Disclaimer: Characters belong to Tecmo. Story an amalgamation of outside
influences.
We live desperately each day. Each moment we trod on hopelessly, unable to control the things that are going on around us. The world's always spinning; it never stops. And most of us just get swept away by it.
It's moving so fast that I can't keep up with it and not lose anything that's important. Sacrifice has always been a part of change, but sometimes it's just too much. Or maybe I was just too afraid.
The streets were crowded, yet empty. There was no where I could hide. Eyes stared and then passed over me. I was just another part of the everyday mundane faces that people pass by. But I still felt exposed – uncomfortable in my own skin. I walked as far to the sides as I could – not wanting to get in the way of the functioning of the rest of the world. After all, I really didn't feel like I was part of it anymore.
My feet were starting to tire from the long walk from school, but finally I arrived at the bottom stairs that led to our apartment. My brother was on the balcony, staring out into the skyline. I think he saw me as I walked up, but he rarely ever acknowledged anything anymore. He just sat there on his wheelchair, smoking a cigarette. I looked to where he was gazing. Blackened shapes of small buildings and old television antennas loomed against an orange-rusted atmosphere.
I opened the door leading to the kitchen. Our home was cramped, but it was enough for the three of us to live in. The hallway was narrow. I saw my father as I passed his room. He was sitting quietly still – looking at a picture of my mother. He usually did this when he wasn't out at work. He never got over the grief of mom dying.
I went straight to the bathroom. I turned on the faucet in the sink and began to wash my hands. After a few minutes, there was a knock on the door. I could hear my brother's voice on the other side, asking to come in.
My brother had been crippled for almost a year now. The night it had happened would forever be etched in my memory. I remembered that my father was working late. I was alone in my room writing an essay that was due tomorrow. There was a bit of commotion outside. I looked out to see a few figures in the dark, fighting. I shut the blinds. I didn't want to be disturbed.
This went on for about half an hour. I didn't really want to get involved – I hated fighting. I tried to shut out the voices, but I couldn't. One of them was obviously being ganged up on – screaming from pain. I parted the blinds to see. Lights could still be seen through the windows all throughout our block. I wasn't the only one who heard this or noticed this. I went back to my school work – sure that someone would have called the police by now.
The commotion seemed to have stopped. And I was able to finish my paper and go to sleep. I was woken up later that night by a knocking on my door. I heard my father's voice telling me to get up. I got up groggily from bed and opened the door. My father was standing in front of me. There were other voices too that were down below our apartment building. I asked him what was going on. He said he'd tell me later and that I had to get dressed immediately.
I did as he told and afterwards, went downstairs to find a cab waiting for us. As we were being driven, he told me that my brother had just been rushed to the hospital only minutes ago. When father came home, he found Hayate lying unconscious on the street. He didn't know, but I realized what happened; it had been hours since my brother had been out there. Almost the whole neighborhood had been a witness to the attack. But no one came to help him, not even me.
It happens more often than we think. It's almost as if it's human nature. We assume that someone else will help that person and not want to get ourselves involved. In my brother's case, it ended up with no one coming to his aid at all.
I snapped out of my thoughts and let the water wash away the feeling of uncleanliness from my hands. I didn't open the door immediately. I had to wash my hands for a certain amount of time. After I finished, I got out and made way for Hayate to stroll past. I asked him if he needed help. He only shook his head and closed the door.
We live desperately each day. Each moment we trod on hopelessly, unable to control the things that are going on around us. The world's always spinning; it never stops. And most of us just get swept away by it.
It's moving so fast that I can't keep up with it and not lose anything that's important. Sacrifice has always been a part of change, but sometimes it's just too much. Or maybe I was just too afraid.
The streets were crowded, yet empty. There was no where I could hide. Eyes stared and then passed over me. I was just another part of the everyday mundane faces that people pass by. But I still felt exposed – uncomfortable in my own skin. I walked as far to the sides as I could – not wanting to get in the way of the functioning of the rest of the world. After all, I really didn't feel like I was part of it anymore.
My feet were starting to tire from the long walk from school, but finally I arrived at the bottom stairs that led to our apartment. My brother was on the balcony, staring out into the skyline. I think he saw me as I walked up, but he rarely ever acknowledged anything anymore. He just sat there on his wheelchair, smoking a cigarette. I looked to where he was gazing. Blackened shapes of small buildings and old television antennas loomed against an orange-rusted atmosphere.
I opened the door leading to the kitchen. Our home was cramped, but it was enough for the three of us to live in. The hallway was narrow. I saw my father as I passed his room. He was sitting quietly still – looking at a picture of my mother. He usually did this when he wasn't out at work. He never got over the grief of mom dying.
I went straight to the bathroom. I turned on the faucet in the sink and began to wash my hands. After a few minutes, there was a knock on the door. I could hear my brother's voice on the other side, asking to come in.
My brother had been crippled for almost a year now. The night it had happened would forever be etched in my memory. I remembered that my father was working late. I was alone in my room writing an essay that was due tomorrow. There was a bit of commotion outside. I looked out to see a few figures in the dark, fighting. I shut the blinds. I didn't want to be disturbed.
This went on for about half an hour. I didn't really want to get involved – I hated fighting. I tried to shut out the voices, but I couldn't. One of them was obviously being ganged up on – screaming from pain. I parted the blinds to see. Lights could still be seen through the windows all throughout our block. I wasn't the only one who heard this or noticed this. I went back to my school work – sure that someone would have called the police by now.
The commotion seemed to have stopped. And I was able to finish my paper and go to sleep. I was woken up later that night by a knocking on my door. I heard my father's voice telling me to get up. I got up groggily from bed and opened the door. My father was standing in front of me. There were other voices too that were down below our apartment building. I asked him what was going on. He said he'd tell me later and that I had to get dressed immediately.
I did as he told and afterwards, went downstairs to find a cab waiting for us. As we were being driven, he told me that my brother had just been rushed to the hospital only minutes ago. When father came home, he found Hayate lying unconscious on the street. He didn't know, but I realized what happened; it had been hours since my brother had been out there. Almost the whole neighborhood had been a witness to the attack. But no one came to help him, not even me.
It happens more often than we think. It's almost as if it's human nature. We assume that someone else will help that person and not want to get ourselves involved. In my brother's case, it ended up with no one coming to his aid at all.
I snapped out of my thoughts and let the water wash away the feeling of uncleanliness from my hands. I didn't open the door immediately. I had to wash my hands for a certain amount of time. After I finished, I got out and made way for Hayate to stroll past. I asked him if he needed help. He only shook his head and closed the door.