Do the questions of an imperfect soul not trouble those who have been left unmarked by fate's cruel jurisdiction?

Who is to say that I cannot be normal?

I question my identity every day because truthful validation never came.

I question my sanity every hour because I have no sense to keep it to myself.

But maybe it is the life of a misfit that is destined to shape me into something more than the general gluttonous degenerate.

Or, maybe not.

But since nobody cares to hear my cries or take notice to my lamentation,

Do my tears really fall?

I believe they do.

They feel warm against my skin,

and they leave quite noticeable consequence

in the form of unattractive emotional frenzy

interrupted by short spurts of gasping for air

a nightmare that I feel the need to keep to myself;

why let the public's cold, unfeeling eyes witness yet another fault?

But even as my doubts lead me, I feel myself nearing a conclusion

only to begin again.

though this circle may seem tempestuous to me,

perhaps it is only because I find myself caught

in the very eye of the storm;

thinking all is well

only to be hit by a massive wave of destruction.

But I digress.

What are queries without anyone to truly read them?

I wrote, hands shaking fitfully and making the words nearly illegible. Kathy had encouraged this; putting my deepest thoughts down on paper. But what did she understand? She had come here from Australia in an attempt to diversify. I was probably just another case to her, and it seemed like she had lost interest in anything I had to say anymore.

She just made me write about things I wasn't comfortable even saying aloud, things that made me question everything about me. She always insisted that it was exactly what she wanted, and made all the appropriate faces, but it always seemed too rehearsed to me. Too prim and proper to be real. Weren't therapists supposed to randomly spout proverbial wisdom and get overly involved? Oh, well. It wasn't like I hadn't had my fair share of those, too. And of all of my therapists, she had lasted the longest.

Things had gone strangely at school that day; neither Mei or Ren had showed up, and Sam completely blew me off to go flirt with someone new. Could it be that my life was even more destitute without his attention being squandered on me? That was selfish, and I knew it.

But Mei and Ren? That had to be something involving my birthday. Though my depression hindered me from feeling too excited by my upcoming milestones (graduation, birthday, blah), I was still anticipating whatever surprise was in store.

I was at home now, locked safely and privately in my room, sitting on my bed.

I felt like a nutjob, nonetheless. I mean, seriously. It sounded like a fairy tale to even my ears, and I probably would've assumed it so if I wasn't so solidly convinced that all of it had been real.

Why hadn't I had anything physical to prove it? Nothing but stupid dreams and memories.

My mind caught on that thought, trying to dredge up something.

There was something... it hadn't been enough, though. Had I taken the clothes that Lin gave me? No, that wasn't right...

Maybe a bath token?

My mind continued like this in circles, rejecting any idea I threw at it.

I struggled to cut through all the fog and red tape that enveloped those years, to no avail. My overworked brain had had enough, and I needed agua.

As I reached towards my water absentmindedly, my arm froze midair as I noticed a smooshed woven circle under the bottom of the glass, the lavender color barely visible due to the limited light provided by the lamp.

As nondescript as it would've seemed to anyone else, it was unmistakable to me.

The hairbow!

That HAD to be proof.

It had been woven by the very creatures that were believed to be fictitious. Cautiously, I glanced sideways at my bedside table, noticing upon closer inspection how the hairbow, no longer warped by the bottom of the glass, shimmered in the dim light.

I still believed in it's magic, but now that my mother knew it's significance, I couldn't be caught wearing it anywhere.

Realizing how ridiculous this was, my thoughts deviated briefly.

So many restrictions, caused by just one slip of the tongue. Everyone walked on eggshells around me, as if I was some hysteric. How had all of this happened so quickly?

I sighed mournfully.

I was going to have to do it now. I'd become too distracted, and the urge to hold my only real memento grew too strong to resist.

Putting down the pad and paper, I stretched my arm out to pick up the tight mesh of woven strands and cradle it in my hand. It was so fragile in appearance, but it radiated the same solidarity and security of a steel wall. I slipped it into my hair, marveling over the fact that it could hold it's own in the thick, straight jungle despite it's dainty looks. My hair had been finer when I was younger, and most definitely easier on ponytail holders of any kind. I hadn't used one of these in forever. I usually had to buy the painful elastic kind, which made me hesitant to consider wearing my hair up — even for special occasions.

But just as this was similar, it was completely different, and unlike anything else. It was strong and silky, and the feel of it made me have a flashback too painful and real to be a fabricated trick of my mind.

It was walking into the boiler room that first time, and meeting Kamaji. I could still smell the soot and coal, and feel the sticky heat on my face, just like I was leaping backwards in time as opposed to simply reliving it. The emotion overwhelmed me, and in the silence my joy and tentative surprise spoiled and turned to fevered anguish.

Riding the wave of emotion that seemed ridiculous even then, I tried to reach out the tendrils of my mind to touch whatever level of consciousness Haku was on. I thought as if I was speaking, trying to keep the profound hurt that had marred me out of my voice. Some irrational part thought that without taking this precaution, he wouldn't recognize it.

Haku, Haku. Where are you?

Then louder;

Haku, why didn't you ever come back to me? Don't you know what you did? Don't you know all of the shit you've caused, and how my life is a complete wreck because of you?!

This continued on and on for fifteen minutes or so, relieving some of the crushing pain that had appeared with this discovery.

But soon the high of my delirium came to a point, too sweet to relinquish so quickly.

And, much like a drug addict, I craved more of this ambrosial release. This wasn't enough.

I needed something better than a monotonous repetition of all that I had ever thought, in the same way that nobody watches reruns all of the time.

I kicked it up a notch or two, and that only cut it for a few minutes, not nearly as long.

This pattern continued until, finally, my mind was screaming, trying to transmit all of the accumulated doubts and pain into one pure, silent shriek.

I lost all care for what heard me, only caring that he heard me. I was sure that no matter how heartless and greedy he had been, this sound of pure agony would break him, body and soul.

I realize now that there was complete silence on the outside, but in my head the whirling fury became so loud that had it been an external sound, it would've quite easily broken glass. But angry as I was, the tears wouldn't stop falling. As angry as I was, I still couldn't deny that there was an unmistakable longing under all of my protective contradictions.

My fit was eventually interrupted.

I sprung up, startled by the sounds of someone approaching. It was strange, though; unlike hearing footfall on the stairs, my mind didn't really register where they came from, just that they were there.

Soon enough, there was a sharp knock that I recognized immediately. Of course it was Mom.

She had always had lousy timing when it came to these things, and she lacked the finesse to really deal with emotional situations, so this was sure to be awkward. I had unlocked my door about ten minutes before, and I silently thanked myself for providing this accidental salvation.

"Come in," my speech was muffled by my pillow, my pathetic attempt at camouflaging my undoubtedly tear-stained face and husky voice.

Breath catching in my throat, I realized that the sound had been too hollow, sounding like it came from a window and not my door.

Fear and anticipation gripped at me and tore at my sanity. A logical person would've run for their life. An intelligent person's brain would've made them shoot out of that room like a bat out of hell by pure reflex, and yet I stayed frozen in place, locked in my panic like a sitting duck.

What if it was a burglar? My mind scrambled for any information it had about how to deter an intruder.

We hadn't had crime in this area for years, but someone's house always had to be first; the tip of the iceberg. Or what if it was something worse? A hired assasin, or maybe just a bloodthirsty man who wanted to torture some innocents?

Calm down, Chihiro, I told myself in an attempt to slow my irrational thinking. It wasn't working, and I could feel that my panic would soon consume me.

My heart was racing in my ears, and the air was suddenly much too thin. My breath came faster as the window eased open, and wheezed towards hyperventilation as the figure, swathed in black cloth, silently slid into my room. The shadow-thing walked towards me, and I shut my eyes briefly, praying that whatever end I was about to meet would be quick. After what seemed like hours of tension with no release, I opened my eyes again.

I can't quite recall what happened next, because as the figure came into clear view, my vision got fuzzy and the world went completely black for a while.

The blackness was not unconsciousness, because I can distinctly remember how tangible the panic still was. My thoughts still raced, and I tasted something metallic. Not unconsciousness at all. Just... unawareness. I couldn't see, but I could still feel. I couldn't hear, but I knew I could still speak.

When I came to, I was pleasantly surprised to find I was not dead, and sitting upright on my bed, leaning against the soft, warm headboard that Mom had made for me all of those years ago.

But something was off. I could feel it.

Shrugging, I tried to calm myself and remedy my sudden and unexplained unease.

The metallic taste had been blood from the inside of my cheek, which I had been biting painfully. My pen and paper were right beside me, just where they had last been. The only thing that had changed was...

There was now a lump on the back of my head, and my hair was down. I would've sworn I'd put it up. I groped around and inside the covers trying, to no avail, to locate the missing hairbow.

Oh, who cares? You're insane anyway!, I thought to myself sardonically.

I had probably imagined all of it and blacked out from the stress of writing down my innermost feelings, I rationalized. Stretching my hand out without lifting my arm, I grasped at the notepad, not wanting to move an inch away from my warm resting place.

Unable to reach it, I attempted to nudge it with my foot, curling my leg awkwardly in the process.

I squirmed gracelessly for a few more minutes, not wanting to move away from the silky warmth of my resting place.

Internally cursing my short legs, I grunted, coming to the conclusion that this was never going to work.

"Aw, crap. I'm going to have to get up, aren't I?" I groaned and lurched forward the tiniest bit, my fingers just barely brushing the edge of the notepad. But it was enough; I snatched it up quickly, and leaned backwards with as much force as I could muster. I got back to writing, but for some reason couldn't read the words coming from my pen.

My hand was moving, but somehow it wasn't my hand any longer.

I stiffened, abruptly realizing that I had removed my cushy headboard years ago and replaced it with a wrought-iron sculpted headboard, which was definitely neither warm nor soft.

Terror seizing me in it's jaws, I tried to turn my head, but I couldn't. I was locked into place, unable to move, but this time not due to panic. I just couldn't move. I wasn't in control of my body anymore, and suddenly there was hot, unpleasantly damp breath on the back of my neck, and it moved hastily towards my ear.

Oh God, what was this thing? Disgust tempered my thoughts for a moment, until I heard a soft, gruff voice and a sound, like a zipper.

I shrieked, but it made no sound. I couldn't see. The unaware blackness had returned.

Though the monster had blinded me and made me mute, I could still hear him whisper the words that made my blood race and my pulse climb.

"Chihiro, it's me. But something happened when I crossed into your world. I don't think you'll like me anymore..." the Monster's voice faltered, and, with a shock, I realized what it meant.

As my heart pounded in my ears, a soft, sticky sound, I shook my head. This was ridiculous. I'd never cared about anything more than this day. It wasn't going to be ruined by some foolish insecurity of his.

I had so many questions. Why hadn't he answered all of the times I had screamed for him before? Why did he pick now?

But perhaps the biggest question was for me.

Should I be angry with him still, or should I let the mounting joy overwhelm the once-volcanic anger that now glowed dim as an ember?

I realized I wasn't ready to answer either question, and something miraculous happened.

It was like some great weight had been removed from my chest. I found that I could move again, and see. I had to see him.

Turning to look at him, skull buzzing with anticipation, I was stopped by a violent shaking. My vision blurred, and I heard a thunderous rumble as I tossed.

There was an earthquake. That was the only plausible explanation for this raw force that threw me like a rag doll.

I could hear my parents yelling downstairs, their faint shouts becoming louder as they ran up the stairs. A shooting pain rocketed up my left side, and scrambled away from the bed, covering my head and screaming.

Suddenly the floor fell out from under me. I dropped in terror, my silent screams doing nothing to stop the quick falling, and the ground getting larger and larger as I plummeted towards it.

I snapped my eyes shut, knowing with chilling clarity that if I was going to die, I'd rather not watch it as it hurtled closer.

And with the sudden darkness, the ground beneath me was soft. I was sitting down, on my bed…

Talk about déjà vu.

"Chihiro! Chihiro, snap out of it or so help me…" Mom's voice sounded shaken, but still didn't sound nearly as bad as I felt.

My head throbbed in a direct complaint against the sudden light, and my hair was damp with –ugh– sweat. What the hell had just happened? Where was Haku? I looked around, slightly disappointed to see only my room.

"Mom?" My voice was weak and barely audible to even my own ears, but Mom seemed to hear well enough. Her face changed instantly to an angry look as she comically shook the journal at me.

"Chihiro, you fell asleep writing in your journal. Don't you know how worried your father and I were?! We thought you had another blackout. We thought we were going to have to take you to the emergency room!" She seemed flustered, and I pitied her for the brief seconds that she was silent.

She had, in fact, gone through all of these years with an insane daughter, crushing all of her hopes of becoming some model PTA mom.

Of course, then she started talking again.

"You really shouldn't do that! I mean, you are going to mess up your sleeping schedule, and you know how much I hate it when you stay up all night and can't go to school the next day."

My compassion shrank amazingly fast, and I tried to pretend I didn't notice when she slipped out of the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

A/N: Sorry this one is so short... I'll have another chapter up really, excruciatingly soon, okay? Maybe even TONIGHT.