I'm a terrible person. D: I haven't updated in such a long time... Well, enjoy!
Len I
I'm Len Kagamine.
I've always been quite weak for someone my age.
I grew up in a family where secrets were not shared and a cold, forbidding air hung over every family gathering.
I hope you won't be the same.
/ It's really quiet in this room. A breeze ruffles the startlingly white curtains, blowing the fresh spring air gently at my face. I raise my eyes to look at the children playing outside; they don't even miss me, as they frolic and dance about. A feeling of loneliness gnaws at my chest. \\\
The outside world is filled of many wonders and surprises. So many scientific discoveries, new remedies, and everything…It must be so fun to be a part in that, in the pleasure of a new, more improved result. Every day there is more news; however small accomplishments may be, like a neighbor getting rid of an annoying suitor. Most of the time, this news is very intriguing—I normally hear it from the women who gossip out of my window, believing that I'm too weak to decipher what they're saying. They have a way of making everything sound interesting. It hurts, to not be able to be one of the children who would ogle the adults as they go about in their businesses.
I've been very weak in my entire life, spending most of it in a sickroom. The slightest wind can result in a vigorous coughing fit. A few degrees off what I'm able to tolerate, and I fall down with a fever. One blanket gone, I'm taken over with chills.
My mother is almost always busy, having to support her sickly son and get medicines for him, and earn a living for herself. I don't know why she doesn't throw me out to be a homeless child to roam the streets and die in a few days. She loves extravagant living; her father was once a rich merchant before he died at sea. Sending me away would save her a great deal of money.
And yet, every day I see her come home she has a new sack of remedies in her hand, smiling gently at me.
I wish I could be stronger and be proud that I'm still living, that I hung on for all the years I've lived.
But I'm not.
And I know she isn't, either, because she isn't granted the joy of seeing her son grow stronger; instead, every day she's burdened with the fact that he might be dying any day now.
—~'~—
I'm not even surprised when Mom walks in through the door without her daily groceries—which is mostly made of my medicine. Her pace is incredibly hurried, and breath shudders through her chest as she hurries to put her silken, laced brown umbrella away. Still, I can see the happiness dancing in her eyes; maybe she's excited that she's finally disposing at me at last?
But what she says is totally unexpected.
"Len, I asked Haku to bring better cures. Since the ones I've gotten so far don't seem to be any good—ever since Haku left, you've been getting worse—I've contacted her. She should arrive tomorrow."
"Haku?" I repeat.
"Len, don't tell me you've forgot already." Mom frowns disapprovingly and adjusts her brown veil—she wears it on her hair, and it matches her umbrella; she's been dressing in brown and black ever since Da' died. "Haku is our neighbor, remember? The gray-haired woman whose family died of the epidemic last year, the horrible plague that left you weaker than ever. Remember?"
It takes me a while, but I remember. My thoughts and memories are muddled up, and sometimes I can't distinguish which from which.
"She moved up into the mountains, right?"
Mom nods and smiles. "Her great cures should be even better, after being refreshed in the mountain air, not this sooty town air." She laughs brightly, the sound a slight tinkle. "So hang in there, Len, until the next morning. She's been quite fond of you ever since you were born."
That's because Mom often repeats the story of how Haku helped her give birth to me; "or else," she'd say, "You would have died."
I lean back against the pillows. "Well, okay."
Mom pats my arm. "You'll be fine, Len. You're just too pessimistic to come to the fact."
—~'~—
Mom's excited. She's pacing back and forth, not able to sleep. A candle is in her hand; her teal hair flows over her back, as she parades up and down the stairs in her black silk nightgown, laced carefully by skillful hands with patterns of white silk—the only she'd ever wear, she told me, after Da's death. In any case, I can't sleep with her like this, but I don't blame her excitedness. Tomorrow morning Mom would go to the entrance to this town—the only entrance—and meet her old friend.
The curtains are drawn over the window, which is my only way to find out news from the outside, but I can still see the faint glow of the moon slicing across the night sky. It's quiet, if my mother's thumping around isn't mentioned.
"Aren't you happy, Len?" Mom asks me. "After all, Haku took care of you ever since you were a baby, while I was gone…"
I shrug. I don't know her that well. Maybe Mom would, but Haku…she rarely speaks, and is awkward to associate with when I'm feeling under the weather. I could only sit on my bed with a wide-eyed gaze as she moves around, doing things that Mom would usually do if she was home. It makes me feel pretty useless, and although I know Haku would never blame anyone but herself, I feel bad for that.
"I'm fine, I guess," I say softly.
Mom notices this and nods. She snuffs out the candle and pulls up my covers, pecking my cheek. "Have a nice sleep, Len."
—~'~—
I arouse myself on my own accord in the morning. My vision is fuzzy, and I could barely see anything but the blur of gray that slips into my vision. When it finally clears, I'm aware of the storm the birds are chirping up. There's a small elm tree just outside my window, when Haku planted it a few years ago. It grows slowly, but I can just see a fat blue jay perched on it, singing all by itself. Its melodious chirps carry its song far and away, as if the song is an airy river of gold and the harmonious chirps are the wings that make it fly up, up into the sky. I don't bother turning my head; I lie there, in the peaceful moments just before dawn breaks across the flat gray sky, forever stained with the dust in the air. The sunrises here aren't even pretty; they're simply pastel colors, even more faint because of the thick layer of soot. There's no point in rising early just to behold them. It's coming onto the sky now, the pale ugly colors falling through the thin curtains and landing on the snow-white blankets. Shadows of the windowpanes fitted together cuts the irregular light of the sunrise into neat squares. Upon waking, I'm aware that my joints are sore. They always are, in the mornings; sometimes I feel like an old man. The colors on my blankets don't help it one bit.
I shift myself on my bed. I'm not sure if I can even walk anymore, but I'm curious if my mother is on her way.
As soon as I'm able to sit upright, my spine suddenly gives way and I fall, defeated, back onto the mattress. It's happened several times now. I don't like looking like an imbecile in bed—sometimes children even come and tease me, even though they're several years younger than me—so that's why I try to curtain the windows as thickly as I could, but I still like seeing the outside world.
My two differing opinions make me torn.
Still, it's strange that I'd worry about a window when there are much deeper things in life.
I just can't reach it; it's painfully out of my weak grasp.
I turn my head slightly now, more fluidly since I can't hear the joint crack. Yes, there the colors are—still shining on the sky. It's too calm, too little contrast, for my taste. Everything about my life is dull. I watch as the shadow of a woman in a bonnet hurries out, bucket in hand, to some distant well that is not polluted. Aah, not easy to find. She'd have better luck trying to digest the grimy water sold in the stores.
Where do I get my water? I really don't know, but I'm sure it's not from the wells, nor is it from the store. Either that, or Mom has to handpick the dirt particles out of it.
I don't like the thought of that.
But where is she? I haven't heard her…
Maybe Mom is out fetching Haku. But this early in the morning? Why? I listen some more; yet I still cannot hear Mom. I heave a sigh, and look out the window again, thoroughly lonesome. Ever since Haku had not been able to babysit me anymore, I've always been incredibly lonely. I would inch through the day alone, without anyone to speak to or share interests with. Dull as Haku may seem, she could be a great listener.
My eyes hurt.
It's strange how they hurt. Just…pure pain radiating from my eyes, not with any irritation or anything. It's throbbing, not sharp. I want to clutch my head in my hands, but I can't.
It's another part of my illness, chipping away at yet another part of my life.
There's no escape from it all. No escape from reality, no escape to the dreams, no nothing.
Just me.
And my weak body.
As I think these thoughts, I usually slip almost unconsciously into sleep. It's a natural phase of my deliriousness when I'm sick (which I usually always am). I only feel my eyelids drooping, and then the darkness wraps around me like a warm blanket. My mind drifts off restlessly, visions with sharp cutting edges jutting around in my head. And then I would sleep, the length of my unconsciousness varying; sometimes I would wake up a minute or two after, and sometimes almost eight hours. Either way, I almost always wake up with the bedsheets drenched in sweat, so violently that it takes quite some time for my heartbeat to slow down to a comfortable pace.
In time, I've grown to recognize the signs that make this.
So when my body starts to relax, but muscles still stay rigid, I know I'm going to sleep. And perhaps die in my sleep.
I don't. I won't. I'm not. I'm not afraid of it.
In fact, I welcome it almost every time I get this feeling in my bones. Maybe today would be the day I would finally say my goodbye to the cruel world. Maybe today I could step onto a spiral of marble stairs, making my way up to the great place everyone goes to after they die, and fly into my dead relatives' open arms. Perhaps I can live on, without worrying about my terribly weak body anymore. Leave my mom forever. That'd be desirable, right?
I never cease to ponder these thoughts the first time I recognize these signs. I would stare out the window, and think, simply think, until my thoughts feel rough and grating and jarring, like a hoarse throat in need of cough syrup. Then my body would collapse, and I would drift off.
I'm not sure how long I slept, but I can feel Mom's breath tickling my ear and footsteps and unfamiliar voices and sounds. I jerk upright, but almost immediately fall back onto the pillows again, defeated by my unused muscles. Haku's here. They're here. I blink several times before my vision adjusts; I make out a tall white-haired woman's figure, a blond man standing next to her, and a rather short blonde girl next to him, clutching his hand. Her gaze is fixed firmly on me, and she has a look of honest curiosity on her face. What? Are mountain folk this mannerless that—
It's this time that I realize I didn't even bother to tie my hair into the ponytail I would wear at the base of my neck. I blush to the roots of my hair when I realize I must look so much like a girl. Yes, that's probably why she's staring at me. My hair makes me look so girly, accompanied by my unusually soft, extremely pale skin (due to never working in the fields, or being beaten down by the sun) and large green eyes that are features normally reserved for girls.
I haven't been with company for a long time, so I'm not sure what to say or, if a thought comes to mind, how to say it.
Instead, the blonde man nudges his daughter, and she steps forward timidly. Offering her hand to me. I stare at it, not sure what to do; before remembering that it's for shaking, not for pulling me out of bed. I feel a flush rise onto my cheeks another time, and I shake it timidly.
Her strong grip is the complete opposite of mine. My unexercised hand muscles make my hand limp in hers. Surprise crosses her face a second time.
I've probably embarrassed Mom to no end by now.
But instead of blushing furiously like I am now, Mom smiles radiantly at Haku, the blonde man, and the girl. "It's so nice of you to come here and bring medicine! A treat. Len, say hello," she instructs me. I shrink away; it comes to me almost on instinct. But Mom and the rest of the people in my room are waiting for me to say something, anything.
"Hello," I whisper. It's a lot of change from what tone I use to speak with Mom. When I talk with Mom, I speak casually, my voice rising up and down on the notes. But when I talk with them…It shocks even myself. I suddenly turn into a wild dog cowering in the shadows, hiding from the people who are chasing him, trying to hide with soft whimpers of fear. Why am I scared of them? They're just…they're just people, like you and I. What's there to be afraid of? But I still feel too timid for me to voice aloud. I look at their faces; indifference on Haku's, since she already knows my name. The blonde man nods curtly, and the girl is looking at me, curiosity not gone, as if willing me to push further. "I'm Len Kagamine," I add quickly, in case they need my name a second time.
Surprise flickers across the man's face now. "Funny. Our family name is Kagamina. I'm Leon." He shakes my hand; his grip is commanding, unlike the girl's, which lets me do whatever I want, pretty much. His eyes are a deep olive, his hair a platinum blonde, almost silver, but still noticeably blonde. His hand is rough, scarred from years of work. I suddenly feel very lonely and left out; since he is shocked, too, to feel the softness of my hand.
"In any case," he says, "call me Leon. My daughter Rin is here," and the little blonde girl smiles.
Mom nods and smiles too. "I'm Miku Hatsune. It's a pleasure to meet you, Leon and Rin. Len knows Haku already"; her eyes have a tender look in them, in thanks for Haku's deeds. Haku does a small, short wave, as if to say, Don't mention it. "In any case, do you want to join me for a glass of wine in the living room? Len, you may come if you want…" Her eyes now harbor a bit of worry, for she knows that it's not easy for me to stand up on my feet at all. "I have gingerbread, too, for Rin," she adds, swerving around to aim a friendly smile at Rin. "What do you say? Len?"
"I'll stay here," I volunteer.
"That's alright. Now, Haku, Leon, Rin?"
"Rin, you want to join…?"
Said girl shrugs. "Well, I kinda want to enjoy the view out the window here…" This day is full of surprises. What's there to see outside the window?
Leon looks hesitantly at his daughter.
"I'm fine," she insists. He sighs and turns back to Haku and Mom.
"Is there anything dangerous in this room…? Rin's quite adventurous…"
Mom shakes her head. "No, the drawers are empty. I put there for show." I know that isn't true; she put it there when she thought she'd have a healthy boy that would outgrow his clothes often. But now…it is kind of for show, because I don't need much except for some of the clothing sick people wear.
"Father, I'm not a baby," Rin says, sounding kind of annoyed. "I'm not stupid and I know what stuff is dangerous and what is not." Leon simply shakes his head.
"Well, I'll take your word for that, then. I would like a glass of wine, yes. I haven't tasted good red wine in a long time."
"You know me," Haku says, and Mom smiles again, and leads them out of the room.
Once they're gone, Rin takes a casual seat at the end of my bed. Why is she doing that? Isn't she even worried she'd sit on my toes? But no, she isn't; the way she moves makes everything seem like she's sure about what she's doing. I can only stare at her from my corner of the bed, as she picks at her hair, glancing out the window, or just plain staring into blank silence.
"Why are you caged up like this?" she finally asks in that high, breathy voice.
I try to shrug, but it doesn't come easy for someone whose muscles have worn away. "I'm sick."
Her mouth forms a slight O. "All the time?"
"Pretty much." For some reason, I feel that a few words in exchange are enough, but apparently Rin doesn't think so. She begins chattering brightly about the town, how great it is, how wondrous the world is, what beauty there is, the things here that aren't there in the mountains, and asking me naïve, ignorant questions that I laugh to myself at. Can you really buy toys at the shops? Are people really that talented to be able to find a way to make a loom? Does she really not know the answers to those questions? Is there a point in asking, or is she just trying to make conversation?
"You look like a girl," Rin comments unexpectedly, and my breath catches in my throat, producing a slight hiccup. I shift my weight on the pillows, feeling a cooler spot I could lie on.
"Yes?" I say, not knowing what else to do.
She shrugs. "Back at my home in the mountains, every season Mother would cut Oliver's hair," she explains. "His hair…Well, it's kind of long since it grows pretty fast, but he looks like a man—…Did I offend you?" Rin asks worriedly, as I avert my eyes. "I mean, doesn't anyone cut your hair? It's shoulder length, and that's how long my hair is…Anyway, a few years ago Oliver injured his eye, so that's why he has to wear this bandage over it all the time. It looks like an eyepatch those pirates wear, except it's thicker."
Her words are constant and quick, and witty. Interesting few days this will be.
I had fun making Rin like this in this chapter~ X3
Hopefully I didn't put any asterisks. I don't like reading back and then discovering that I didn't explain a reference I marked, and then I have to do the whole process over again. Read and review~
~Unyielding Wish
