WISH WARRIORS
~Puella Magi Dresden Magica~
CHAPTER 1 – Witch's Kiss
Why? Why did it have to end like this? My last coherent thought as I hung from the railing, on the edge of life and death, was subdued, quiet, like a distant echo. In one of the back tunnels of the cave that was my brain, I was screaming, "No!" But that scream didn't reach as my body, as if deciding on its own, let go.
They say your entire life flashes by before you die. But for me, my mind only flashed as far back as yesterday, as if I was trying to figure out how I came to be here, falling from the bridge.
It was a normal Thursday, and I was two months into ninth grade. I woke up to my phone alarm ("Calling" from The World Ends with You), got ready for the day, ate breakfast, said goodbye to Mom, and caught the bus to school. Since mine was one of the first stops, I got my pick of empty seats. I always chose whichever was closest to the front. There weren't enough seats to keep this one to myself, but whoever sat next to me ignored me anyway, and I read my fantasy novel quietly, making the ignoring mutual. My headphones drowned out the bus driver's incessant pop radio with my own music – this time, it was Kill Them All by Metallica. Their debut album, and a classic.
In the first class, English, the teacher wrote down five different books on the white board. "Today we are starting a group project," she said. "I'm letting you choose your groups. No more than six per team. Some of you will have five. Once everyone is settled, we will decide which book your project will be focused on with a drawing." She gave us the signal to go ahead, and my classmates all stood up and started changing seats, talking excitedly. I stayed in mine, shoulders slumped, and picked up my book. I had to distract myself before the anxiety set in. If only I could listen to music in class. Just one earbud would be enough. I thought, not for the first time.
"Dresden, go find a group," the teacher said.
I stood up at her prompting, looking back and forth between classmates. No one met my gaze, so I stayed where I was. Tension mounted inside me, causing time to slow to a crawl and white noise to fade into my ears. After two eternities (minutes) passed and the groups were formed, the teacher sighed the same way she did every time she asked us, more specifically me, to partner up.
"Dresden, you'll be in in this group. Now find your seat."
I obeyed and sat with my group. At least when the teacher tells me who to be with, it isn't my fault that I'm there. The white noise dissipated.
After the teacher explained the assignment and we picked which story we would be reporting on, the teacher gave us the rest of the classtime to discuss how we would divide up the work.
"Hey, would you mind presenting?" One of the boys in my group asked.
"Huh?" It took me a moment realize that he was talking to me. I started to answer, "Uh, sure," but was immediately overtaken by another boy.
"C'mon, you know she can't present. She doesn't even talk."
The first boy laughed. "I was just joking, obviously."
I can present just fine, actually, I muttered in my head, but I said nothing. In the end, I was stuck with the most boring task – filling out a worksheet – like always.
World History went by slowly. As the teacher droned on about important dates in the French Revolution, I daydreamed about the latest adventure for a story I was writing about a diverse party of heroes banding together in order to save the realm of dreams. A bit meta, I know. And naturally, since it was my dream, I was in the party, too. With the power of heavy metal, I brutally crushed my enemies and then raised them back to life to join the ranks of my undead army, which grew in power with every passing—
"Dresden, answer the question, please." I returned to reality, a bit disoriented. With the way the entire class was looking at me, the teacher must have called my name multiple times now, but in her monotone I didn't notice until now. How long have people been staring at me zoning out? The white noise came back, louder than before.
"Um, could you repeat the question?" I asked, looking at my desk.
"Speak up, please."
". . ." I hid my burning face in my folded arms on my desk, fried from the pressure.
She sighed the same sigh as my English teacher, then called on someone else.
At lunch I sat by myself. I packed my own lunch, preferring that to the stinking cafeteria food. Once again I plugged in my headphones and turned on some music. Continuing the trend of this morning, I played Megadeth's first album, Killing Is My Business. . . And Business Is Good. It overpowered and drove back the white noise. I ate while continuing to read the fantasy novel. No one bothered me.
Next was PE. We played softball. Sports aren't really my thing, but at least there was no pressure for me to do well. Half of the students don't even try anyway, probably thinking it makes them look cool or something. Mom and Dad say that exercise helps improve your mood, but I didn't feel any better.
Normally foreign language class was after PE, but today we had an assembly. Apparently the school snagged a motivational speaker. Why couldn't the assembly interrupt my first class instead of my last? I actually like Japanese. I had to admit out of all the ways my high school sucked, foreign language was one thing they did right, though it's more coincidence than intentional. The school curriculum teaches whatever foreign languages they have the teachers for. While most schools would teach French or Spanish, my school offered Italian, German, and Japanese. It's too bad I can't replace Math and History with Italian and German. Italian sounds fun, and German is so heavy metal.
Not long after I took my seat on the gym's bleachers, my discomfort skyrocketed thanks to some mook from the bleachers across the gym who decided it was funny to point a laser at my eyes. This was just my luck. I didn't have anyone who specifically bullied me, but when it came to general bullying I always ended up being an easy target. Is it something in my aura? The laser disappeared occasionally, probably when the teacher was looking their way, but it was never gone for long. Meanwhile, two girls behind me giggled as they flicked my ears. Incessantly. Once is bad enough. I turned around, giving them the most death metal glare I could conjure. Unfortunately, this only egged them on, and they became more persistent. No one around me seemed to notice, or care.
I sunk my head into my lap, hands covering my ears, eyes closed. The white noise amp in my ears turned up to eleven, shifting to an even high pitched ringing, like a flatlined electrocardiogram. My breathing became shallow, and despite me sitting down with my eyes closed, I felt like the world was spinning around me. Or was I the one spinning?
I need my music. It could stabilize me.
You can't escape your punishment. This is the fate of those who don't belong in the real world.
I wish I could disappear into my dream worlds, but I can't! I'm tethered here. It's not my fault I exist!
That matters not. You identify more with characters in stories than actual people, and you believe in ideals that have no place in the real world.
I need my music. It could stop these thoughts.
Spinning spinning spinning. . .
I must have passed out, because next thing I was aware of was someone nudging me on the shoulder. I lifted my head up. I saw colors and shapes, but I couldn't identify them as anything past that. A pillar looming over me spoke, and what I heard must have been English, but my brain wasn't processing the words, which sounded submerged underwater. Seeing a reaction, though dazed as it was, the teacher helped me up and walked me to the nurses office. By then my senses came into focus.
"What class did you come from?" he asked me.
I answered.
"I'll have someone bring you your things."
I began to protest, but the nurse started talking to me, overtaking my own voice, and the teacher left.
I told the nurse what happened, including what caused it. She shook her head, ordered me to lay down on one of the cots, and called Mom, telling her that I passed out in class and that she should come pick me up in case I pass out again. I thought that all of this was unnecessary. There were only ten minutes left of school anyway. But I said nothing. I still didn't feel great, and if this meant I got to skip after-school cross-country "practice," then I may as well let this happen. Mom's gonna be pissed, though.
Sure enough, on the car ride home from school, after she had me explain to her what happened, she said, "Are you doing this just to get out of cross-country?"
"No," I answered, defensive.
"Look, I know you don't like it, but you need the daily exercise."
We're off-subject. This is how my parents always dealt with my "episodes." They don't ask me how I'm doing and instead go straight into accusations, like I'm a tantrum throwing toddler. Once when I called Dad out on this, he replied, "I don't have to ask you how you're feeling, because if weren't feeling good then you would tell me. Am I wrong?" Unfortunately, he was in fact wrong. Unless I was physically sick, I stopped sharing with them how I felt, since they were decidedly unhelpful.
"Everyone gets depressed and anxious," they told me before. "You just need to learn to deal with it. Remember, there are people much worse off than you are." They said that like it was supposed to cheer me up.
I plugged in an earbud and put on Anthrax's Fistful of Metal while Mom continued her lecture. I headbanged subtly to the songs, which Mom took as nodding along to what she was saying.
After returning home, I practiced piano for an hour – "Kimi no Hikari" by Kyle Landry, "Merry-Go-Round" by Joe Hisaishi, and "Musique pour la tristesse de Xion" from Kingdom Hearts Piano Collections: Field and Battle.
Homework took longer than normal. I was still agitated, despite my attempt to cool down with piano. After staring at the same History short-answer problem for ten minutes with no progress, I threw my homework aside and loaded up a word document on the computer. "Dream Warriors," the title said. It was my own story I was working on. The best part was that as long as I sat at the computer with my textbooks and notebooks open, my parents thought I was doing homework. I didn't feel too guilty about giving up on homework from time to time, since my grades have stayed in the honor roll.
I wrote down today's daydream adventure, more fully realized on paper, of course. Unlike real life, my story had high stakes excitement. It was rife with difficulty and conflict both external and internal much more intense than real life's mundane trials, but at least my characters (and I, in the story, that is) had the power to conquer them, as well as true friends to stay by us in our darkest hours. I'd say that's a fair trade for tragedy.
After dinner I watched anime in my room until bedtime. Lying in bed with no distractions, finally I had to do what I've been putting off all day, which was confront the gloom lingering inside me. I've had bad days before, even worse than today, but for some reason today's events dredged up my darkest of my inner dialogues and feelings. The scariest part was that I couldn't pinpoint a reason why. Is this just the natural result of me bottling up my feelings for three years?
This mess started when was twelve, after we moved here and I started my first year of middle school. I never minded moving. My family moves every four years or so because of Dad's job. But something about having to take on the harshness of middle school on my own awakened despair inside me, and it hadn't left since. Up until this point, I had been able to push down the occasional stabbing pains of loneliness and the various frustrations that my parents never allowed me to express. I had no release, so I had no way to push this darkness out of me. Instead, I pushed it down, where it built up without my realizing. As a result, every bad day became a "worse day," like my life was me rolling down a hill unable to stop. It was only a matter of time before I rolled off a cliff.
Life isn't anything how you wish it would be, and it doesn't look like it will change. If anything, it's steadily heading toward disaster. It would be different if you had a confidant to lean on (who could also lean on you), but you have no friends and you can't count on your family for emotional support. All you have is yourself, your own strength, to pull you through, and as you can see by today, that strength is waning. You've never had the power to make friends yourself. No one in real life can be the confidant you so desperately need, anyway. Such a person is fantasy. Not real. Just like you. You've only ever been a bother to everyone else, and that will never change. No one is coming to save you, because you aren't even supposed to be here to save in the first place.
The despair surged in waves. It was like my emotional pain somehow learned to inflict physical damage. Every bone in my body ached, and my stomach shriveled up, like it was being squeezed by the fist of some devil. It made me not want to move at all. I curled up, whimpering, as if that could somehow protect me.
The air became an invisible hand, gripping my throat. I couldn't breathe. The darkness and silence of my room caved in on me, becoming that ringing in my ears once again. I frantically fumbled with my bluetooth speaker, turning it on while I selected music on my smart phone. The Rippingtons started playing. The smooth jazz band I had discovered from Dad's collection of old CDs had the magic power to calm me when I woke up from a nightmare. Instinctively I turned to it now in this solemn hour.
Sure enough, after about five minutes I was able to regain control of my breathing. Deep inhale through nose. Deep exhale through nose. It still hurt. I still hurt. I suddenly became aware that I was crying. Thanks to the tears, clarity was restored to me somewhat, so I cast my mind this way and that desperately looking for a way to stop the pain. No answer broke through the gloom.
I left the music playing. I had every Rippingtons album, which was more than enough to last the entire night. I finally drifted off around 6:00am – thirty minutes before I had to wake up for school. I didn't care. I had turned off my morning alarm on my phone, though that wasn't the only alarm I had.
At 7:00am Mom sternly knocked at my bedroom door. "Hey, are you up?" she asked. When I didn't give an immediate reply, she added in a sing-song voice, "Dresden, wakey-wakey! Time for school!" She knew my siblings and I hated when she talked to us like we were toddlers, but our protests only made her do it more. Perhaps she thought the irritation would wake us up faster, but I don't think she was lucid enough to realize that.
I lifted up my head drowsily and replied, "I feel sick. I'm staying home today."
This prompted Mom to enter my room and come to my bedside. "Where do you feel sick?" she asked as she felt my forehead.
Since the truthful response of "everywhere" would either cause Mom to worry enough that she wouldn't leave me alone, or, more likely, be disbelieved, I decided to generalize my condition to the places most common sicknesses affect.
"My head and my stomach."
"Well, I don't feel a fever, but you are very pale. You're also shivering. I'll call the school. Why don't you go take a warm bath, and I'll make you a breakfast that's easy on the stomach. OK?"
I nodded sluggishly, and she left. I wanted to go back to sleep, since it seemed I had finally regained the ability to do so, but I was feeling rather cold, so I took Mom's advice.
The twenty minute bath warmed me up, but that's all it did. I still felt the same, and I was still pale, too. I changed into warmer pajamas, ate very little of the oatmeal and banana slices Mom made for me, and returned to bed, exhaustion beating out despair so that I could finally fall asleep.
It was a troubled sleep, though, and I woke up often, only to drift back to the dream world fifteen minutes later. I was grateful for my blackout blinds keeping out the sunlight. By the time I fully reawakened, it was 2:00pm. My eyes were bloodshot. I didn't feel rested at all. If anything, I felt worse. My breathing was heavy, like I wasn't getting enough oxygen, and I felt like gravity was working twice as hard on me.
It took me thirty minutes to motivate myself to get out of bed. My head was swimming, which threw off my balance a bit. I shrugged on a hoodie and managed a trip to the washroom. Then like a zombie I ambled downstairs upon hearing Mom call my name.
She asked a question, but her words were muffled, like I was standing in an underwater room. Despite not being able to pick out the words, I figured she was asking how I was feeling, so I answered with words that also had that underwater quality: "I'm doing better."
It was a lie, of course, but I didn't want her to fuss over me. Well, I did want to be fussed over. I wanted to be held, to cry on someone's shoulder, then maybe the hurt inside would melt away. But the thought of Mom being that person repulsed me. She couldn't be that person. Neither could Dad, or my older sister, or my younger brother and sister, or anyone I knew.
Mom asked another question, and I nodded, which seemed to satisfy her. "I'll be in my room," I said.
I lied in my bed, watching more anime on my phone to distract me. It worked a little.
I joined my family for dinner, though since I still couldn't understand what anyone was saying anyway, I had my headphones on. My music retained its sharpness, at least, unaffected by the underwater effect. After that, I resumed my anime binge watching. Plastic Memories was both heartwarming and heartbreaking. The ending had me tearing up.
At midnight I awoke from a throbbing pain like electricity pulsing from my heart through my entire body. The despair had flared up again. Whimpering, I curled up in a ball. Please go away please go away please go away transformed into simply it hurts it hurts it hurts until my brain went fully numb from the pain, silencing all inner dialogue, and all conscious thought.
The shadows in my room drew closer to me, leering at me with sinister smiles. A sudden claustrophobic panic ensued. Asphyxiation. I had to get outside. With a dark haze over my mind, I threw on my winter coat and put on my boots. Then I opened my window and climbed out onto the roof. I had never snuck out of the house before, let alone climbed out of my window, but since Dad, a light sleeper, would hear if a door to the outside opened and closed, through the window I went. I left my headphones. I was no longer in control, and I was only partially aware of my actions. It was like my spirit was outside of my body but still anchored to it by the brain. My body moved on its own, responding to the two powerful emotions overwhelming me – despair, and fear of that despair. I needed to get rid of it.
After closing the window and landing roughly on the ground, I walked into the lightly snowing night. My field of vision darkened. The shadows were following me! Getting closer, closer. . .
I sped up but since I wasn't in physical condition to run, it was more of a quick stumbling forward. My gaze shifted about frantically at the enemy only I could see. With my ragged breathing and almost tripping every few steps, no one would have been able to tell that I was on the high school cross country team, even if I was the slowest on the team. I didn't come across any people, only more leering dark forms.
I don't know how long I fled from my manifesting darkness, but eventually I found myself at the bridge. I halted for a moment. The haze persisted, but the appearance of the bridge did give me pause regardless. The first thought in a while spilled out. "The longer I live, the worse this world will torment me. There is no place for a dream like me to exist in reality. The only way to end all of this, to set things right, is. . ."
My thoughts shut off again. A few tears spilled out unheeded as I robotically grabbed the railing and swung myself over to the other side. No one seemed to notice, or care. Far below me was a waterway. If I let go from this height, I would surely die. Then I could be free from my darkness, and the world could be free of me – forever.
The last part of me that still clung to life cried out in a small voice, Why? Why did it have to end like this? Then my arms let go of the railing, of life, and I fell into to what should have been my oblivion.
Hello?
I awoke to a boyish voice calling out to me, though I didn't hear a sound. I opened my eyes to find myself crumpled on the ground with red eyes peering over at me.
You are finally awake. I am glad.
I started up into a sitting position. It was still night time, and no one was around except for a strange feline fairy, the owner of the red eyes and the intelligent-sounding voice.
"What happened?" I asked in utter bewilderment. "I remember falling and. . ."
My eyes locked on the bridge, which was a mile off, and suddenly it all came back:
The pain so intense that I broke on the inside. The darkness from the corners of my vision crawling closer and closer to lash out at me. How I wandered sleepless, in a daze, from my room to the bridge, where I. . .
What have I done?!
Suddenly tears filled my eyes, and I was sobbing uncontrollably. It wouldn't stop. Like a tsunami a torrent of emotions overwhelmed me – shock, horror, rage, disgust, fear, sorrow, strife – all of them surging out of me at once.
You did take quite the tumble, that much is true. But it wasn't entirely your fault. You were under the influence of a witch. Luckily for you, a magical girl saw you jump and rescued you before you hit the water. Judging by the disappearance of the Witch's Kiss on your neck, she also defeated the witch, so you do not have to worry anymore about suicide attempts. She also asked me to watch over you until you recovered. [beat] I am Kyubey.
Kyubey had taken advantage of my state to spout off some strange exposition. I wasn't in the condition to argue in any case, since it was a feline fairy that told it to me telepathically. But witches? Kisses? Magical girls?
I lifted my head out of my hands and tried to wipe away my tears, which didn't accomplish anything, since the tears kept coming. I did managed to speak a single syllable.
"Huh?"
A witch cursed you, but now it is gone, Kyubey reiterated. You should feel much more stable now.
I did a quick mental self-check, and just like Kyubey said, that darkness was gone. Sure, I still felt depressed, anxious, and lonesome, but those feelings were at normal levels, not the horrendous levels that caused my self-destruction. Or the attempt to self-destruct, anyway.
I continued the conversation in my head, still not ready to speak. So a witch kissed me, causing me to want to off myself? Why?
That is the nature of witches. They bring despair and curses. A Witch's Kiss is the mark placed upon a human who has been cursed by a witch. It amplifies that human's negative feelings to dangerous extremes. Situations in which people hurt each other or themselves oftentimes have a witch at the root of it. Only I and magical girls can see the mark or the witches, though.
So magical girls fight witches, then?
Exactly. If witches are said to bring despair, then magical girls bring hope. In your case, thanks to a magical girl, your life was spared a tragic end.
I slowly scanned left to right.
And where is she? The magical girl who save me, that is.
Kyubey's tail twitched, but its face remained impassive. Unfortunately, it does not seem that she will be coming back here. That is actually partly why I want to talk to you. My task is to recruit more magical girls. In exchange for granting a single wish, a girl contracts with me to become a magical girl and live a life of fighting witches. This city needs a magical girl. So, would you like to make a contract with me? You have plenty of potential.
I would have been spazzing out if I wasn't so spent. Me? A magical girl? All I could do was nod numbly. Of course I would! I couldn't pass up an opportunity for magic or getting a wish granted. An opportunity for my own fantastical adventure is what I've always dreamed of! In the back of my mind, the logical part of me thought, I must be in a dream. Perhaps it started when I climbed out of bed and through my window. Regardless of the nature of this encounter with Kyubey, I wanted to go along with it for as long as I could.
Can I take some time to think about what I wish for? I asked.
Yes. I will be around, so when you are ready, just call out my name. We are connected mentally now, so I will hear you.
As it started to walk away, I sent, Wait! Can I call for you if I have any questions about magical girls or wishes?
Of course. I look forward to it, Dresden. With a slight bow of the head, Kyubey trotted off and disappeared into the night.
After a moment to compose myself, I stood up, brushing snow off my clothes and hair. My first few steps were shaky, but I found my balance and began walking home. The environment was no longer hostile, though I did find myself wishing I had brought my headphones, or even my phone for that matter.
My mind was abuzz from my encounter with Kyubey, and I marveled at how in an instant my life went from the lowest point, even death's door, to being granted what I've always wanted. Possibly. If this was real, instead of some scenario my brain cooked up while I was sleeping as a way to cope with all of my hurt. But even if this wasn't real, maybe the dream girl had finally found the dream where she belonged. I must savor it while it lasts.
After going over our conversation again in my head, I realized, I never told Kyubey my name.
I shivered, folding my arms to my chest. The night was cold, but I was alive and, for the first time in three years, hopeful.