A/N: I'm sorry this has taken so long. It is partly due to my laziness and partly due to the fact that I had finals. The classes that should have been easy turned into the curriculum from Hell... Dammit, Jim, I'm a writer not a physicist!
This is kinda short, so don't be surprised if I add more to this chapter later, or change it entirely. It's all too confusing. ach, oh well.
Also, I'm sorry about the false alarm a couple of weeks ago.
So, here's chapter 5! I don't know what you'll think of it. I don't even know what I think of it. Please review.
System log. Current time: 10:19:46.
Kernel yuki-generic forced boot into virtual interface. Failsafe options activated.
No data manipulation permissions. No super user access.
Mounting local drives... Disk error. File system invalid. Mounting anyway...
I don't remember the name of the brown-haired brown-eyed girl standing in front of me. She stares at me as though I am some sort of alien.
She says nothing, but, at the same time, looks like she is trying to communicate something.
When I open my mouth to ask about this, I realize that I have no voice.
The dark eyes in front of me look as though they will explode into tears at any moment, and then she was gone.
For a short eternity, I stood there all alone in the dark. Fleeting ideas race through my mind like individual molecules of water in a stream. These ideas, like water, have no form, no solidity. More abstract and than one of the works of a famous artist, they communicate worlds that cannot be communicated.
In a flash I remembered that girl so long ago. I wonder where she has gone? Slowly and swiftly the dark fog around me lifts. Under the dense gloom is an oddly familiar city.
Concrete walls stand tall and imposing near highways and homes in a sub-par attempt to spare the citizens from the noise of passing traffic.
Somewhere above me, a street light powers on with a near inaudible hum. I hear voices.
"Hey, _!" Says a small girl in a tomboyish outfit. I hear the name that she calls the other, but I forget it almost immediately, as if in a dream. "You promised you'd play with Shami and me today! Stupid, lying _."
They pass out of the dim light bickering in this manner.
Then the light powers off.
In fact, there never was a light. There was never a girl with her brother.
It was mere figment of my imagination.
The light that wasn't there powers on again.
This time, it is the brother of the girl who didn't exist in the first place all alone.
"Hello, _," I say without making a sound. I wonder how I remember his name when I do not recall hearing it before. To speak without making a sound is an exercise in futility. I can tell he doesn't hear my voice.
He pauses here as though searching for something that has been lost. Perhaps his sister?
He could not possibly be looking for me. I do not exist.
He passes out of the light again, this time looking lost and confused.
I wander the now empty streets as a ghost: unknown to others.
Not that there are others to be known to. I do not exist to them, and, in turn, they do not exist to me. This is how it should be.
I remember when I existed in that dream, if only a little.
During those days I had a name. So did the others. The one with raven-black hair and eyes of ice. We did not see things the same way, though we worked towards a common goal.
Come to think of it, I don't remember what that goal was. It was important, whatever it was.
There was turmoil between the two of us. Our methods differed on an important point. I do not remember out methods or the point on which they differed.
I do remember that I sent her here first. I do not remember the circumstances surrounding the exodus. Now, it is her who sent me to this place. This dark place.
But through the dark shone a light, though not a light that could be seen by human eyes. Light that reaches human eyes does not pass through this place. This is our place, and only the light that reaches my eyes can pass through this place.
It is a light that I have seen before, though I do not remember when. It must have been when I had a name.
The girl of the light had brown hair and brown eyes. Eyes that I have seen before in this place. I do not remember where or when. Anyway, I find my voice.
"What is your name?" I ask. I realize that though I hear the words that I am saying, I do not hear my voice.
"I am like you." A ghost? "That's right. Only ghosts can see other ghosts. Isn't that obvious? Damn, you're slow, aren't you?"
The pretty ghost sighs in a most life-like manner.
"Fine. We're going."
Where are we going?
"Wherever you want, but you can only go to the recital."
Isn't that a contradiction in terms?
"Don't be stupid. You only want to go to the recital."
Why should I go to the recital? I don't want to go to the recital.
"Too bad. You have to if you really want to."
But what I've been saying is...
"Shut up! We've wasted too much time already. Before we go to the recital, you have to face the other. Don't ask me why. This is your damned world, not mine."
The other. The raven-haired one.
And just like that, she was there. Death wearing a sailor uniform.
Black hair, midnight blue eyes. Wielding a hunting knife and with a demonic aura about her, she walked towards me with an ugly expression that contrasted with her beautiful face.
"Your god cannot save you, old friend. I will kill you both." Four glowing, white, spidery appendages burst from the back of her uniform. A grin of sheer malice appeared on her pale face. "I would tell you to say your prayers, but it would do you no good. I will kill you no matter how hard you pray."
Does she mean me? She intends to kill ME? What have I done to deserve this? And am I not already dead anyway?
I look around for the helpful female ghost, but all that is left of her is a whisper.
The whisper flies to my ear and tells me this:
"I can no longer help you. This is your world, your fight. You must find your name among the snowflakes. Then you will be a ghost no more. Then you can win against this one, the one that isn't a ghost. Goodbye."
It begins to snow.
"Nameless idiot. You can't beat me here, this is MY world!" With a roar the enemy lunges forward, snapping me back to reality. The light pierces the ground around me and melts the snowflakes that are in the way.
Just before the tentacles pierce my chest, my dormant instincts propel me backwards into a defensive stance, dodging the weapon. I do not know which instincts tell my body to do this or why.
I begin to realize things. Though I am a ghost, I am not dead. Not yet.
Then I begin to remember things. The memories flow down into my brain like the snowflakes reach the soil from the heavens and slowly trickle underground as water.
Such a common thing, and so wonderful, this snow.
RYOKO.A:_
She is just standing there. So far as I can determine, there is no connection to the Data Integration Thought Entity. There is just a void; a void filled by nothing.
I strike. She dodges.
Inconceivable. She dodged that attack without data manipulation.
No, data is in fact being created! Not possible. No one can create data except...
This shall be my name.
With that thought, I was a ghost no more.
Ghosts have no name. I am Yuki Nagato, member of the SOS Brigade.
No longer a ghost, I make my way to the club room. To the recital.
There are no tables, no wardrobe, no random possessions lying about the room.
There is, however, a coffin. And on top of the coffin, is the boy with no name. He smiles gently at me and turns to look behind him.
Behind him was a girl in a white cloth. The cloth came down from the scalp of her head with holes cut out for the eyes, as if she were cosplaying as a generic ghost.
"I'm sorry. I was rather late, but I hope I can be of service." Her voice is high and girlish. She traipses towards me in a manner reminiscent of a maid and smiles.
"Don't worry, Yuki. There is still time." Time until the recital? "Correct."
I wonder why it was so important that I get here, if that is indeed the case.
I look back at the coffin. It is black, and not particularly ornate. A symbol of death as surely as the sun shines.
"Didn't I say we still have time? Relax, enjoy the preparations for the recital." The girl begins to dance slowly, but not sensuously, in a rather carefree manner.
She has no name, but as Kyon is known as Kyon, she is known as Asahina. Whether this is her true identity is unlikely. She continues to dance merrily around the clubroom.
Then I remember my place. It is inside the plain, black coffin.
But Kyon is sitting on the coffin, and so long as he is, I do not have to be inside of it. He begins to sing in time with the dance of the girl.
I will be in this clubroom for as long as Kyon remains. I can stay alive for a little while longer, but the recital must be finished sooner or later.
All living things must die.
Commence reboot.
A/N: This was another pain in the butt chapter. I wrote nine different versions! I'd say that I'd show them to you if you asked, but my computer went down and only the most modern version survived, as it had been stored on my jump drive.
And, cheesy as it sounds, I want to say something about literature and books and, hell, even dime novels.
What's important isn't that you understood all the symbolism and drama. It isn't that you understand the author or his themes any better.
What's important is that it made you think.
I'll get off my soap box now.
inspired by haruhi suzumiya book 8. I tried to give this an "alice in wonderland" sort of feel, but I don't know how I did.
Don't expect chapter 6 out too soon, though I will try very hard to get it done as soon as possible.