I am the knot, Kyouko.
The one in your heart.
The one in mine.
I spend every day in bliss crying sleepy rivers.
My adrenaline is up alongside my bed sores.
I am the happiest person alive right now.
The sky had been black for five years. The clouds were too stubborn to allow light to creep over Mitakihara, for it was a sleepy hollow, cold, gray and indifferent. A deep mist settled over the city once nightfall, or at least the approximate time for nightfall, hit, blanketing the old frozen pond in the park with a veil of white vapor. It was there, laying in the stubby grass, that Momo Sakura sneezed. All the spit sprayed like arrows into the air above her, then fell right back down in a mist of its own on her face. She grimaced, and wiped it off with her sleeve before sitting up and sniffling.
"It's my thirteenth birthday," she whispered to No One In Particular. No One In Particular said nothing in response. Momo stood up and, with all the capacity her lungs could handle, screamed. "It's my birthday!" No One In Particular remained silent. Everything remained silent. Not even an echo of her own voice called back to her.
She sniffled again.
Momo stood before the automatic doors of a nearby Seven Eleven and stared with dull eyes as only one of the doors bothered to do its duty. She squeezed through it regardless, and wandered aimlessly through the aisles of the dingy store. The interior was caked in a pale blue, no doubt from the dying fluorescent bulbs flickering on their last legs in the ceiling. Most of the shelves were unstocked with the few actually containing items being messy.
The snacks were mostly sold out, at least the ones Momo wanted. They had one chocolate coronet, but it was a month past its expiration date. Everything else, frankly put, sucked. She thought she'd have better luck finding a sweet drink, or maybe even an icee, but the machines for cardboard cups were out of service, and the drinks in stock consisted mainly of coffee and beer.
She took the coronet.
The icy winds outside forced themselves on her upon exiting. While the store wasn't exactly warm itself, it didn't treat Momo with open hostility the way Mother Nature seemed to. Nevertheless, she stuffed the coronet in her jacket pocket and trudged back home through the frosty streets of Mitakihara.
Her family's old, wooden house had begun to rot at the foundation thanks in part to the winter's extreme weather. It was never a house known for its aesthetic appeal, but the once humble home now seemed to entertain the sky with its mournful black.
The lights inside were all turned off, much to Momo's dread. Time was a difficult concept to keep track in the absence of daylight. If her parents turned off the lights, that meant she was past curfew. It didn't matter if it was as late or as early as the prior day's curfew. If the lights were off, Momo was late.
She reached underneath a mold encrusted garden gnome on their front porch and procured a key. As quietly as she could muster, she eased the key into the front door and turned it slowly, only the door was already unlocked. It creaked back leaving Momo paralyzed, but after a minute of silence she deemed the coast clear. She slid the key back under the gnome, and tiptoed her way inside.
The foyer was too dark to make anything out, so Momo felt the wall leading to the staircase to find her way up to her room. She attempted to minimize the number of creaks the floor made, though every night the places that would creak multiplied. Still, no one stopped her on her way up, so she was safe.
Inside her room was one unused bed and Kyouko's bed. Momo's old bed became a second closet for her clothes and whatever miscellaneous stuff she dragged back from the streets of Mitakihara. Tonight it was a jacket with a cheap desert, which she had democratically decided to save for the following day when she'd need breakfast. At that moment, she wanted sleep, so she curled into Kyouko's old sheets, tattered as they were from years of use, yet the closest thing to comfort Momo had.
Neon lights shone out from a hallway leading from the backstreets of Mitakihara to an underground club known by those who frequented it as "The Lodge," although its lesser known official name was "The Pink Egg." It was here that Tomoe Mami, dressed in jean shorts and leggings and topped with a pink corset and accompanying chocolate blazer, descended the flight of stairs leading to the club's entrance. She knocked three times, each time being spaced approximately one second after the last, and deliberately hard on her otherwise soft knuckles.
A hatch slid open near the top of the door, revealing a pair of rugged, heterochromatic eyes. In a shrill voice the man behind the door screeched. "Who barks at night?"
"That is not the question," Mami replied, "I think, therefore I know." The hatch shut. A moment later, multiple locks came undone as the door parted slightly from its hinges. Mami pushed it open and entered.
The interior of the club was caked in blue and violet lights refracted off the surface of a lone disco ball hanging from the center of the ceiling. Music so deafening as to dull the senses droned through the spacey room, setting the hairs on Mami's skin permanently on alert. The denizens of the night didn't so much as dance as they paced in time with the beat.
Near the back where the DJ zoned out to his own sonic creations, a woman of profound beauty wearing sunglasses blew tobacco smoke into the club's aether. Mami approached her and bowed. "Is Mother in?"
The woman crossed her legs. "You here for a rodeo, Mami?"
Mami smirked, then did a little twirl. "Is Mother in?"
The woman stood up, unlatched the bolt of a rusty door beside her, and strode past Mami, letting the hems of her dress skirt across the floor. "Sleep is for those who can't afford eyes," she said. Mami nodded and watched with enchantment as she hugged herself on the dance floor.
Within the back room was nothing but a charred school desk. Behind it the wall was black. Not painted so, however. The wall was, simply by its nature, black. The hum of a vent cut through the stiff air of the room, though no ventilation had ever been installed despite its modern architecture.
Mami stepped forward and bowed before the desk. "She has begun to move again."
[OMITTED]
Mami nodded. "I understand. We'll keep an eye on her."
[OMITTED]
"No, I don't think I will dance tonight. I'm feeling a bit uneasy."
[OMITTED]
Mami cracked a smile. "Thank you, Mother. I'll make sure to enjoy myself some other time." Her smile slowly faded as she gazed at the desk. A shiver ran through her body. "Mother," she quivered, "I'm scared of what's to come."
No response.
Mami dried a lone tear in her eye. "Of course. I'll really enjoy myself. I'll really, really enjoy myself. I promise." She bowed one last time. "Thank you again, Mother."
Outside the back room the party had mellowed considerably. The only person left dancing was the woman in shades, who Mami joined. A waltz all to themselves and no other except each other.
SHHHK. SHHHK. SHHHK.
Suddenly there was a light in the dark bedroom. It was burning. A match. The smell snapped Momo out of her sleep. Above her was a sullen face. Her father's. "Why?" He said. "Why?" Momo stared. He continued murmuring. "Why? It's so simple. Why?" His gaze moved to hers. She couldn't look away. Not anymore. That made him angry. "Why?" He asked. "Why were you late again?" He reeked of booze. The fire adorning the match dissipated.
SHHHK. SHHHK. SHHHK.
Another fire. A scowl replaced his sorrow. "I asked why." Momo was too petrified. She could only stare wide eyed at his figure. "Answer me you fuck! Why the fuck were you fucking late?"
Momo's lips quivered. "L-l-l-lake—"
"Did you see her?" He stood. "Did you fucking see her?"
"N-no."
"Lying bitch! You saw her!" His hand reeled back and smacked her across the cheek. "Why?" He said. "It's so simple. Why?"
The match went out.
Momo flung herself to the floor. He tripped over her. She felt along the cover of her older bed until she found the cotton of her jacket. Bumping into the wall, she ran out. Down the stairs. To the door. His footsteps echoed behind her. Her mother's voice called out, shrill. She kept running. And running. And running. Until her legs burned. Until her head hurt.
She wound up back at the only place known to her, underneath a small cobblestone bridge beside the lake. The air was freezing, yet she couldn't stop huffing and sweating. She brought her knees to her head and shut her eyes.
Footsteps trailed beside her.
SHHHK.
Her breathing hastened.
SHHHK.
Her chest constricted.
SHHHK.
A broken match dropped onto the dirt nearby, yet something was still burning. Tobacco. She glanced up. A woman with blue hair puffed on a cigarette. Said woman noticed Momo staring. "What's a girl like you doing under a bridge this late at night?"
Momo's breathing worsened. It became uncontrollable to the point she wheezed for air.
The woman quickly dumped a pile of groceries onto the ground, ashes her cigarette and held a newly empty paper bag to Momo's mouth. "Breathe. Come on, now. Breathe." Momo inhaled. The bag deflated. She exhaled. The bag inflated. She repeated the process again and again. A few more times. Once more. Another. Lastly.
Momo's chest seemed to unknot gradually with each breath. She relaxed her body in the woman's arms, letting her hands glide through her hair as she nestled closer to her bosom. The woman felt her forehead. "You don't seem sick, thankfully. Do you have asthma?"
Momo shook her head. She wanted to throw up, but a moment's silence brought forth a violent quiver from her chin. She eyed through tears the discarded cigarette as it simmered in the dirt and spoke unsteadily with sobs. "I'll pay for your groceries." The woman stared at her baffled, so she attempted to repeat herself. "I'll pay."
What followed was a wail from the back of Momo's throat, one that was bawdy and ugly. It would have eclipsed the sound of the river had her voice the strength to carry, but it simply dissolved into a blubbering which, itself, dissolved into soft whimpers.
The woman held Momo until her cries died down. She then kissed her head. "Forget about everything. Just relax, okay?"
"I think I'm okay now, ma'am." Momo wanted to stand up to prove her point, but the warmth of the woman's embrace was too valuable to rebate.
"What's your name?" The woman asked.
"Momo."
The hand massaging her scalp ceased. "Momo?"
"Yes ma'am."
Momo's face was suddenly cupped. The woman drew close to her face, inspecting her features carefully, and then, strangely enough, began quivering at the chin. The embrace grew tighter. "Dear god, I never thought I'd see you again."
"Ma'am?"
"Sayaka," she said. "I've missed you so much."
In an instant, memories of years past flashed through Momo's mind, ones involving her sister and her best friend, ones with a chatty, blue haired girl who visited often; one who was kind and one who was a friend.
And then it was Momo's turn to cry again. "Sayaka…." She hugged back with all her might, squeezing her eyes shut. "Sayaka."
Fear me, for I am the destruction of innocence,
The violence embedded in flesh.
My eyes a-glow speak of rivers
That rattle me to the bone with shivers.
A moment of stress that nonetheless
Ushers in good vibrations.
Good, good vibrations.
I hope you're all ready for another esoteric chapter for a story that otherwise died four years ago. Expect no consistency with updates whatsoever. Not that you probably did anyways given the aforementioned deadness of this story. Though then again if you're a returning reader you're probably used to waiting unreasonably long bouts of time without new content, so, uhh, hang in there, I guess. You're doing great!
To anyone still reading this after so many years, please let me know what you thought of this new chapter. I'd be interested to know if people genuinely want an ending to this story regardless of whether it is the ending everyone expected. I am frankly too different of a person now to write the conclusion of the original Unholy Confessions, which was, itself, a product of a very specific time in my teenage life that I cannot reproduce due to my changing, and which I honestly have no desire to reproduce. Instead, if the reception to this new chapter leads me to think there's an invested audience, I'll try and deliver a continuation that wraps things up in a new manner, one more truthful to who I am now and what this story is in its essence as an abandoned fanfiction.
All comments and critiques are graciously welcomed. Thank you for reading my bizarro zarro writing.