I've already been shot. I can feel the metal bullets inside my skin, and I can feel the blood slowly dripping down from the puncture wounds on my thigh and stomach. For some reason, my thoughts drift to canvas. The brush is in my hand, as I slather deep crimson onto the dark background. The clash between the foreground and background is useful, drawing the audience's eyes immediately to the deep red. My blood against the dark scene behind me.
I gasp in pain as I struggle to stand, struggle to run away. But my legs refuse to work. I can't move. It's not the hurt that's keeping me in place. It's fear. I'm in the presence of a murderer. A boy has just killed two others. Two other boys who were his friends. If Kazuo can kill his friends without a second thought, then I'm as good as dead.
I can see him. His back is facing me, but he doesn't seem to fade into the darkness around him. No, instead the oblivion seems to radiate from him, like the god of darkness. He slowly lowers his gun, and for a moment, I wonder if he's forgotten I'm here. But Kazuo spins around, his eyes suddenly falling on my figure. I whimper and try to slide away from him, but I get no where. Kazuo does not advance on me, he simply stares, like he's observing me.
I can't stare at his eyes. In the past, they were the only thing that truly mystified me. Time after time, I would find myself staring at him, watching the dark orbs that were his eyes. I'd sketch his face, over and over, trying to capture the essence of his gaze. But no amount of art training could help me. His eyes are dark swampy water, pools of grey murk. They hold no life, no light. It's as if the sun's rays flow directly inside his optics and are lost there, trapped, absorbed. Drawn in like black holes – not even light can escape.
I think, at some point, I wanted to know why his eyes were like that. I wouldn't call it an infatuation – more like curiosity. People's eyes don't transform into black holes for no reason. They are forced into that condition. But my curiosity didn't go any further than that. I had heard what Kazuo did when he wasn't in school. He was the leader of his gang, the most dangerous boys in our class. I didn't want to get any nearer Mitsuru or Ryuhei or Hiroshi. Those boys truly scared me. Besides, I couldn't associate myself with gangs – what would my father say?
I'm not intrigued by his eyes anymore. They terrify me. I can feel their pull, the black holes trying to devour me. The fear screams inside my head as the god of darkness aims the gun and my body. He pulls the trigger and five bullets rush from the gun before a loud clacking noise fills the air. I can't feel any new pain, but I know I've been shot some more. The air rushes from my body as Kazuo stares down at his gun, walks over to his duffel bag, and pulls out some more ammunition.
The full moon reflects off the metal in his hand. For a moment, I wonder how I would paint this scene. The large moon would be low in the sky, directly over Kazuo's head, the reflection off his gun a painful white. I would be in the foreground, the light illuminating the bullet holes in my body, the crimson red of my blood for all to see. But Kazuo's body would be shrouded in darkness. Swirls of blue and purple emitting from his body, swirling around him. And his eyes would be blacker than the night sky. The black holes from which nothing escapes.
I shake my head, feeling woozy. Why am I thinking like this? I can't keep laying here. He's going to kill me! I struggle to stand, and this time, my legs respond. I feel some new pain, but I push it away. I place one leg beneath my body and attempt to stand, when my knee gives out, and I plummet to the ground once again. Dirt and filthy water enter my mouth, and I spit them both out with a cry.
I glance up and see that Kazuo has been watching me. His gun is already reloaded, but he hasn't pulled the trigger, or even aimed the gun at me. He's been watching me, observing how I move. I grit my teeth, placing both feet beneath my torso and crawl into a sitting position. I strain myself, finally pulling my body upright. I'm hunched over, the tiny aches in my body seeming to recede. I stand with dignity, staring into the emptiness before me. I refuse the black holes, defy them. I stand in opposition to them, to the god of darkness who holds them.
But it's not enough for me. I want to know. I want to know why Kazuo's murky orbs exist. I want to know what happened to him. I want to know why he's playing. I want to know what's happening inside his brain. I want to know…why I'm going to die.
I breathe heavily, only managing one word.
"Why?" I gasp.
Kazuo stares back at me, the moonlight shining brightly off his machine gun.
"Why not?" he replies, the gunshots almost drowning out his answer.
No light can escape the black holes. I succumb to them.
