Notes and potential trigger warnings will be at the bottom of each chapter.
Deracinate: to move (people) forcibly from their accustomed surroundings into a new and foreign environment.
"Becca."
I groan at the sound of my friend's voice and blearily open my eyes. The laptop screen that's been balanced on our laps for the past several hours has been paused and a few empty cans of cider are scattered on the floor. The only remnants of our anime binge is just a light blue-grey block of colour frozen on the screen. "Mmhmm?"
"You seem tired."
Snorting, I send her a wry grin. "Congratulations bae, statement of the century. You should win a award. 'For Sophie, the-"
"Yeah yeah I get it, Jesus." She sighs and gets up from her position next to me on the bed, moving half of the laptop that was on her leg onto mine. As she stands, the bed creaks ever so slightly. She turns to face me. "Seriously though, I know it's late and we've had a few drinks, but you've been on medication for what, eight months? Shouldn't it be working by now? I swear I have your yawn face commited to memory by now."
"Haha very funny bae, I would be surprised if my yawn wasn't etched into everyone's faces," I shrug and shuffle my legs so the laptop sits more comfortably on my thighs. "But I dunno. It probably should be working by now yes. But hey, if it's not life threatening then why should the NHS even really care about it? It's not like I'm dying."
"Just because you're not dying doesn't mean you should be any less important to them." She says it with a firm voice and a shake of the head. Her dark brown hair swishes with it. "Quality of life is also at stake here."
I snigger and start to retort but she cuts me off.
"No don't you brush me off. I mean it. You're so tired all of the time you can't concentrate or focus on anything at all. It's a wonder you do so well at school! Just imagine how much easier everything would be if your brain wasn't foggy from your chronic fatigue all the time."
"It doesn't matter Soph, let it go. I'm used to it."
"You shouldn't be used to it!" She huffs. "Do I need to bring up other possible symptoms of hypo- whatever the fuck it's called?"
"Oh God please," I groan, rubbing my eyes with my palms. "Come on, you know you can't google stuff and expect an it to all be completely correct. All that hormone and medical jargon on those websites is a load of bullshit to a lot of peeps, and not everyone with thyroid issues has-"
"Depression?"
I wince. "I wasn't gonna just put it like that but, sure. Whatever floats your goat."
We had turned the lights off so we could watch the laptop screen with an enhanced atmosphere, but even in the darkness I can tell she's giving me a long and hard stare.
"You may not have clinical depression or anxiety or whatever," Her fingers drum a rhythm on the wall. "But that doesn't mean this illness isn't harming your mental health. Unless, you want to tell me why you came to my house late at night, crying and with no explanation?"
The silence between us speaks for itself.
"I didn't think so."
A grunt escapes my mouth as I lean back, head hitting the wall. "That's different."
"No it's not different!" She wrenches her bedroom door open and a faded blue light filters in. A heavy breath escapes her mouth.
"Where are you going?" I lift my head from its resting place on the wall.
Sophie turns to face me, one hand gripping the edge of the door. For I moment I think she's about to accuse me of changing the subject, but she softens her voice instead. "I'm going to make a glass of water, I've had a few too many ciders I think. Do you want anything?"
I smile faintly. "Sure, if you're offering, a glass of water sounds fab thank you. What do you want me to do with the laptop? Do you wanna finish the episode?"
"Duh, what kind of question is that?" I can almost hear her eye roll. "You can watch the opening while I get a drink though. Or listen, I guess. I know you're into the whole violin and choral singing crap."
Grinning, I wave her off. "Oh bae you know me so well. Shoo, let me get my fix of Toshio Masuda for the night while you quench your thirst for water."
She laughs gently as the door shuts behind her, footsteps resounding in the hallway. I remove my red framed glass and place them on the bed with a thump and press play. Slowly, I lean backwards, resting my head on the wall again and allow the sounds of a disjointed piano and violins to echo around me.
I close my eyes.
Ringing.
Something is ringing. It's echoing, all around me.
It's echoing in a dark, dark tunnel, loud but soothing.
I have to walk, I have to journey through the darkness to get to the end of the dark, dark tunnel. I don't know why but... I just do. I just know.
Floating orbs of light bounce off of invisible walls and dance around my head. They glitter and glimmer, prancing around with the likeness of docile and delicate ballerinas.
Their light is faint and shimmering, but it's not enough. I need more.
I need to reach the light.
The light at the end of the dark, dark tunnel. The light that gets brighter and brighter as I walk faster and faster and gets closer and closer-
I reach.
"Mmmf," Mumbling, I roll from my side to my back. The bed squeaks.
"Wophiiee, what time 'sit?" I croak, rubbing my eyes with my forefinger and thumb. When I pull them away and blink them open, they feel... odd. That's the only way I can think to describe it really. Odd. I don't struggle to open them and they don't ache at all. There's no eye dust or overwhelming need to close them again. If anything, they feel too alert to be closed again.
They feel... good.
Holy shit. Is this what it feels like to wake up refreshed? Oh man how long did I sleep for to feel this good? It's almost euphoric. Normally after a few ciders, waking up is even more of a chore than usual. This is crazy.
"Hey, Wophie," I call out again, moving to sit up from her bed. When did I even fall asleep on it? I was supposed to take the sofa bed and sleep on the floor. Whoops. "Wophie, you awake yet?"
I move to lean over the left side of the bed and peer down at the floor, only to realise there is a lot less 'bed' than I originally believed. I tumble face first onto the floor with a small groan.
With that tumble, comes a revelation.
The floor is hard.
Not hard as in, ow-I've-just-fallen-off-the-bed-and-my-butt-hurts, but hard as in wooden.
Last time I checked, Sophie's room had carpet.
In fact, I'm pretty sure her entire house is carpeted, minus the kitchen and bathroom. Although I never really saw the inside of her sisters or parents bedrooms, so they could have wooden floors. But why would I wake up in one of their rooms? No way could Sophie have moved me, she's way too skinny and I have too much flubber, even if I am only 5 feet tall.
Maybe I sleepwalked? That's the most probable explanation. I've only done it once in my life and I was like, eight, but I guess it could've happened. I slap my hand on the floorboards one more time, moving to a sitting position.
Yup. Definitely not carpet.
I bring my hand up to tuck some stray fringe behind my ear, taking in the dark surroundings when another strange thing happens.
It stops.
My hair. It just... stops.
I actively try to move the same piece of hair behind my ear again but it flops back to my face, almost mocking me. Instead of trying to tuck it behind my ear for a third time, I pull on it to stretch the strands to full length and peer from below.
Huh. That is definitely shorter than I thought it was.
Absently, I reach for the rest of my hair that should be resting on my back, only to realise that once again, it's not there.
It. Is not. There.
"What the fuck?" I whisper. "What the fuck?!"
I scrabble to stand on my feet when my brain suddenly comes to the conclusion that I am missing a solid three quarters of my hair. I try the yank at the chin length strands and yelp in the process.
Not a wig apparently.
"Nonononono what the fuck, fuck, fuck. Sophie!" I yell out her name as I dash to the bedroom door and yank it open. "Sophie!" I practically scream it this time, tears threatening to spill as I try to keep my breathing controlled. What happened to my hair!? There has to be an explanation. There has to be. Has someone played some kind of cruel prank on me? Am I dreaming? I have to be dreaming.
Stepping out of the door, I yell her name again, only for it to die in my throat.
"What the..?"
I expect to come out onto the landing. The carpeted landing where a banister and descending staircase should be opposite me and Sophie's bedroom door is to the right. Key point: should be.
"What the fuck?"
I'm dreaming. I am definitely dreaming.
As if in a trance, I stumble into a small hallway with a beige, wooden floor then walk forwards, the only direction available for me to move. I try to ignore the glaring lack of a staircase, carpet, or anything familiar to me.
Numbly, my eyes absorb the layout of the foreign room I am taken to and my brain tries to ignore how real everything is, how my strides seem to be that little bit longer, and how the ground seems to be a little bit further away than I'm used to.
I come to a standstill beside an old cream sofa in the centre in the room. My hand grips the back as I tilt my head down to stare at the ground and wiggle my toes.
Or... not my toes?
Definitely not my toes. Or feet. Or legs.
Fuck are they smooth? I haven't shaved in weeks; it's fucking winter. I crouch down to run a hand along the skin to check that yes, they are in fact hairless. My hands stop.
Not my hands.
The fingers in front of me are long and slender, easily able to reach a ninth on the piano, maybe even a tenth. My short and stubby chipolata fingers have a comfortable reach of a seventh, an octave if I stretch.
This is either some kind of elaborate prank or insanely realistic dream.
I'm not entirely sure how long I stay crouched beside the sofa for just gazing at my smooth legs and normal sized hands, my mind racing to find a accurate conclusion. It moves from 'dream' to drugs.
That must make more sense. Everything is way too real to be a dream. I must be on drugs.
I don't remember taking any, but I don't really remember much from last night. Did I take some medication with a little vodka to wash it down? Or maybe just more alcohol? No. No, I've been absolutely smashed before and not experienced anything like this. Besides, last night was strictly a cider night between two gals. No crazy business. Although, this is similar what Amber-Lee described smoking weed felt like.
Fuck, did we go out and get high last night? No, no we wouldn't, would we? I would remember. And while alcohol is a big yes-yes, illegal drugs are a big no-no. A little alcohol wouldn't change my morals would they? There's no way-
And that's when I hear a knock on the door.
It's just a gentle knock, three raps and then silence. My head moved ever so slowly, drawn to white door. My thoughts jumble even more, scrabbling for ideas on what is happening and who the fuck could be at the door of this place that I've never seen in my seventeen years of life.
Is it the actual owner of this place? Was there a party here last night and this is just someone coming to pick up some stuff? Is it Sophie?
Shakily I get to my feet and start to wobble towards the door to snoop at the little peephole embedded into the wood. Outside is an Asian girl, around my age or possibly younger, with long and straight black hair wearing some kind of sailor school uniform.
I have no idea who this person is, so I hesitate to answer the door or not. While debating the issue quietly, she knocks on the door again.
"Mai-chan! Ja ii? Isoide! Chikaku suru yo,"
I blink.
I blink again.
If my ears could blink, they would.
What the actual, living, fuck?
Am I imagining a Japanese girl in my drug induced haze or has my mystery pranker found a native Japanese teenager to play a prank on me?
"Mai-chan?" She knocks again.
Chan? Chan? This is... this is fucking ridiculous. Who the fuck would do this?
I yank the door open and glare at the girl fiercely. "Is this some kind of joke!?"
Her features widen with surprise at my outburst before scrunching up into confusion. "Are? Mai?"
At this point my vision is practically red. Do people find it funny to confuse people and mess with them like this? Drug them, shave their legs and cut their hair? "Why do you keep speaking Japanese?! Stop messing with me! What the fuck do you want? Who put you up to this?!"
She flinches, appearing even more baffled. "Mai, waka-"
"Stop calling me Mai!" I scream at her, my frustrations getting the better of me. "You want to keep speaking in Japanese and take the piss? Fine, fuck you then. Fuck you. Fuzakeru na!"
I swear at her with the little Japanese knowledge I have.
Like a lot of anime fans I suspect, I pick up a lot of words and phrases after watching several animes. Unlike a lot of anime fans, I am that sad person at school that has a very slight obsession with languages. So yes, I may have spent occasional hour learning hiragana and reading the Japanese dictionary, maybe following a Japanese vocabulary tumblr or YouTube channel.
However, French and German are more to my tastes, since I actually study those at school. And, y'know, they're easier.
Learning Japanese is more of a side project I started when I found anime and deemed Chinese too hard. It's not like I actually know how to form a proper sentence. Just the typical swear words, basic grammar, reading the basic kana alphabet, and the odd word. Like senpai or konno sekai. Which isn't really much use to anyone when trying to hold a conversation.
Panting, I take a good look on her face. She looks like she's about to cry. She's either a bloody brilliant actor, or she's not acting.
Not acting? Impossible. My brain supplies to me, but it also tells me that one good look at her face and body posture is enough to realise that she has no idea what I'm talking about. Literally.
Except me telling her to fuck off.
"Mai-chan... Wakarimasen..." She sniffles, speaking some Japanese that I actually understand. "Daijoubu desuka?"
Am I okay?
No. No I am not fucking okay.
"Iie, gomen," I reply. No, sorry.
What the fuck do I do? Lie and say I have a cold? Shut the door in her face?
Ugh, fuck my life. What was a cold in Japanese again?
"Kaze wo..." Oh fuck I totally don't know how to finish that sentence. Shit. "Eto, gomen nasai..."
She looks at me strangely through teary eyes before making some awkward hand gesture. "Iinda yo, hayaku genki ni natte!"
Something like, 'that's okay, get better', or so I assume. She puts on a bright smile, totally fake of course, and waves at me.
"Arigatou." I thank her weakly then shut the door behind me. My mind takes a few moments to catch up.
What the actual fuck just happened.
I turn around and bang my head against the wood. Back pressing against the door, I slowly fall the the ground, knees to my chest.
I wonder if I say or think what the fuck enough, someone will jump out at me and yell 'haha got you!', or maybe I'll just wake up.
"What the fuck." I breathe.
I don't wake up.
Possible trigger warnings: mention of drug usage and alcohol.
If I have missed any trigger warnings, please PM me.
Hey yall! I'm back with a remake on SQ! I have decided to name it 'Peregrination' - make of that what you will.
I have 3 aims for this fiction:
1. Write at least 2,000 words per chapter (not including author notes)
2. Update a minimum of once every two weeks. That means if I post earlier than my 2 week goal, my new 2 week goal starts from then.
3. Actually finish it! No matter how long :)
If for some reason I can't update on time, I will put a new chapter up explaining why, and then take it down once I have updated. I hope you will enjoy my new piece of writing and become just as excited as me when wondering what will happen next! I also hope that my ability to write has improved, even just a little, since writing SQ.
Also I decided to post this earlier than I was going to originally, thank the crappy Nintendo direct that aired last night and didn't give me any animal crossing gameplay. So gutted that I decided to try and post this to feel better. ;-;
Peace out my dudes （*ω*）