BEST CASE SCENARIO - PROLOGUE PART I - WHITE
AUTHOR'S NOTE - Hello, and welcome! You know well who I am, and that I've been basically dead on the internet for that past... year. No believable explanation there. Emphasis on believable. Now, those of you who have stuck with me will notice some changes, in name, personality, etc. (Don't worry, Vault, you can still make fun of his name.) I've changed it up to make a little more sense to myself and the public. Now, let's begin.
(Praegressus - Here ya go! #Returnofthebirdlate2015 is here. I do hope you got the time to read this, I'd really like to know what you thought.)
White. The cold, ominous hue of any reference to death, except for death itself. Ambulances; white. Hospitals; white. Light shining unto your cold, motionless body; white.
Yet I cheated him, the inescapable angel of death. I yet live after the events of the past year, the past month, the past week, day, hour, minute. My will has given up, but my primality persists. The instinct to live, no matter what cost, kicked in, and I yet live. For a while I did not, and by a while I mean an hour. I will not discuss the tacenda of my time as a dead man. It's something one never speaks of.
Tacenda. A word in Olde English that describes feelings, thoughts, or emotions better left unspoken. Such as my name. I am Katakana Matsumoto - the alphabet boy. My father cursed me with that horrible excuse for a name, despite my mother's tenacious protests. I don't know why, and I never will. I dare not ask what terrible and inconceivable action I took in my previous lifetime to earn the incessant detriments of my name, personality, and now health issues.
In reference to my evolving issues, I don't believe I've told you where I'm currently residing and the explanation for it. This is the Kanto Central Hospital in Tokyo, Japan. I've seen it all in this sleepless, seeping nightmare of a health complex. I've seen burns that no man, woman, or child should never have to bear. I've seen insanity reach its breaking point. I've seen acts of kindness, and killings. I've seen sorrow and suicide. I've seen the empty face of a boy staring at me from the glass pane of the mirror. I've seen sorrow in his eyes, too. Sorrow for the happenings of recent time.
It was a year ago. I was halfway through the opaque wall of people running in the cross country meet with and against me. My heart was beating rapidly, my head was aching and my legs were shaking. I was ready to spew my breakfast all over the flexed, red calves of the boy in front of me. But that was all normal for a runner, like me. The odd part was the light-headedness I'd been experiencing for the duration of the race. The dull, off-putting emptiness in my cranium that limited my ability to push myself to the limit had risen to power that day, and I simply turned my back to it and ran on.
That was when I saw black. Or, should I say, lost control. My mind, my consciousness, was not present as I broke down, not present as I began to jerk my muscles around, not present while foam spewed from my mouth. Or that's what I was told. The rest of everybody present remembered my lightly twitching, blood-soaked near-corpse lying in the grass, broken and gone. I'd easily been trampled, and I'd suffered many short-term injuries along with a new diagnosis of epilepsy. Isn't that fun?
It's not, really. No matter what kind of jokes I make about it, it's no longer funny when you experience it. I mean, sure, you can joke about it in a dark, disturbing manner like the 9/11 attacks, but that tends to offend people anyways. However, I do have a tendency to make terrible, offensive jokes that could easily earn me a brutal beating. At least that'd be more entertaining than the TV in this hospital room. I sometimes visit the mental ward to see what antics the patients have in store for that day. One day, a far-gone woman escaped her room and ran around the halls in a blaze of destruction until she was tazed down in the burn ward. See? This place can be fun.
It's horrible how twisted my mind is, and how I can be all "ooh, happy" the next second. They should've tested me for bipolar disorder, as well. But who cares, really? It's nice to leave my disgusting, hellish mindset for some optimistic inspiration. Then again, some realism never hurt anyone... see? Bipolar. Goddammit, what the hell is wrong with me? Maybe I should have Dr. Li test me for mental disorders instead of the constant reminders of "hey, you have epilepsy so don't be a little bitch." You understand where I'm coming from on this, don't you?
What's that? My mood's changed? I told you, bipolar.
Now, back to white. White coats, white walls, white gowns, white people. People not so much, but you know what I'm saying. So much white and yet it's so... depressing, frightening even. Hell, a man got killed here, and this is Japan for god's sake. It's a country where you're more likely to commit honorable sebaku (suicide) than be the victim in a homicide. Try and tell me that's not scary, because it is. I'll laugh in your face because of how scary it is, then go sit in the corner and suck my thumb.
Not really, actually. I'd probably just state the statistics thing to you all over again. Amazing how creative I am, am I right?
Oh, joy, it's Dr. Li returning from the bloody Commonwealth. Fantastic, more bad news about shockwaves in my brain or some shit.
"Lay it on me, Doc," I drone with a mocking tone, sprawling my arms out to grab the air.
Then she does something. For the first time since I've known her, she's never done it in front of me before. She smiles. Such a rare and beautiful thing in this god-awful place. Then something else happens. My mother, a grin plastered upon her gaunt, frail face, joins us in the room. It's a surprise, really, because her visiting day was supposed to be Saturday. Something must've happened. Maybe Uncle Hans stopped chasing after mom.
"Hello, Matsumoto-kun. How're you today?" Dr. Li asks me, ignoring my previous command.
I sigh, shrugging my shoulders. "Same as always, Doc," I say, shooting her a look. "What's going on?"
With that, my mom steps forward with her hands folded together, in such a matter to keep them from shaking. Why she's shaking, I have no clue, but I hope to be enlightened with these next few words.
She grins, showing exhilaration with it. "Well, Kat," she says in a bashful tone, probably struggling to form a sentence, "how would you like to get out of here today?"
My eyes flash open the rest of the way. The warmth of elation begins to course through my veins, adrenaline is released, and my mouth forms into the widest possible smile. Getting out of this hell-hole? Good god, I mean...
"That's the stupidest question you've ever asked me!" I shout, throwing my arms out to emphasize. "Of course I'd like to get out of here, you nuts!?"
And then... her grin falters. And then comes the alarmingness of the situation. Disappointment, coupled with a cold anxiety starts to replace the elation-filled adrenaline rush from just a minute before. Of course there's a catch, there always is. Of freaking course. For once in my damn life, can I just have something without having to pay for it? I mean, I think I've paid enough, with what's happened and all...
I let the silence absorb the room and its inhabitants, awaiting my mother's response to my expressedly false hope. Yet, undoubtedly, the quiet confines of the room leave no echo, and so the silence persists. I suppose it's up to me to break said silence.
"What's the catch?" I ask, a solemn tone protruding from deep within the depths of my heart - my heart smoldering in the blistering fear of being stuck in this relentless hell for longer.
Mom hesitates for a moment, then gives a somewhat sorrowful, somewhat stern glare at Dr. Li as though she were responsible for what I am to hear next.
"If you choose to leave Kanto... you won't exactly be coming home," she mutters, taking in a gulp of nervous air afterwards. "You see, honey... we've got no other choice than to send you to a school for the... physically challenged, per say, for your last year of school. We've already discussed it with the teachers, and the rest of the staff. All we need is your say so."
I sigh, giving a look down. Maybe, just maybe, that place will be better than hell.
"Tell me about it, first."
Mom sighs, "It's called Yamaku Academy, near Sendai where Yuki lives. Of course, you can't stay with him since he's on the European tour, so you'll be in the dorms."
I nod, conflicted as to how I feel about this. It's as though the decision's already been made...
"I'll go. Can't be any worse than here."
There was so much to do for mom to do, so little time. Paperwork, paperwork, more paperwork to be filled out to secure my release from this bland, god-forsaken prison. I'll never forget this white. Never. It's something - a lesson - never to be forgotten. There must be some purpose to my being here; a purpose to be accepted in due time. For now, though, I remain afraid; afraid to take on my new surroundings and leave Tokyo. They say it, this school, is expecting me. However, I am not expecting it. To leave the hustle and bustle of the city, even with my never-ending hospitalization, is an absolutely horrifying thought, however subliminal the thought may be.
I'm scared to leave. To leave Kana, mom, Natsume, Kenshi, all for some school where they're all probably in wheelchairs and autistic, moaning and groaning, drooling and mumbling. The one-on-one sessions with teachers who couldn't land a better job somewhere else, those who can't bear to help you and try without you needing it. Pay attention to those wheelchair-confined poor slobs that actually need the help and let me wallow in my own self pity. Let me suffer and die and fall into the empty abyss of death, let me abandon this white in exchange for the cool black of death.
But maybe I should hope for the best case scenario and stop being so pessimistic. Hope for new ideas, for new friends, new philosophies, new people. Hope for a new life.
And so it is with a heavy heart that I take this second chance given to me by life, and I push forward to create my own. I push forward to retake or recreate myself, to take this life and make it anew, to create my own best case scenario.
Yet, in the back of my mind, I'm being held back. I'm being held back by the flashing lights of an ambulance, the wailing of the sirens, the mindless intoxication of death, the dark whispers of souls long forgotten to history, and the dark, chilled box I banged on for ten minutes in the morgue after I'd been pronounced dead so long ago. Those memories are still fresh, fresh as the ringing and whispers of the dead, tormented souls I brought back with me from the dark abyss.
I have to be optimistic, or I may not live much longer.
BEST CASE SCENARIO - PROLOGUE PART ONE - WHITE - END
AUTHOR'S NOTE - Well, isn't this fun? Yayyy, torment. Reminds me of my sister. Well, if you're reading this you must've bore through the excruciatingly terrible writing my stories are known for, so two HD points to you!
Anyways, I do appreciate reviews and the support of what's left of my community, so feel free to say something about it! Even a simple "gj bro u ryt gud" is something valuable to me!
That's all for now, so WarbirdHD out!