A/N: Written for The A-Maze-Ing Race Challenge on the AMF, prompt: tie. And Sakuma's first name was never mentioned, so Sakuma is just Sakuma.
The Existence of the Non-Existent
1.
He has the paper with the cross, and his hands are shaking.
'I don't want it,' he whispered, gripping so hard the sheet crinkled and tore beneath his fingers. 'I don't want it. I don't want it.'
He got a few sympathetic looks in return, but no-body raised their voice. No-body offered to take his place. No-body offered themselves as the sacrifice.
And so the paper was pried from his fingers, and the teacher gave him a final sad look before striking his name from the register.
From that moment, Sakuma ceased to exist.
2.
The class was quiet, always quiet, and that made it even harder. Every move he made could cause someone to look at him – but no-one did. Oh sometimes their shoulders stiffened, or their backs purposely turned the other way, but no-one looked at him.
He was "non-existent" after all, even if he couldn't breathe without adding to the silent symphony of the room.
But he had to do it, because as long as he didn't exist, their class was safe.
3.
April stretched into May, and then into June. The class continued its silent vigil, talks no louder than a whisper and movements no more than a rustle. His heart was the loudest thing of all, thumping away in the cage of his chest.
A pencil rolled from its fingertips, and everything froze, save his heart and his too-loud footsteps as he went to retrieve it –
And that little bead of sweat that fell with a soft platter to the ground.
4.
Summer passed like a still shadow, and even the breath of time in which he could exist again was lost to the heat. Everything was silent, from the crows that sometimes nested on the rooftop to his parents tiptoeing about to his phone that sat inconspicuously on the desk to the road that stretched away outdoors.
Maybe if he had done something remotely fun in the holidays, he could call it one. But it felt like there was too huge a weight on his shoulders to try. Or maybe it was paranoia, the uncomfortable feel of being cut off completely – because what else was there in a small country school in summer?
It was a far too long summer that quietly strangulated him.
5.
He had hoped…but September was the same stagnancy as the months that had gone before it, at least for him. The chirps of other students chattering where sharp and yet dull in his ears, and every pencil he dropped, page he turned, were nails on a chalkboard to his ears.
No-one turned their heads; even the stiffness off their shoulders from before had faded away.
He wondered suddenly if he was being forgotten. If he truly had ceased to exist.
6.
October marked his limit. The silence screamed so viciously at him he could do nothing save scream back.
And the class jolted, came back to a panicked life. The pandemonium roared in his ears, drowning out that silence that had sung for so long to him. And the looks he got in return were a mix of horror, fear, apathy and sympathy – and he soaked it all up, because they were looking at him, him, and he was not just a shadow pushed out of mind while the rest of them chattered on without cost.
And they relented; he was a part of the class again. It couldn't be helped, not even when the sleeping serpent awoke, and struck.
He existed now, but two people paid the price that month.
7.
They all prayed for the New Year, and despite all, they prayed for the same thing. For the safety of their class. For the preservation of their lives…and the lives of their loved ones.
But he prayed for something more, because he could not regret – could not regret breaking their hope. He existed, he existed and it was impossible to say otherwise. Being a shadow that passed from the world, it was something he hadn't been able to tolerate.
The silence…the silence had slowly killed him, and even as he asked for their forgiveness as well he could not regret it.
He ended it instead.