I - Naraka
1 - Pareidolia
The car's engine droned a deep roar. The metallic beast took long, uninterrupted breaths as it speeded up across perfectly flat grounds. Its lungs emitted a gentle hiss, satisfied upon being strained to higher velocities. The humans, trees and lights that flickered across its windows blurred to the point of melting into one nonsensical portrait of liquid hues.
Inside the vehicle, a mother and her beloved daughter sat in silence as they returned home.
Akira's head rested against the window alongside her. The motor's thrumming sent subtle vibrations throughout the glass. It tickled a little. It tickled particularly around the scarred patch of skin on the side of her head, hidden by conveniently styled black hair.
It was comforting. It also felt like the quiet grumbling of the vehicle would make her left eye pop out of its socket. Her eyes felt squeamish, ready to quiver out of her if a strong enough shiver pushed them over the edge.
She remained expressionless, knowing better than to expose her fragility from something so inconsequential. She basked in the mix of tenderness and sooth. It was a nice distraction that prevented her from falling into yet another trance.
The girl's lids were heavy. She was sleepy and sleeping was the only idea reigning in her mind. Her eyes stayed open anyway, and stared at anything that minimally caught her attention.
The switch installed on her door. The glove compartment in front of her. A rear-view mirror with a beautiful woman eerily smiling in it.
They spoke and she tried to listen. But there was static. White noise appeared from the backdrop of nothingness, guided by the opening and closing of her eyes. Each blink was followed by a thrumming pain that nestled itself along her nape, sparked by short intervals of darkness. It was potent and the purring of the car did little to suppress it.
She was accustomed to the silent treatment. She was used to eternities of solitude without replies.
Now everything was talking to her at the same time. She couldn't decipher their language. She couldn't make sense of it. A cluster of tumultuous answers was as bad as none, as she could barely understand one or the other. Worst of all, in this seemingly uneventful stillness, she could not voice what, exactly, bothered her. It had no name. It had no specific appearance. It had no desire.
It was…
A cacophony of senseless secrets. Complex clumps of data emitted with chaotic furor. A relentless concert of truths and insights.
All of it, flowing straight into her ear canals. All of it, perforating her cranium. All of it, dispersing inside her brain.
This obnoxious uproar of a recital played around her louder and louder. Then, something broke the ice - a voice.
It was a lapidary contralto of an undertone, rousing and biting at the same time. It was a gentle breath, vibrant enough to be heard. It sharply shattered Akira's quiescence. She was yanked back from the moon and brought down to the real world.
"I'm happy."
Her mother was the one who had decided to end the somber quiet.
Akira let that statement hang in the air, not gracing it with an answer immediately. She stared at the woman from the corner of her eye. Then she went back to looking at nothing. This nothingness stared back at her in the form of a teenage girl's faded reflection on a window. Fear and debility disfigured her countenance even further. Akira diverted her sight somewhere else.
"…Why?"
A breath later, she regretted talking out of term.
Akira was supposed to be silent. Words were the easiest pathway to deceit, and she knew it. Words to a liar were the knife to a killer. A liar's main weakness resided in the fact that lying was a two-way street. One had to be fabricating the lie and the other needed to be listening to actualize it.
Her mother, too, was a liar.
She should have been the last person to be happy.
"Why, isn't it obvious?" chimed the woman. "My baby girl is finally coming back home. Seeing you safe and sound makes me feel really excited."
Akira frowned nervously. She didn't know how such a brief answer could be bundled with so many falsehoods.
Minami Hiragi had a sinister flair for deception.
Months of sporadic visits shone little light on her true character. Maybe that was her most dangerous trait. She was above speaking too much like other liars. A few words from her were normally enough to delude anyone. Her sincere insincerity was one built up of half-truths, misleading ideas and secrets.
She was like the inert items Akira stared at with so much persistence, revealing the necessary tidbits and leaving her to fill in the blanks with her own self-crippling thoughts. Not only that. The contradictions that so easily slipped from others were absent from her.
Akira turned her head to the other side.
A perpetual, tranquil smile.
An unfaltering look in empty eyes.
The untroubled mien of a confident woman.
Shivers ran down her spine when all of those elements combined, culminating in a mother satisfyingly returning a look to her daughter.
She quickly looked away.
The girl flinched slightly. The static got louder. The buzzing was deafening.
"I missed you the most," she continued. "But I was not the only one. You have no idea how many people noticed your absence. Your teachers back at school would really like to see their number one student. Some of your classmates were worried silly, too. It makes me feel giddy to know that my darling daughter was such a star, and that so many people knew her shine and warmth were gone."
Nobody could have made it sound so cruel and loving at the same time even if they had sincerely tried their best. Macabre remembrance hid behind her adoring narrative. Unachievable expectations were veiled with a curtain of proudness and approval. She might as well have been telling the same anecdote to a gravestone.
She had been the number one student. Now she was an absentminded freak.
She had been a beloved classmate and friend. Now she was a pitiful nobody that couldn't put any trust in people.
Akira Hiragi had been a star who had illuminated everybody's lives.
Now she was cold, hollow, shoddy and all but physically dead.
Something grim was stuck in her throat. It probably was a sob. Or maybe the rising urge to vomit her insides out. She didn't dare to follow through her instincts, knowing her mother wouldn't appreciate dirtying her car or showing weakness altogether. Her increasing dizziness didn't aid her in her quest for self-control.
Her eyes were getting irritated, watery. She wanted to rest and forget she existed. But the noise was strident. It came from everywhere and closing her eyes turned up its horrible volume by several decibels. A little more and her head would explode.
"Hmm, let's put aside those depressing matters for now," announced Minami tranquilly. "You're back with me. As far as I know, that is enough and plenty of a reason to feel like the happiest person on earth. I am the happiest… ah, forgive me baby. You must be exhausted and having your mommy repeat evident stuff like a broken recorder must be annoying."
Her dulcet voice drowned the static for a moment. If it had been singing a melody instead of spieling lies every painful second, Akira would have told her to keep talking. That wasn't the case so she stayed wordless.
Minami mumbled a happy tune for a second.
"Anyway, my point is we should be grateful. Neither you nor I want to cloud our thoughts with bad stuff that has already happened. It's not only sad. It's also counterproductive."
She shifted with uncharacteristic energy on her seat. It subsided so quickly it almost looked like it wasn't there to begin with. Akira glanced dispiritedly at the woman and gulped when the woman glanced back for a few microseconds. That sweet, lying smile of hers was still there.
"Don't you think so too, sweetie?"
"…"
Akira glared into empty space. She would have fidgeted awkwardly had she been able to move without being observed like a prey. She settled with playing with her hands, pulling her fingers one by one till the joints popped. Her heart tried to follow the same measured rhythm of her action to no avail. It beat against her ribcage erratically, painfully. It was as insufferable as the pit in her stomach.
She inhaled deeply.
The answer was there, on the tip of her tongue. A primal and involuntary instinct made her gag. It was a reflex she painstakingly drilled into her way of being, thinking that perhaps she could avoid lying. She would inevitably fail because mingling with people required her to lie.
She couldn't run with the hare and hunt with the hounds. In her attempt to be at peace with herself and please others, she only made everything worse.
"Yes, Minami."
It was a silly detail. Everyone would have dismissed it as a mere slip of the tongue. It wasn't so much of a slip as it was a statement spoken with assurance, one whose implications could only be known by this particular speaker and listener.
What kind of daughter called her mother by her first name so nonchalantly, so detachedly?
Akira suppressed a yelp. A second passed after uttering her answer and a reposeful weight set itself on top of her leg.
It was a relatively big hand, slightly bigger than hers. Akira was probably too distraught to notice how it slithered towards her. Smooth-skinned fingers and pristine nails took ahold of her limb. Well, 'taking ahold' was maybe an exaggeration. The hand was just there, mindlessly idling. But there was an omen about it. It augured something menacing, distressing.
"Sweet, oh sweet girl…"
Her mother's voice whispered a lulling call. It exuded endless peace and patience, just as always. Yet a not minor attribute produced disturbance in its steadfast harmony.
Buried in there was a tinge of disappointment. Hidden within was discontent upon coming to an askew realization. It was the sheer despondency when a person learned a fact which was, however unpalatable, the truth. And the truth was the truth, whether someone liked it or not.
"You silly dummy," said Minami almost playfully. "What did I say about speaking like that? Your voice is so beautiful and it really undermines it when you say foolish things. Please don't upset your mother…"
Akira turned her head a bit.
Reflected in the mirror were obscured blue eyes. From that angle they seemed to be staring at her directly. Judging by the lack of wrinkles on their sides, she could infer Minami was not smiling anymore.
She gulped.
"…Y-Yes, mom."
The ominous appendage freed her leg as soon as she said that. Furthermore, it travelled towards her face and sweetly caressed her cheek. The hand's owner crooned, delighted.
"There you go. That's much better."
Praise awarded; she took her hand off from Akira. It was a slow retreat, as if it desired to keep feeling the girl's face.
No prolonged conversation ensued from that point.
From time-to-time, Minami made unimportant commentaries. They were engulfed by the static. Akira could barely make out her voice to know she was talking to herself at the very least. It was much better than participating in a dialogue she couldn't keep up with.
An irritant throbbing sent ripples across her head and down her spine. Seeing as she couldn't position herself in any comfortable position due to the ache, Akira hanged her head low and looked down.
There in her direct line of vision were her hands, pale and brittle as ever. She stared harder, seeking something else through her intertwined fingers. Past the blanched limbs and hidden between her legs and the seat peeked a little object. It appeared to be around the size and width of one of her outstretched hands.
Akira shifted a little to see it clearly. It was a simple spiral notebook, cyan in color.
She pursed her lips. A usual sting of those she suffered frequently prickled the back of her head.
It was a mundane notebook. Nothing about it sparked the light she sought. It could have been virtually worthless and easily ignorable, had it not been for the contents she knew were scribbled in it.
Her fingers pulled it out from its hiding spot. They caressed its surface, prodding the tiny wrinkles that had manifested on the supple cover over time. After a few false moves and some nervous twitches of her eyes, she slid on finger inside. Then, she slowly opened it-
"Akira."
She flinched. Having been suddenly snapped from her daze, she shrank on her seat. The girl spoke with a jolt.
"What is it, mom…?"
Minami sighed audibly. Whether it was her daughter's somewhat unbecoming tone of disrespect, or whatever else, she was clearly displeased.
"Please stop playing with that thing." The warmth was almost completely gone from her voice. "Since you don't need it at all, you can just put it away too. You can also dispose of it. Do as you may. But I don't want to see it."
She was serious. She wouldn't give her daughter any room to argue, that much was for sure.
The woman's little darling complied as wordlessly as ever. Akira didn't need to ask why her notebook was a problem. She put it back where it originally was.
The static continued buzzing within her mind. The sound went up and down like violent ocean waves waiting to crash against the nearest shore. Images and noises that weren't actually there appeared and disappeared. It felt akin to having multiple eyes and ears capturing all possible sensations at the same time. She distinguished it as the phenomenon that robbed her of her concentration on a daily basis, but on a much larger scale.
Strangely enough, it was the sheer magnitude of it that allowed her to discover the source of that hellish noise as well.
Akira's eyes flickered up.
She momentarily found herself transfixed by the sight offered through the windshield. The multicolored lights stunned her sight for moments, so bright and so jumbled they were. Giant monuments—skyscrapers—elongated upwards and upwards. They transformed in towering shadows, unmoving behemoths of glass and stone. They looked down on her and she bowed in response, fearful of their titanic size.
Crowds and crowds of people filled the streets. There were so many faces, so many colors, statures, voices, shapes and clothes. An immense cluster of diametrically different individuals, with so many characteristics it was impossible to name them all, walking and prancing around.
Contrary to the taciturn hospital and its fixed atmosphere, along with its easily recognizable residents, the town itself proved to be… too much in comparison. And she was so, so tiny. So ephemeral and pathetically jaded. Someone like her was nothing against so much.
Now that she looked at it directly, it was even more painful.
The city was dangerously expressive. It had too many secrets to say, too many gossips to share. Its many voices came from everywhere. Its eyes looked at her from everywhere. Its invisible limbs pinched and strangled her body from everywhere.
Closing her eyes was useless. It essentially made the task of observing the 'truth' a lot easier and thus, many times more insufferable. Shutting off her vision allowed her to see the people, the children, the animals, and the birds. The cars, the cellphones, the cables and the sewer pipes beneath the street didn't go unnoticed either. Everything was laid before her. Everything and everyone was sketched out with mechanical precision. She could see their insides and outsides, their ups and downs, their lefts and rights, and their backs and forwards. A worldwide exhibition of monochrome shadows and ghostly images that saturated every sense she possessed, straining them to their most agonizing limit.
Her skin felt itchy. It was on fire. She wanted to tear it off.
Her eardrums were dissolving.
Her eyes were liquefying.
Her brain was about to detonate. It would erupt and paint everything red with her blood and gray with her thoughts.
It was a tormenting episode of pandemonium.
It continued indefinitely. Seconds of nonsensical murmurs seemed to enlarge ad infinitum. She was suddenly stuck in a loop of a century's worth of white sound and couldn't escape. Akira sunk into an oceanic pit of her own making, submerged in a bottomless abyss where only one particularly type of noise prevailed, accompanied by a crushing pressure she was unable to resist.
It hurt it hurt it hurt it hurt it hurt it hurt-
"-A-Ah."
-Then she opened her eyes and took a deep, laborious breath.
Within the darkness of her closed eyelids lay a harrowing reality not meant to be seen or comprehended by an ordinary soul.
Then again, was she ever a normal human to begin with?
The white noise was still there, in the back of her mind. Just blinking didn't appear to be too taxing on her so she could manage to be awake for a while longer. As long as she didn't look at anything that was too intricate, she should have been fine.
The pure, naked truth still seemed far too much to handle.
Akira did come to a logical conclusion after that experience, however.
She hated this city already.
- ~संसार~ -
The sun had fully dived below the horizon's line by the time the car came to a halt. Its last rays clung weakly to the darkening sky, leaving a sea of bluish darkness and glittering stars in its wake.
Almost in unison with the creeping calmness that accompanied the coming of dusk, the horrible noise progressively expired. It still lingered in a secluded spot of her mind. It had the persistence of an obstinate insect and none of its pleasant character. However, compared to the louder version whose presence she had to bear with, this was better. It didn't exactly inspire tranquility. The thought that it would go back into something horrible still loomed.
Still. It was an improvement. She wanted it to be an improvement.
Escaping from the crowded zones of the city diminished her tension. As the buildings dwindled in magnitude and people decreased in number, so did the spine-chilling murmurs reduce their volume. It was easily attributable to a lesser number of things in her surroundings, willing to spill all of their secrets as soon as they noticed her listening existence.
Her present environment still couldn't match the sheer muteness of the hospital where life and death mingled more actively.
But it was an improvement and she wanted to like the improvements that did not split her skull open to force information into her head. She peeked through the windows, eyes half-lidded.
No invasive object tried to make her gobble all its whispers and truths.
Safe. This was safe. She was safe to be curious and unwary, for now.
Conclusion reached; she observed her surroundings with more attention.
The neighborhood was luxurious and clean. Its houses were big and lavish. People here had money and wanted to make it known in an elegant way or so it seemed. The wealth was easy to notice and easy to name.
"Here we are."
Akira's gaze flickered towards Minami's direction. She had done her best to ignore her voice.
"I guess some would say 'home, sweet home' right now," she friendlily declared. Her hand snaked up and squeezed her biological creation's shoulder.
It stung like fangs digging in tender flesh. It spread poison, seemingly enjoying every second of the slow death it provided to its prey.
"I'm incredibly delighted to have you back, Akira. Although I guess you're tired of hearing that by now, hahaha."
The girl's expression was a blend of exasperation and melancholy. She wanted to sigh but held herself back. That would be the millionth time her mother said she was happy, as if she deserved a prize or even a hug for managing to do something so basic for a non-broken person. Then again, she was probably trying to convince herself everything was dandy.
Knowing Minami, she probably was just messing with her. That woman needed no convincing - she was far too lucid of the horrible things she said.
Akira wasn't irritated by her mother's insistence on parroting about her good mood. No, it wasn't that simple. What particularly burnt her laid in the fact her mother's feelings were based in a sham.
How low could people stoop? Was it easy to use delusion as foundation for their hopes? Was it normal?
She hoped it was not. She hoped her mother was sick in the head, clinically insane and soon to be taken away by not-so nice people in white garbs. That was what people deserved for trying to make this masquerade work. That was what she herself deserved for lying and remaining silent when everyone told her she was someone she was not.
Minami skillfully parked her car. Both mother and daughter emerged from its confines, fresh air and stalled silence greeting them.
Akira stumbled out. Her legs buckled up for a moment and she almost skidded. Then, she used the open door as support, gripping it with fingers that felt like cotton. She avoided planting her face on the ground. She didn't avoid the jolt the cool metal of the car made as it came in contact with her skin. Her hands let go of the door on impulse. Frustrated, she straightened her posture. Yet another mute object that tried to vibrate all its secrets into her flesh. A blink later her hand rapidly swiped towards the door, banging it with unnecessary force.
She realized her mistake a breath later. She tensed, like a rabbit ready to sprint after sensing danger. Lifting her gaze a little, she saw the way her mother stared at her, lying lips and invasive hands hidden by the vehicle's roof. Her expression betrayed neither boiling anger nor silent judgment, only curious amusement.
"S-Sorry," the girl muttered after some uncomfortable seconds. "I didn't mean to… eh, close it so strongly… Sorry…"
Minami closed her own door, hushed. A tiny smile spread across her face as she shrugged her shoulders in an atypical way. "Please don't be mean with my car. He's a diligent servant and it wouldn't be courteous to repay his efficiency with scratches or blows."
The girl pursed her trembling lips. She hugged her precious notebook against her belly.
"…You're not… angry?"
The woman raised an eyebrow with a hum.
"A bit, but not for the reason you think," she admitted. "A proper lady does not throw tantrums for irrelevant matters. Next time, I advise you to watch your step instead of hitting the first object you find in your vicinity."
Minami did have a point for once. Getting carried away and letting her emotions dictate her actions would just complicate everything. Self-control wasn't a synonym of lying… she could get behind the idea. She just wanted to pass unseen and unheard of.
The only thing she could not control was the nausea. No advice could be comfortably received if it came from her mother.
Minami toyed with her car keys and pressed some buttons in it. Seconds later her silver car beeped and clicked sonorously, now totally locked. Then, she marched ahead, slowing down only to check the younger girl was following closely behind.
Akira eyed the place they marched to. It was her house—supposedly—and that's where she would live thereafter. Considering only two people inhabited it up until now, she believed it to be a tad too big. It was a white structure comprised of at least two stories. It loomed significantly over its proximities. Judging by the view offered from its sides, it also seemed dizzyingly wide and spacious. Compared to her hospital room, it felt all too big and all too eager to ram all its whispers into her ears.
The front door clicked as her mother introduced a key into its lock.
The sound buzzed in the girl's ears, clinging to her. It gripped her, trying to say as much as it could in one single sound.
She swallowed the lump in her throat. Nervously, she willed her feet to move. They responded, twitching and dragging themselves over the pavement in spite of an invisible force weighting them down. Each centimeter travelled to get closer to the unknown disheartened her.
She wanted to stay in the known. The known wasn't loud. The known didn't bother her. The known couldn't hurt her. The known had no lies to offer.
She didn't know what to expect. Her concerns were too many and her imagination was too dull to actually picture her foolish conjectures. What would happen upon accessing the Hiragi household?
She couldn't form words, couldn't explain her worries in a logical manner. She simply felt a breeze, a morbid scent, a cold touch that confusedly alerted her that she was entering someone else's grave. This was not where she was supposed to be. Someone else was supposed to enter this house, someone who had her hair, her face, her eyes. Someone who had been there but couldn't come back.
Maybe she would wake up in the hospital and realize it was all a stupid nightmare. Maybe an anvil would manifest from nowhere and fall on her head, splitting her in half like in those silly cartoons she watched to pass the time. There were bad possibilities. She felt no different from an injured animal being released into the wild with dangerous predators.
Except the predators were well-meaning cannibals, of course. They wanted her to partake in their diet, and she wanted nothing to do with it.
Her right foot slid up and inside the den. Her left foot followed a heartbeat later.
And…
Nothing. Literally.
She observed her surroundings, puzzled upon entering and finding a gigantic pile of nothing inside. Or at least nothing that justified her most dramatic worries.
Pronounced warmth enveloped her as soon as she was in. Darkness outstretched deep at the end of what seemed to be a hallway. After her mother closed the door and flipped a switch, light overrode the shadows' reign and she was able to see.
She blinked rapidly, chasing the dark stars from her eyes. The interior absorbed her mind. It tugged at every bit of attention she was capable of giving. She tried to take a step forward and a hand stopped her in her tracks, startling her.
"Your shoes, dear. Remember to take them off at the entrance."
"…Okay."
The woman offered a quick sound of approval. "And your coat too. I'm sure you're exhausted and walking around with heavy clothes isn't going to do you any favors."
The girl followed the recommendations dutifully, leaving her footwear and coat close to the door. She could visualize Minami smiling while she wasn't staring at her. She blinked and a shiver ran down her spine. For a second the mental image stayed behind, nestled in the murk of her closed eyelids. It was like a vivid, detailed drawing in motion. It felt too crisp, too real.
As if she was truly seeing it with eyes that absorbed everything. She knew it was a silly belief. The human brain couldn't digest everything the eyes could see, a doctor had once chattered in her ears. It discarded the unimportant, the details, and the truths.
She couldn't correctly discern, more than anyone else, the real from the unreal, and the lies from the truth.
It was troublesome enough seeing things with her eyes closed. The last thing she needed were eyes on the back of her head as well. It was a silly and stupid thought, just like her.
With that lingering thought shaken off, Akira followed Minami further into the Hiragi's abode.
At first glance, it was much cozier than the hospital. The cold tiles that had once cramped her feet were replaced with mellow wood. The acetic smells of medicine had disappeared, replaced with sweet scents of incense and other fragrances. There were no pained moans in the distance or incessant chatter about medical subjects too convoluted for her to care. An orderly stillness prevailed and fugitive noises in the distance accentuated it without necessarily clashing with it.
Suddenly, the world wasn't so enormous anymore. She had returned to a sort of microcosm she could fit into; a tiny area for a tiny existence to settle down. Tidbits of sounds arose following the beat of her blinking. They weren't silent to the point of nonexistence or so loud that they nearly stifled her consciousness.
The overly inviting ambience mocked her old fears. They had been born out of prejudices and ill omens. Now, the strange, homely atmosphere replaced them with new ones that had an uncertain origin.
Something prickled her skin, reminding her that nothing was out of place. She was. She had nothing to do there, watching someone else's interior.
They walked into the room closest to the entrance - the living room. As they did, Akira eyed each element that came in sight with upmost interest. Although her head hanged low, her eyes lighted up with marvel. In a way, it was her first time seeing any of these objects. She analyzed everything she could with childish enthusiasm.
"I made sure to keep everything in order for your return." Her mother sighed dejectedly for a second. "As it is now, I think 'untouched' is a better description than 'clean'. Do forgive me if there's a bit of dust somewhere. I haven't had the chance to call for the cleaning service. Organizing my time is hard with the endless work hours…"
The teenager nodded. Still, for an untouched house, it still struck her as fresh and spotless. No clutter to speak of. No dirt to spot. No spiders to hide in dark corners.
She saw a nice wooden table set in the middle of the room. Dark bluish couches were set on another corner. Some were pointed to a flat-screen TV of comical proportions. Modern-looking speakers, sizeable too, were put alongside. On another corner was a counter with chairs. It had a free view and passage to the kitchen. From afar, Akira could spot all kinds of shiny gadgets and instruments stored. She supposed they were for cooking… though their funky designs were source of doubts.
What sort of food requested so many buttons and machines? Scary.
Her eyes identified the occasional furniture here and there. Blinking a few times allowed her to discern their contents, if any. None was particularly fascinating so their presence dissolved out of her mind rather quickly.
What lastly got her attention were frames hung on many of the walls. A few looked like normal papers with fancy lettering and glows on them.
Most of them were pictures, however. Some showed a stern young man with glasses and uneven dark hair shaking hands with imposing people. Others showed a black-haired woman doing extravagant poses while signaling things with her hands - buildings, statues, and many more.
In a number of pictures, the man and women were together. Contrary to the man, the woman was always smiling. Sometimes they were dressed with clean-cut suits, and other times with lighter clothes. They always had this impressing and dignified air to them no matter the context of the image, no matter how exuberantly the woman posed or how dismissive the man appeared.
Then she finally saw a third participant. A considerable amount of photos displayed the man, the woman… and a girl.
Akira looked away with the speed of a rabbit that had caught sight of a wolf. She massaged the side of her head, where her scar, a scar no pictures showcased, throbbed. A sharp inhalation shook her chest.
"Not yet…"
Just like that, any curiosity she possessed withered. Her eyes wouldn't stare at anything else other than her feet even if she wanted to. That was fine. She didn't want to break down yet and that was fine.
Fine. Fine. Fine, she repeated endlessly. Mutely.
Yes. Absolutely fine.
As if she could actually fool herself.
"Hmmm? Is something the matter, sweetie?" inquired Minami. She placed her hands on Akira's shoulders, rubbing them.
"…Lightheaded. Sorry."
The woman let out a short laugh at the equally short answer. Her palms softly moved left to right. Sometimes Akira wondered how someone so callous could have skin so soft and fingers so delicate. She enjoyed the kneading as much as she disliked the proximity. If she had been a less tired girl, she may have tried to escape.
"It is fine, dear. I understand you're not in any shape to walk around," granted Minami thoughtfully. "You should rest. But before that, allow me to be selfish. I want to… give you some useful tips."
One hand slid down from Akira's shoulder as she said that. The fingers traced the line of her spine, all the way down. The girl couldn't help but to shiver from the awkward contact. If Minami detected her daughter's distress, she definitely didn't show it. Fortunately, the hand finally stopped just over the small of her back.
"A proper lady doesn't needlessly anger over trifling issues," she pointed out anew. "In addition, she keeps her back straight and shoulders relaxed. A timid and infirm posture is an invitation for others to see you as a crooked branch. No doubt some will try to step on you, try to shatter you."
The hand pushed against her back. Akira couldn't oppose such flimsy effort, which was times bigger than her own inexistent strength altogether. Her stance was forcibly rearranged as a result. Her chest puffed up, her shoulders were pushed up, and then relaxed back in an upright stance.
She acted the confident puppet when she felt nothing but gripping instability.
"You should aim to be like a tree. Strongly attached to your foundations, immovable against any storm, and elegant in how you sway with the wind, unscathed, and stand your ground proudly in this wild world."
The woman nimbly shifted on her feet. She placed herself in front of her daughter. She put her hands up and they slithered until they covered the girl's cheeks. Much like a trap held down scared, little animals.
"My second advice is to stop saying sorry. Not every mistake you make is an unforgivable offence and not every person you infuriate deserves your apologies. The weight of your guilt will increase needlessly and your resolve to do the simplest of tasks will waver, believing anything you do is intrinsically awful and thus undoable. You might as well become a plant with that mindset."
She rubbed the smaller girl's cheeks in circles. A frightened whimper was emitted as a result. It didn't seem like Minami noticed, so gratified she was from simply showing her child some maternal love. Maybe she just chose not to notice.
"'Sorry' is also insufficient if your errors do have an objective basis. You should know talking is cheap, darling. If oxygen wasn't free you would rather spend it changing your negative ways and sacrificing your comfort to really demonstrate you care."
Almost as if handling a porcelain doll, Minami gently turned Akira's head up.
Lifeless blue-violet eyes met dulled eyes of the same color.
The woman smiled. The girl couldn't.
"Finally, you also ought to look up. Life is a one-way street and the only possible direction in it is forwards. Staring at your feet will take your eyes away from what truly matters. Challenges are ahead. Victories and losses are, too. You should carry the good memories to be happy of your achievements, and the bad ones as scars to remind yourself of what you could do to be better. Everything is worth holding onto, if you're keen enough to see its true value. Everything..."
Just then Akira tasted a bitterness she knew too well. It was the kind that accompanied a defeating sense of powerlessness, and indecision.
'Everything'? Where was that 'everything' her mother spoke off? Was 'everything' that detestable void in her mind, as if someone had ripped a crucial part of her being away from her? That monstrous 'everything' whose absence had left her bereft and desolate in ways no one could cure nor appease?
There was nothing. She had nothing to take or treasure. She was nothing and to nothingness she would return sooner or later.
Talking was cheap, indeed. It was pretty easy, it hurt nobody to spew motivational diatribe when the one saying it had no tragedy burdening them. It was pretty easy for the one on the top of the hill to assure anyone could climb up too.
Maybe she could. But not like this. Not Minami's way.
"…Yes, everything can be precious in its own manner. Life is what we make of it, so you should do your best. Any other path, any other option would just be…"
Minami trailed off. The rubbing also stopped. Fingers snaked up, slithering through jet black threads. She continued brushing a second later and so also continued her speech.
"…Unsightly."
Her perpetual smile faltered. Spite seemed to cling on that last word as undertone of thoughts never spoken aloud. She murmured it like someone cursing their enemy under their breath would. It was slander, depreciation of something different than the context of her words indicated.
An instant later she was back to her cheery, deceiving self. She didn't wrench her digits open, refused to release her prey. A new topic of conversation lingered in her half-open lips. A second elapsed and Minami shared her upsetting perceptions again.
"This too is… unsightly." She rolled strands of Akira's hair around her fingers. "You had such beautiful long hair. It was so silky, so pretty. I loved brushing it for you. And they had to cut it because of that… what a shame…"
She traced the scar on the girl's head, moving her fingertips across its whole length.
Her gaze looked vacant for a second. Eye contact was lost even though they were staring at each other dead in the eye. The woman's aspect was vaguely nostalgic. Wistfulness washed over her normally composed bearing. Akira knew that kind of expression too. Her mother was not seeing her at all, blinded by longing.
No, Minami was seeing what she wanted Akira to be. What she had been and now wasn't. What she could never replace.
In that woman's eyes, there was a reflection. The shadow of her deceased daughter remained there, encroached to her soul for all of eternity.
Akira zoned out. A short span of respite came into being. It lasted a heartbeat and felt like long hours of muteness. When it inevitably ended—the girl wished it didn't—, the black-haired woman ultimately resumed her deceitful theatrics.
She planted a kiss on the girl's forehead. After a last pat on the head, she nodded and smiled.
"Go to your room, sweetie. Put away your things and change into comfier clothes," she amicably ordered. "I'll knock on your door when supper is ready. Tonight we're eating your favorite - fish and rice."
The girl only offered a last whine of confirmation followed by a dull nodding. She walked away, stiff like an injured bunny being eyed by an unsatisfied beast.
- ~संसार~ -
Climbing up the steps of the stairs proved to be easy. The wood creaked and hummed under her feet, whispering a croaky welcome to a weight it knew, yet a pace and a swagger it did not.
She prowled on her tiptoes. It was a slow and careful advance within a twilight of uncertainty. She avoided putting too much weight on the parquet with each step, intent on keeping the house undisturbed with her unwanted presence. Her feet inevitably stepped the wrong way on and off, resulting in a new concert of coarse greetings.
The girl trudged sluggishly; the house awoke from its slumber in consequence. The building was much louder now that no one could block its rustles and murmurs and fill her ears with lies.
Its greetings left her cold. Its beckoning left her with a rising sense of gloom.
Had she been able to speak its language, she would have tried to name her discomfort, expose the roots of her trouble, explain her guilt.
Cold sweat ran down her cheeks. Her eyes stung. Dust settled on her eyelashes, whispering of dark hair and a darker gaze, darker than it should have been for such a youthful and tender girl.
She batted the dust away. She fought the rising bile that clung to the walls of her throat. No, no. She was neither tender nor youthful. She was older than Time itself and younger than they all deemed. Younger than the body she inhabited.
The parquet croaked a different song, beguiling in its tenderness at her wake.
She planted her toes in the minuscule gaps of the flooring in response, thinking it would ease the rackets she was causing. It was for naught. She inadvertently let a breath escape her contrite lungs and that immediately incited annoyed murmurs from the ether.
Akira could only offer whispery apologies that left her lungs aching for air.
The dust danced around her. The house crept closer, walls bending, ceiling descending, floor ascending.
She shuddered. She wanted to tell the building it was speaking to a stranger, a humanoid lie. Even objects, whose truth was objective and could not understand nor spew falsehoods, could not comprehend her existence. They could not recognize her when she seemed to be a familiar girl with none of her familiar attributes. They wouldn't attempt to recognize her as something else either.
She inhabited a body they knew. Therefore, she was the body they knew. Maybe she was the person they knew.
She wished her problem was that easy to solve - by lying, by pretending. It was not. The vacuum in her mind ached to be closed. She couldn't deny what she saw. She couldn't dismiss what she knew. Forgetting was for people who had too many things in mind and lying was for those who had too many things to hide.
She had nothing in her mind, except the echoes of others. She was a well in which others poured their existence. She had nothing to hide, beside the reflection of another. She couldn't forget nor desired to lie.
She could only advance in a world that did not recognize her existence. So, she did, one wobbly step taken on polished wood after another.
A lath creaked sharply under her toes, shouting a promise of strength that could endure more. Just for her, it would. Just for her.
Then another gloomy thought came into being. Was 'her' the girl standing right here, right now? Or was 'her' that who only remained as a nostalgic idea anchored to her walking corpse?
It was a question she didn't want answered. The planet never had any expectations for her. It cared not who she had been or who she was. It let her walk on its firm soil and breathe in its plentiful exhales. She wouldn't question such charity that demanded no compensation in return. She was just glad someone didn't dare to judge her for her deficiencies.
Another step. Another sharp creak. Another promise made just for her.
Akira wavered. Her heart quivered, enthused by the idea of unconditional love. Freely given, not so freely accepted.
She said she would not question, but…
Perhaps her desired ignorance was motivated by fear. She wanted to believe someone, something accepted her. It was a feeble belief and it could shatter with the right words, the right tone, and the right moment. Just like the silly belief parents were beings full of love and patience that would always support their children.
Ah. Where, oh where and when did she even get that idea? It was as uncertain as the situation in which she began to exist.
She had been stupid, naïve. Disappointment and frustration defined her relationship with her betters. Then again, she never had actual parents to speak of in the first place. They were another girl's parents.
She had no one, but a house that greeted her body enthusiastically.
Nothing in the world was out of place. Everything was as it should've been. She was the one who didn't fit.
The teen shook her head. It stung muscles that tensed too much, too easily. This was not the time for gloom and doom. Neither was it the place for a mental breakdown.
Fine strands of black silk danced and tangled themselves in her eyelashes. They were like alga, ready to obstruct and strangle idle swimmers of the depths. Such scenario became more and more vivid with her constricted lungs and already darkened vision. Deep-sea monsters were nowhere close yet. The one carnivore she feared the most was too occupied maiming common fish at the moment. But Akira's fear of encountering her never quite disappeared.
She blinked rapidly. When it proved counterproductive—the movement made the strands poke her eyeballs—she pushed her hair away with a sigh.
The walls inched closer, humming an amused chuckle.
Her fingertips slid across one of them, trying to cease its chuckles. They skidded, seeking a new sensation that disrupted the smoothness she felt. Her skin hissed from the contact. At times her nails began scratching by accident. She stopped before leaving marks that would serve as conclusive evidence for Minami to punish her. Or worse, set her into a long talk about how she had once been the best daughter in the world and that such mischief was unbecoming of her.
The seemingly endless hallway was obscured, lonely pools of timid light appearing and disappearing with the humor of the evening clouds. She felt no need to turn on the lights. Her eyes could easily be fooled by useless details or bright colors when her environment was lit. Akira only wanted to walk straight, not admire the scenery. She could do the former by closing her eyes and letting the truth guide her.
Strangely enough, she chose the twilight over the truth. Perhaps she wanted to fool herself some more, seeking details that could perhaps trigger a memory of the girl she was supposed to be.
No amount of straight walking could fix her horrible sense of direction, unfortunately. Minami's precise indications of where Akira's room was weren't particularly useful in the dark. Around five minutes were spent on prancing around like the idiot she was, winding up in all possible places except the one she wanted to be in. She didn't need to use the bathroom yet. She also didn't want to step in her parents' bedroom or use their bed, however tired she was or how comfy the place looked.
Sooner or later, she stopped roaming aimlessly.
She needed some absolute truth to find her path.
She closed her eyes. White outlines appeared again against her eyelids. They quivered, vibrated, mussed. The scratched wall remained fixed in its spot. She kept probing and finally came upon a different feeling beneath the skin of her sliding fingers. She opened her eyes again. An unopened door was there where the whispers told her it would be.
Akira gulped. The obscured wood mocked her. It teased her with its silence, its monotony. It wanted her to close her eyes again, to see the 'truth' hiding behind its dull exterior. She could very well do that and satiate her curiosity with little effort.
But she didn't. She knew this was her - Akira's room. No, no, no. Some truths could be observed. Others had to be discovered. She could get a glimpse and call it a day.
No, no, no.
No.
A glimpse? As if it could satiate her morbid appetite.
She had to enter. She had to see for herself. She had to confirm whether or not 'Akira Hiragi' was a lie. She had to use her own eyes, not borrow the eyes of others.
A silver gleam shone in the dark. Her hand trembled, sliding around the doorknob's form. Her other hand clasped her quivering limb by the wrist. It did not stop the tremors haunting her muscles nor the shudders beneath her freezing skin. But it gave her enough courage to clench the cold metal and rotate it.
A mad cackle buzzed in her ears, sending shivers down her bent spine. It was a sound so warped she couldn't identify it from creaking hinges or rattling bones. Her frigid skin acquired a bumpy texture as a feeling that was both pleasurable and nauseating dazzled her senses. Fear, fear, fear. She rationalized that something as irrational as fear was what delayed her tremulous march towards the unknown.
Long eyelashes swayed up and down in a sedate motion. Dull eyes stared at that slight opening between the quivering door and its frame. Shade and untold enigmas hid in there, beckoning Akira to come closer.
Akira stepped forward. She allowed the darkness to swallow her, without resistance. Maybe it would appreciate her compliance. Maybe it would praise her courage. Maybe it would reveal that truth she sought for so long. The truth that now was a morbid coalescence of facts and opinions all mixed together, a horrific blend of reality and fiction.
A dying heartbeat. One shaky exhale. The click of a door.
Nothing.
Silence.
Upon entering, no magnificent truths and woeful secrets were revealed to her. There was nothing, but a sepulchral silence eagerly welcoming her, eagerly ridiculing her expectations for answers.
This silence was not of the normal kind. At least, not the kind that normal people got impatient at, it being a boring and mute entity whose presence only highlighted the louder, more exciting aspects of life. No, it was not such thing. It was a bastardized stillness; a love child between harrowing secrecy and silence itself. Others may have come across this silence in presence of other people only. Akira's standard version of silence was this one, a perpetual invitation from the obscure and uncertain. It felt akin to an itch that couldn't be scratched, or a longing with no object to its desire.
There was something to be told, something to be found within this room. The surroundings couldn't decide whether to unfold their savvy of Akira Hiragi or keep it under wraps. They settled for a low wheezing, a buzzing that never quite become human speech. She could distinctly notice it, as she always noticed the whispers around her.
She was much like water and could reflect things and their details as good as she could pick them up in the first place.
Sometimes she wondered if that was good or not. It was the best she could do. With enough time, she could have all the corners of a puzzle. Without direct answers, she would never fill the middle. People knew that and made it the base for their cruel humor, taunting her with knowledge without revealing the entire truth. She was the butt of all their jokes.
Maybe it was dark humor. Maybe it was a mental sickness. She wasn't sure which one pushed people into treating dead people like they were alive, and vice versa.
She wasn't sure why a tomb would smell like flowers either. It did, and Akira could no longer find in her the energy to question such discrepancy. Humans apparently loved contradictions - then again, she wasn't the only one looking to fool herself sometimes. The cold, dark, rotting place she expected to find was merely dark. In place of the cold, there was pleasant warmth. In place of the rot and decay, there floated a sweet smell in the air.
Her finger flicked a switch on the wall as soon as she found it. Her eyes burnt within that instant of transition from darkness to light.
In a strange mix of bravery and fright, she slowly moved forward while blinded. She couldn't regain her balance immediately. After a few seconds, her hipbone accidentally hit something. She squeaked in surprise, bending over a bit in consequence. A hand on a smooth surface supported her fragile frame.
Then, a satisfying fragrance suddenly opened a pathway to her lungs. It was sugary, heady, and almost too sweet for her liking. It proved to be a tad overwhelming, so she recoiled a little from its source. She opened her eyes.
White.
She saw white, except its name was not white. The sight took her some time back when she was laying on her hospital bed as she skimmed over a magazine about flowers. Judging by the form, it should have been… a lilac.
It was comfortably stored in a dark-blue pot. It sat there, immobile, immaculate petals dancing and swaying only when disturbed by her shaky breathing pattern. She numbly felt her features wither upon seeing it.
'Empty' was a word that came to mind as she observed the color of the lilac. She thought better moments later. It wasn't the kind of empty white that spoke of nothingness and stagnation. It wasn't void like the promises of her doctors, hollow like the expectations of her parents.
It seemed more like… a purity that hadn't been tainted. There was life, heat that she so often found absent in the walls and ceilings she was used to stare at. It wasn't something robbed of its original color, its essence. It was a flawless existence waiting for its character to be forged and spirit to be tempered.
There, tucked just beneath the pot, was a small paper. After giving it some thought, she slid it away with her fingers. Her whitened hands unfolded it with unsteady fingers. Something was written on it with careful, delicate strokes of a black pen.
.
.
.
For my best and only friend, Akira-
-From your loyal, devoted friend, Marie.
Tu me manques.
Remets-toi vite, chérie. J'ai hâte que tu reviennes.
.
.
.
She could barely understand the bit of Japanese on the paper. Everything else seemed like gibberish.
'Marie' didn't ring any bells. There seemed to be a sense of explicit friendship put in the short letter. Still, nothing came to mind.
The muscles of her throat constricted a bit. Oxygen couldn't come through and she choked slightly. This wasn't the spark she sought. A bit resigned with her ever-increasing repertoire of questions without answers, Akira inched away from the desk. She did so with a tense mien.
She turned around. The room, as she perceived it after a few blinks, was pretty ordinary.
It had nothing impressive, except commonplace objects anyone would find everywhere. It had nothing much, except a boring and easily replicable scenery. For the untrained eye that only looked at the forest and not the trees, at least, it was exceedingly boring.
Akira had a bit of pride in seeing a bit further than others. It could be seeing past walls or obstacles. It could be seeing past lies and falsehoods. Whereas others were content with staring at the tip of the iceberg in a frozen lake, she had a knack to dive in murky waters and discover what lied beneath.
People would've seen a bedroom here. Akira, with an imagination far too creative in the most uncomfortable moments, pictured a mausoleum.
There was a bookshelf full of books she could not read. There was a closet full of fancy and cute clothes she would not wear. There was a computer she didn't know how to use, and framed pictures of bygone places and persons she did not remember. There was a beautiful flower gifted by a friend who was not her friend. There was nothing for her, but memories of remote times lurking in every corner. She had nothing, but snippets and excerpts of a life that had already reached its end.
The girl remembered a particular moment some time ago. In one of those strange moments of lucidity and when the urge to cry wasn't too overwhelming, she'd decided to watch the TV in the hospital. A documental about Ancient Egypt and many of its traditions was airing right then.
Minami had joined her, excited upon listening of the burial customs of Pharaohs. There were particular rites necessary to ensure a happy afterlife for the deceased. The corpses were carefully preserved, certain blessings were given to them, and personal belongings were put in their resting places because they would prove useful in the next world.
What was Akira, but a corpse who just so happened to breathe and walk? What was this room, but a comfortable burial chamber? What were all of these nice books and pictures hanging around, but bits and pieces that were not actually hers?
Not even the bed could escape a grim analogy. Its soft and inviting surface was a misleading image of comfort, much like an ornamented Egyptian sarcophagus beautified the end of existence with glitters and golden. It was all a mirage, a distortion. All was a lie.
She sat on what was once Akira Hiragi's bed. Ah, it was hard and cold. It was just like her. A block of dry ice covered with ironed sheets. The muscles of her cheeks hurt as they tugged upwards, birthing into the world a frigid smile. It showed a melancholic realization, set into an expression that ran deep within her pale skin, chilled into the joints of her jaw, frozen in an unmoving skeleton. It was the guise of a corpse, forever crystallized in a face that would not change.
This was her grave. And no matter how uncomfortable it was, she could not complain. The dead did not complain, least of all her, a cadaver pretending to be alive.
Nothing had changed.
Akira's neck bent, almost jamming her chin into her chest. In that position she could see her joined legs. Resting on them, timidly cradled between bloodless hands, was her trusty spiral notebook. Its soft cyan color inspired a sense of serenity she did not possess.
A reluctant finger slid over its cover. Then it slowly caressed its edges, before finally flipping it over.
Chicken scrawls and hurried scribbles were jotted over the first page. They were disorderly, a sea of ink and nonsense. At first glance one would mistake these scribbles as the doodles of a bored child with a pen at hand. Upon closer inspections, a dismayed adult would conclude they actually were Japanese characters horribly drawn. If anybody bothered to see past the unenviable calligraphy, they would discover grim details were written there. They left not much to the imagination. They shared a story with no room to discuss its finale, a dry and raw tragedy till the very end.
This story's protagonist was a girl. She had been known as Akira Hiragi.
Akira was a 14 year-old girl, a normal Japanese teenager hailing from a relatively normal family, the Hiragi. She had been calmly enjoying the wonders of youth while traversing her last year of middle school. She was said to be intelligent, notably athletic, and top of her class, with good looks to match. Life was smiling at her, and her future was admittedly bright, especially for a Quirkless human.
The, in a summer night, middle of July, she got hit by a truck and died.
That should have been the end. That was the end. Akira knew it was. Everybody else disagreed, weaving another falsely hopeful thread in a web of lies.
Akira Hiragi was quickly hospitalized after the accident. As a result of the crash, one side of her skull had been obliterated. The rest of her body was surprisingly uninjured. A few complications inevitably arose and she fell into a comma soon after being stabilized.
She recovered fairly well. She woke up once again sometime later in summer vacation. She was back to normal… except another problem didn't take long to rear its ugly head.
'Post-traumatic Retrograde Amnesia', the white coats called it. Aside from the damage dealt to her skull, her brain had suffered the brunt far more severely. She remembered clapping mouths, pitying eyes and prismatic scenes of madness that made no sense nor abided to any reason known to humans. The doctors mentioned something about the hippocampus. They said something about temporal lobes. They dejectedly declared an almost total loss of episodic memory, coupled with a noticeably impairment of semantic memory.
She only understood her entire life up to that point had been lost in a single night.
Akira moved one hand to the side of her head. She pushed some hair away. Her fingers then probed the patchy blotch of skin carved deep into her scalp.
She had never doubted the reasons that left her bedridden in the first place. She had not doubted her condition as an amnesiac, either. Her distrust wasn't exaggerated so as to deny every single fact that was thrown her way. She had to cling onto something, a little sliver of certitude, a certainty that would maintain her cracking sanity together. Even then, stable basic premises were not enough to put her life in order.
There was one thing she knew was a lie. A lie everyone persistently tried to shove down her throat.
Akira Hiragi was not Akira. Akira was not Akira Hiragi.
One girl died and another took her place. That was the simple truth everyone else tried to deny so desperately.
What made someone, someone? What differentiated a person from another? What was unique to Akira Hiragi that made her Akira Hiragi?
Was it her body that made her unique? Her past exploits in life? Was it the impression she left on people? Was it the feelings she elicited from others? Was it the subjective perception of third parties that turned her into Akira Hiragi?
She racked her mind numerous times, trying to find some solace in those questions. God knows she tried to act upon the basis that those questions were the right ones. She earnestly tried to put herself in other people's shoes, thinking that perhaps she was just simply looking at the matter from a wrong perspective. She tried her hardest to convince herself, to think that everybody's horrible treatment towards her and her illness was an overreaction.
She had been far too innocent for her own good. She couldn't feel at home pretending to be someone else.
Everyone spoke about things as if she knew what they were talking about. They ignored her scowls, her questioning tones, her vacant stares at nothingness when she attempted to decipher if she was a complete idiot or everybody was just making a fool out of her. For them, she was still the same Akira Hiragi.
But she was not. And she would never be.
A person was unique because of their experiences; their memories; the feelings attached to those memories. Everyone was different because they never lived through the same things the same way. How did anyone honestly expect her to act like Akira Hiragi when she didn't remember the first thing about her?
An accident and a few days in comma reduced her to a shadow. Everything she was and everything she could have been was gone, vanished into oblivion.
Akira knew something was missing. She didn't know what. She didn't have it either. She was stuck in a limbo between the memories she built after waking up, and a ravenous void. The emptiness craved something precious, something essential to be complete, yet the sole presence of that emptiness felt natural to her very existence. She felt a desperate need to fill the abyss. She also feared filling the abyss would deny what she was right now. It was a morbid mix of frenzied curiosity and dread.
She wanted to know the truth. She was also scared. What would happen if, for any reason, she recovered her memories?
Would she die? Would Akira Hiragi come back? Or would someone else, someone completely new, arise?
As long as she couldn't remember, those questions would remain as such. And in some way, she was fine like that. She didn't mind. She wanted to know because it was part of her being. But if knowing went against her own happiness, her peace of mind… was it really worth it?
She wasn't sure. She didn't know.
Akira only knew who she wasn't.
Her gaze was torn away from the notebook. Then, she looked around the room. She focused on a particular object, a framed picture, quietly sitting on a desk. Her legs tiredly helped her stand up. She snatched the thing with nonchalance, or probably exhaustion, and went back to her spot on the bed.
The picture was smooth to the touch. Dust had been shunned from its surface, exhibiting care and shine. Someone had gone in and out of this room and taken care of this picture. Akira could make a few guesses as to whom.
She stared at the image. Three dignified figures mutely stared back. One was a suited young adult with black disheveled hair, glasses and a stern expression - her father, Kyouya. The other was a beautiful woman, raven-haired as her husband, with blue-violet eyes and an elegant black dress - her mother, Minami. She smiled and he did not. Just by looking one could notice they complemented each other in some way. There was sharpness in the man when there needed to be and a certain charisma in the woman as well.
Sitting on an ornamented chair between both adults was a girl. She was beautiful, incredibly so. Her skin was stark and silky, an unblemished coating that would remind anyone of a porcelain doll while presenting none of its fragility. Her hair was all the opposite - a jet-black veil down to the very last strand, yet every bit as velvety and brilliant. It cascaded down her perfectly rounded shoulders, waving around like a blackened river before twisting and coiling in cute little curls. She seemed to be wearing a sailor school uniform, black and blue in color.
Her face was devilishly charming. It seemed she had inherited the best of her parents' traits, sporting an intense glare to her eyes and an elegant femininity to her face. Her rosy lips were gently pursed into a tiny smile. It could've passed as a carbon copy of her mother's visage. But this girl's countenance possessed something more. There was a visible tinge of confidence, a sense of strength her progenitors simply lacked, either because of age or cold maturity. She was a rebellious spark waiting to ignite, to blow up in a magnificent fire. Her regal guise blanketed any and all feelings inside nonetheless. She appeared far older than she was without losing a bit of her youth.
Akira stared longingly.
Each passing second heightened her resolve. She was not Akira Hiragi. This stunning, bewitching young lady, the source of her suffering and at the same time the one beacon of hope she had… she was not her.
She was a darling put on a pedestal, an unattainable idea and nothing else.
It was best if she remained like that. As an idea.
It was best if Akira remained as she was. As a lie.
Lie, lie, and something will remain. Lie enough times, and the lie as truth shall reign.
And so she would live at expenses of a dead girl's memory, an idea that would never leave her alone for as long as she lived. Maybe, if she lived long enough, pretending wouldn't hurt as much. What would that be called?
A lie of a life.
- ~Author's Note~ -
Greetings once again!
As you may have definitely noticed, I took quite a lot of time to update this story. I know it seems quite discouraging given this is basically the prologue and I'm taking far too long from the very beginning, but life has been a freaking mess. My inspiration has also been highly tested and college has been grinding me into the dirt these past few months, so I couldn't do much to write. I said I wouldn't make promises, but I'm sorry if it seemed like I was deceiving you all in terms of update times.
Anyway, story of my life aside, let's talk a bit about Summer Fantasy. These first two chapters are sort of an introduction to Akira's character, which is why there's a lot of introspection, details and all of that. This story is a slow burn and it'll gradually get faster, more emotional and violent. Next chapter there will be lengthier timeskips between scene and scene (or that's my idea, at least), so that I cover more events with less fat in-between. More characters (OCs mainly, I don't know about canon characters yet) will be introduced, the world will be explored more, and I will start adding more canon elements of My hero Academia. I have many good ideas but I want to go slowly, or else I would be risking info-dumping my readers - that's the last thing I want. So let's go step by step and savor every bit of imagination I can offer you to read, yes?
As a heads-up, many things from canon will be changed to my liking. Following the canon, even if it is from a different perspective, seemed kinda dull to me. This includes changing certain consequences from certain events, adding some personality twists to a few characters, probably changing a few backstories, and similar stuff. I hope it isn't too bothersome, but I'm sure you'll like how I spice things up!
This chapter was incredibly hard to write. I don't know why, given that I had everything planned out in my head. I guess I still have long ways to go as a writer! My next challenge would be to resist the urge to slit my throat everytime I come across a hurdle. I have the bad luck of coming across many, unfortunately.
Anyway! I wish I could say more about the story itself and not just general stuff, but I want to advance with the plot before I go around sharing specific data. I want to execute my current ideas in an adequate way before I reveal my crazier thoughts with y'all. I hope you understand.
I gladly accept reviews! They help me a lot to improve. Did you like the way everything was described/written? Was the chapter interesting? Is Akira a character you can slowly get behind or understand? Were the interactions spoooooky or spine-chilling? Are you interested in the 'truth' and whispers Akira catches every now and then? Tell me all your thoughts, if you have time!
My Beta Reader, Ciel Du Nord, has the patience of Buddha. Without her supporting my uninspired ass all these months, I couldn't have written anything. Kudos to her.
With everything said, I shall retire. Until next time, which I hope is very soon!
(04/08/2021)