looked, I almost had a panic attack.
The last thing I knew was that I was a young woman who was sixteen years old.
Born female and definitely knew I was one, with lady parts.
There is no moment where you question your sanity more than discovering that somehow, you now have the wrong parts downstairs. It's like waking up to find that your room is upside down and you're walking on the walls.
I whimpered slightly, before holding back a scream. "W-What the fuck is this?! This can't be happening! No way!"
I swallowed, and then looked down again.
The sight before me was still the same.
I still had a...a...dick. And...and..
My face was a bright red as I didn't dare finish those thoughts.
I closed my eyes and then finished, not looking again, having bitten my lip to prevent myself from screaming.
I finally let out that scream in the form of a particularly loud gasp.
"The hell? I need brain bleach!" I yelped, "Why do I have a penis? When did this happen?"
This had to be a nightmare. I couldn't just wake up and find that I had grown a penis overnight.
Unfortunately, the penis had not gone away. It was still very much there the next time I looked.
My face was burning as I went to the sink, very much wishing I could unsee what I had just seen.
Oh, great, now I'm quoting that movie called the Hot Chick or something. It's the one where the girl got body-switched with the guy, right?
As I washed my hands and stalked back to the room, my hands brushed up against my ears and I felt that I had piercings of some kind. They felt different from usual, though.
I need to figure out where the fuck I am and-who the hell has seemingly changed my sex overnight.
Changed sex or not, I was still a chick. My identity is the same!
Though I'm pretty sure I'm not transgender. I was pretty confident in my own shoes. And last I checked, I did not identify as trans.
Which was what made this whole weird thing even weirder than how weird it already was.
I looked around the room I was in.
It was full of shit that wasn't mine, yet it felt familiar, as I looked around. Yet another contradiction.
Can't one thing make sense today?
That's when I spotted one thing that was comforting.
There was a laptop that had been left on.
Maybe I could find out if I'd been kidnapped! I hopped into the chair and brought the main screen back up, showing an icon of an anime girl in a rather revealing outfit. Apparently, that was the background on this computer. Blushing, I moved the mouse and brought the main window back up, showing a website that highly resembled Facebook, only everything was in Japanese, and the name was something like Mickey or something.
Oddly, I could read Japanese. I could understand what the little symbols said.
What the shit.
I really was a weeb. To have a dream this vivid about being in Japan and then suddenly understand Japanese, yep, I'd transgressed. This was all a dream, including the "possessing a penis" part. But...it felt real. All of it did. I could touch things, I could move around and the pain from my now bruised head still ached.
All right, very terrifyingly real lucid dream, then. You can feel pain in those, right?
I often had the horrifying nightmare of my teeth falling out, but that's completely unrelated.
As I did so, suddenly a loud noise made me jump. It sounded like a cell phone buzz.
"Relax, Marisa," I commanded myself, taking a deep breath.
Grimacing slightly, I searched my pockets and found a cell phone tucked away in there, which was buzzing.
Oh, I'd received a text? This was familiar. But again, this phone was not mine.
I flipped it open, in time to see the typical white space you send texts in, only everything was again, in Japanese, and there was a yellow bubble from someone else (I presume from the owner of this phone), and now a new text had arrived from a blue bubble.
The text read, "H-Hey, are you still there? You suddenly went offline and didn't say anything. Did something come up? Are you all right, K-Kida-kun? I just wanted to double-check, that's all-"
Kida?
I blinked. The fuck would he call me that for? I didn't know anyone by that name, nobody real, of course...but I ignored that and instead my eyes were drawn to the person's text handle: TaroTanaka.
Wait, TaroTanaka?
Wasn't that Mikado Ryuugamine's username?
Maybe this person was merely a Durarara roleplayer.
Cold sweat dripped down my back as unpleasant pieces of the puzzle were now making themselves fit together.
I quickly texted back, in Japanese lettering, amazing, "What do you mean? I-er, fell asleep. And, uh, what are you talking about? My name's not Kida!?"
The chat bubble popped up again. 'TaroTanaka is typing...'
A few more messages popped back up, mostly expressing concern for "me" or whoever's cell phone this was. What was this person going to do if they found me in their apartment, anyway?
Then, my eyes happened to lock onto the name the "roleplayer" kept calling me by.
"...E-Eh? W-What do you mean by that, Kida-kun? Don't just joke around like that with me, Masaomi! A-Are you all right, Masaomi? You're not..you're not sick or something, are you? You're acting weird."
"Are you cosplaying or something? Because this joke really isn't funny," I texted back, convinced that this had to be cosplay.
No. Freaking. Way.
"M-Masaomi, now's not the time for jokes! Why would I be cosplaying when that's your name, Kida-kun? Did you hit your head?"
I then noticed the name at the top said: Mikado's number.
My heart pounded faster, if that was even possible.
"M-Masaomi?" I breathed, letting the name drift off my tongue. 'Like...like...?'
I suddenly sucked in a breath and then let it out again. I looked over at the closet door that was wide open.
A yellow scarf was hanging on the knob of the door.
I fell off the chair, trying not to hyperventilate.
Did I stumble into some crazy Kida cosplayer's room?
I mean, I had some friends who were weebs, but never took it this far-as far as calling me by some fictitious character's name and all. I had to literally be insane.
As I started to sit back up, my hair flew in my face, obscuring my vision.
Cursing, I pushed my blond bangs back with my fingers-wait, blond?
I quickly pulled my bangs down before my eyes, sure I was hallucinating.
Yep, it was real.
Blond hair.
My hair was blond.
I had been a brunette most of my life, now, apparently, I was a blond. A blond who had pierced ears and apparently talked like a guy and-oh, shit.
This all pointed to one terrible truth-and I reacted horribly to it, shooting up like a rocket, closing the phone, despite the increased buzzing coming from it.
Holy freaking moly. If this is some kind of dream the weebs had set up for me, I was going to hit them.
"For Eren's sake!" I cried as I rushed back into the bathroom, toward the mirror-only then and there did I stop, my eyes widening in shock as I gazed in.
I backed away for a second, closed my eyes for a few moments, and then opened them again. The sight in the mirror was still the same.
There was a stranger in the mirror. At first, I thought someone had broken in.
A boy with messy blond hair and golden eyes peered out of the mirror. The boy's face was pulled into a shocked expression, his clothes were all disheveled from sleep, and he looked quite surprised at seeing me there.
Was this the owner of the house or an intruder?
"S-sorry!" I cried, but he didn't answer. He was still staring at me.
I turned back around, waiting for a classic horror jumpscare-but no sign of anyone behind me. I whirled back around and the same blond kid was back, staring at me. Wait a second...I recognized the boy before me.
Brushing my hand against my ears again, I felt the cold, hard metal of a piercing and immediately realized who that was. That was not my reflection, but rather the reflection of someone who should not exist: a fictional character.
I knew who it was instantly: my mind told me that the person before me was no one other than one Kida Masaomi, from the anime series of Durarara. Specifically, this Masaomi looked like he was around thirteen years old.
It took a few moments for that to sink into my head, before my mind quickly connected this: if I saw Kida Masaomi looking back at me, that meant that...I was Masaomi Kida. Somehow.
My hair was blond, my eyes were definitely gold, and I was definitely Kida. Mirrors don't lie.
I reacted very fast, instantly punching myself in the face.
Nothing much changed except that Masaomi now had a red mark on his face.
I stuck out my tongue. Kida imitated me.
No matter what I did, I still looked like, sounded like, and probably smelled like Masaomi Kida.
"What the hell is this?" I cried, then flinched upon hearing Masaomi's voice come out of my mouth.
So, how the hell had I turned into Masaomi?
How had I gotten here?
I bit my lip as I paced back and forth, until I paused.
Wait a second.
I was dead, wasn't I?
I was one hundred percent sure that I had been dead. I clearly recalled being dead, with Xs on my eyes and my tongue hanging out.
Now I was here, alive, as Masaomi Kida.
I placed my hand on my chest-my heart was definitely beating.
I could even hear the buzzing of the light above me. Everything was way too real. I was breathing and my heart was beating.
How? How was this possible?
Memories filtered through my head, (Masaomi's, not mine.)
'I'd been talking with Mikado until I'd gotten sleepy and then taken a nap, and now I lose it, thinking I'm someone else-hey, I can't just suddenly believe I've always been a fictional character!' I yelled at myself.
What I didn't understand is why I wasn't a freaking baby.
"Would've been easier," I grumbled, "Less of a hassle. Isn't that how these stories play out, anyway?"
It was then that I noticed that I was even speaking in Japanese, and had been this whole time, apparently.
I tried talking in English. I could, but it felt stilted and weird.
Talking in Japanese just felt more natural.
Still, it could be worse. I could've been Saki-wait holy guacamole, Batman!
Saki?!
Kida's girlfriend-er, mine now, I guess? How do I explain this whole situation to all of them?
Try to sit Saki, Mikado and Izaya down and try to explain how I'm not Masaomi flipping Kida.
None of them would believe me.
As I entered my room again, and flipped open the phone, I noticed that Mikado had sent up even more messages: "Masaomi, what's wrong? Hey, Masaomi, answer me! Did you hit your head?"
Mikado Ryuugamine is still typing to me.
Maybe I'd done some crazy drugs or something.
This felt too real, though.
My hair was definitely not a wig, I'd yanked at it too much.
I could tell that my roots were definitely still brown.
This is definitely a dream-
I kicked the door in frustration, and yelped at the pain that went through it, holding my foot as I jumped backwards comically.
"Ow, ow, ow, not gonna do that again, not gonna do that again!" I whined, "Okay! This is real!"
"Okay, Marisa-er, Ma-Masaomi, you have to figure out what caused this to happen!" I cried.
I stared out the window. This was definitely Ikebukuro.
I'd always wanted to come here, but not as one of the characters.
I flipped off whatever god had sent me here.
"Masaomi? Are you all right?" Mikado typed, the sound of the text made me jump one hundred feet out of my chair, but I managed to calm myself enough to type out the following sentence:
"I'm just fine! I was just joking, that's all, playing a practical joke! Trying to pretend I wasn't me, you caught me, Mikado, hahahaha!"
"You're obviously joking. What is it you're doing right now?"
I frowned. Obviously, Kida-er, (me?), had decided to nap before all of this stuff happened, "I was napping and woke up just now. And I'm studying...and flirting with chicks."
Wait. I did not mean to say that, or even type that.
'Are you telling me,' I screamed in my mind, 'That if I become Masaomi, I start talking like him, too? Great!'
'Get used to it,' A voice in my head said.
'Oh, great, I'm talking to myself now, lovely.' I thought, 'Won't be too long until I'm carted off to the insane asylum!'
'This is as real as it can possibly be. When you died, you were thrown here, now shut up and stop whining.' The voice sounded like a guy's, but irritated.
"Oh great, my other self hates me."
'You're not a chick anymore, you're a dude, stop bitching and get over it.'
"Shut up!" I cried.
I'd accidentally written shut up on the message I sent to Mikado. Crap.
"Masaomi, what's wrong?"
"Nothing! Just playing a video game online."
I closed my eyes and opened them. Still here, and still an anime character, oh and still Masaomi flipping Kida.
Doomed to have a hospitalized girlfriend, doomed to be the pawn of an evil (yet hot) troll, doomed to watch my friend try to kill himself, and doomed to be a gang leader.
'You did not just call Izaya hot, did you?' The voice said.
It was then that I realized...that voice was the real Kida.
Shit, he's here, too?
'Of course I am, you dumbass! Body stealer!'
I flinched. "I didn't mean it, I swear!"
'All right, then. How and why are you here, in my body?' The voice demanded.
I froze and shook my head. 'I don't know.'
'Well, I'm stuck here with you. So deal with it.' Real Kida said.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuckety fuck fuck fuck fuckkkkkk!" I cursed.
I imitated a certain video game guy.
I wished I'd had a beer to celebrate, except I was underage, so no.
"So, Masaomi, what are you doing?" Mikado asked.
"Just hanging out." I confessed.
'You know, before I was turned into an anime character.'
At that moment, my cell phone rang.
I answered.
Big mistake.
"Hello?" I muttered.
"Oh, Masaomi-kun."
Izaya, aw shit.
Oh great, a character I loved was now real.
And I was a teenage boy. Awkward as hell.
Can things get any worse?
"Come over to see me. We have things to discuss...about your gang."
Shit.
At this point in time, Masaomi is a gang leader.
I'm a gang leader.
Crap.
Why did I get a life covered with salami, cheese, lettuce, tomato, and a whole portion of crap served on top?
I grudgingly bade Mikado farewell and shut the computer off, stalking off to Izaya's apartment. For some reason, I knew where it was. It must've been Kida's memories guiding me, or some bullshit like that.
"Come on in, Masaomi-kun."
And holy shit, was Izaya freaking huge.
It dawned on me how short I was now and I felt self-conscious.
"Shut up and go away." I snapped, slamming the door.
"Such manners, Masaomi-kun." He said.
"Whatever," I growled, throwing myself into a chair,"So this is about the Yellow Scarabs?"
He looked at me funny. "The Yellow Scarves."
"Right, I was joking." I said, "Izaya-sannnn!"
How eerie, I was even joking like Kida.
"Right, well, anyway, Masaomi-kun. The Blue Squares have been causing trouble."
Uh-oh, Blue Squares.
This must be around the time Saki gets hurt and-holy shit, why was I here in this time of all times?
Someone kill me.
"So I kick their asses?" I said.
Izaya smirked. "Basically."
That I could try. Guys were more muscular than girls, after all.
But did I really have to be a guy?
I had to shudder at the image of a female Kida, though, and sighed.
So this is my life now.
I didn't ask for this.
Real nice.