Born Again I Suppose: KDO in a different set of circumstances The
characters are not mine.
3. Generosity Fuka pulled the lapels of her windbreaker closer to her body as the icy wind blasted through its seams. She was so proud of the jacket. Black with red and blue stripes with the tiny insignia on the right corner that pictured a gymnast with two hands on the balance beam and her legs above her head in the splits rendered in golden thread. And on the back her name stitched in more golden cursive: Fuka Matsui. It was the jacket associated with her trainer's gym. Their sensei who ran the school, Sengoku-san* was a marvel for his astonishing performance at the Olympics when he was so young. After receiving the silver medal he mysteriously ended his career and opened up a school.
It was a very serious gym; Fuka was but five years old, and already expected to perform her exercises flawlessly. She sat on the beam of the wooden fence next to five other girls and boys as they waited for admission into the hospital.
"This is so stupid!" Fuka said, "We could be back at the gym! Why are we doing this?"
Another girl shrugged in response, more focused on shielding herself from the gusts of wind.
Fuka could recognize her trainer's footsteps on the pavement without turning around. His punctuated footfalls came so frequently it sounded like he was running but it was only his hurried gait that reflected his impatience with anything that wasn't up to his standards. The hospital's inefficiency did not meet with his approval and he almost considered their disorganization a personal insult.
Fuka narrowed her eyes. She could tell he was angry and this only fueled her disapproval with the whole idea. "Sensei why do we have to be here?" She asked politely stifling her anger using a mildly innocent tone because she knew she was risking his wrath. Her classmates all stared at her with wide-eyes. Their sensei was treated with reverence by most adults, let alone his five-year old students.
The trainer turned to glare at her with so much heat Fuka shoved herself further away from him on the fence. "You!" he said pointing to the rebel for he knew none of their names, "You think everyone is as happy as you with parents who will buy you expensive lessons and jackets and a body that does all you ask! Well there are children just your age suffering every day just to breathe! So just get your selfish little body through that door and you are going to meet these children with tubes coming out their ears and give them anything they desire!" His voice was at its most intimidating, the words uttered like bullets that struck in a perfectly calculated pattern in Fuka's heart.
The children snapped into a straight line that would have been acceptable in the Army and marched straight into the building. They got all the way to the children's ward before the children had recovered enough to make awed whispers and giggles to dispel the lingering fear from the trauma. "My mom told me he has a brother with leukemia. That's why Sensei's so crazy!" This message was passed down the line of children with the speed only a rumor can reach.
Fuka, still trembling not with aftershock but with anger, entered the first room their group came to. "Hayama," Sengoku-san said in a voice void of any emotion to the pale youth who was dwarfed in the large hospital bed.
"Onii-san," answered the boy in an equally cold tone. The whispers among the children increased, "Oh my god! They're brothers!"
Fuka peered at the boy curiously. His complexion was drained of any color and he was unhealthily thin. His body looked like it had a very thin handhold onto life. Except for his eyes... They stared out like lanterns from the angular planes of his face and they burned with an intensity that rivaled with any lantern flame.
"What do you iwant/i?" the boy asked with a hostile tone.
"Me? Me? What do iI /iwant? I never want anything! Do I? I never ask for anything. You've taken my whole life and now you want to know what I want?" Sengoku laughed harshly. "No, I just brought my little troupe here to wish you well, of course. Best wishes dear brother!" The sarcasm was almost tangible, hanging in the air.
"No," said the five-year old boy with a perception well beyond his years, "You didn't bring them to wish me well. You brought them to show me what I'm imissing/i."
"What nonsense from an ungrateful little boy!" Sengoku said coldly, "No, and here I'll prove it. I've brought you a gift." A chill ran up Fuka's spine as Sengoku turned to her with a cruel glint in his eye. He roughly pushed her up to Hayama's bedside. "Take her, take this pretty little girl spoiled with the pleasures of life."
Up close, the ashen pallor of the boy and the horrible tubes that exited his every orifice were even more terrible to observe. Fuka trembled at just the sight of him, not in pity, for she was young and empathy was not her forte, but in revulsion.
"Give him a kiss, my dear," Sengoku said with a nasty smile. Fuka looked up at her trainer not bothering to disguise her horror at the idea of pressing her lips to the yellow skin that seemed seconds away from simply falling from his cheek. "Do it," he said in the same voice he used to call out instructions in the gym. It rang with inevitability.
Fuka leaned forward aiming for the cheek but Sengoku's voice rang out again, "No dear, no." Fuka understood. Later, she wondered how she mustered up the courage to peck him on the lips as she was forced to. Afterwards she could not stifle her tears as Sengoku laughed at their appearance.
"Alright Hayama, savor that over the years. Was that your first kiss? Well it'll also probably be your last. Yet another favor I've done for you. At least you've kissed before you die. You've never thanked me, never thanked me for giving up my life so you can die in ipeace/i, Hayama, brother dear."
Fuka, now that her part was over, was safely out of Sengoku's scrutiny. She eagerly stepped away from the boy who she could not, for the life of her, relate to. She cowered near the door, unable to feel anything for him besides fear and disgust. She had grown up with parents who loved her and provided for her with memories where the sadness was always smothered with a happy resolution. She had never encountered sadness that couldn't be healed but had to be lived with and dealt with like a sore that refused to heal. In such naiveté Fuka only wanted to shut her eyes and use disgust to postpone the knowledge that must eventually be learned, that life for some yields only misery.
Hayama turned his head on the pillow, away from them, and closed his eyes. Sengoku shook his head condescendingly and led his crying charges away from the room with the boy who for each second that passed made him only more aware of the death that had not yet come for him.
* Sengoku-san is the teacher of class 1 in junior high. He has a very very bad prejudice against Hayama. Remember he hits him???
3. Generosity Fuka pulled the lapels of her windbreaker closer to her body as the icy wind blasted through its seams. She was so proud of the jacket. Black with red and blue stripes with the tiny insignia on the right corner that pictured a gymnast with two hands on the balance beam and her legs above her head in the splits rendered in golden thread. And on the back her name stitched in more golden cursive: Fuka Matsui. It was the jacket associated with her trainer's gym. Their sensei who ran the school, Sengoku-san* was a marvel for his astonishing performance at the Olympics when he was so young. After receiving the silver medal he mysteriously ended his career and opened up a school.
It was a very serious gym; Fuka was but five years old, and already expected to perform her exercises flawlessly. She sat on the beam of the wooden fence next to five other girls and boys as they waited for admission into the hospital.
"This is so stupid!" Fuka said, "We could be back at the gym! Why are we doing this?"
Another girl shrugged in response, more focused on shielding herself from the gusts of wind.
Fuka could recognize her trainer's footsteps on the pavement without turning around. His punctuated footfalls came so frequently it sounded like he was running but it was only his hurried gait that reflected his impatience with anything that wasn't up to his standards. The hospital's inefficiency did not meet with his approval and he almost considered their disorganization a personal insult.
Fuka narrowed her eyes. She could tell he was angry and this only fueled her disapproval with the whole idea. "Sensei why do we have to be here?" She asked politely stifling her anger using a mildly innocent tone because she knew she was risking his wrath. Her classmates all stared at her with wide-eyes. Their sensei was treated with reverence by most adults, let alone his five-year old students.
The trainer turned to glare at her with so much heat Fuka shoved herself further away from him on the fence. "You!" he said pointing to the rebel for he knew none of their names, "You think everyone is as happy as you with parents who will buy you expensive lessons and jackets and a body that does all you ask! Well there are children just your age suffering every day just to breathe! So just get your selfish little body through that door and you are going to meet these children with tubes coming out their ears and give them anything they desire!" His voice was at its most intimidating, the words uttered like bullets that struck in a perfectly calculated pattern in Fuka's heart.
The children snapped into a straight line that would have been acceptable in the Army and marched straight into the building. They got all the way to the children's ward before the children had recovered enough to make awed whispers and giggles to dispel the lingering fear from the trauma. "My mom told me he has a brother with leukemia. That's why Sensei's so crazy!" This message was passed down the line of children with the speed only a rumor can reach.
Fuka, still trembling not with aftershock but with anger, entered the first room their group came to. "Hayama," Sengoku-san said in a voice void of any emotion to the pale youth who was dwarfed in the large hospital bed.
"Onii-san," answered the boy in an equally cold tone. The whispers among the children increased, "Oh my god! They're brothers!"
Fuka peered at the boy curiously. His complexion was drained of any color and he was unhealthily thin. His body looked like it had a very thin handhold onto life. Except for his eyes... They stared out like lanterns from the angular planes of his face and they burned with an intensity that rivaled with any lantern flame.
"What do you iwant/i?" the boy asked with a hostile tone.
"Me? Me? What do iI /iwant? I never want anything! Do I? I never ask for anything. You've taken my whole life and now you want to know what I want?" Sengoku laughed harshly. "No, I just brought my little troupe here to wish you well, of course. Best wishes dear brother!" The sarcasm was almost tangible, hanging in the air.
"No," said the five-year old boy with a perception well beyond his years, "You didn't bring them to wish me well. You brought them to show me what I'm imissing/i."
"What nonsense from an ungrateful little boy!" Sengoku said coldly, "No, and here I'll prove it. I've brought you a gift." A chill ran up Fuka's spine as Sengoku turned to her with a cruel glint in his eye. He roughly pushed her up to Hayama's bedside. "Take her, take this pretty little girl spoiled with the pleasures of life."
Up close, the ashen pallor of the boy and the horrible tubes that exited his every orifice were even more terrible to observe. Fuka trembled at just the sight of him, not in pity, for she was young and empathy was not her forte, but in revulsion.
"Give him a kiss, my dear," Sengoku said with a nasty smile. Fuka looked up at her trainer not bothering to disguise her horror at the idea of pressing her lips to the yellow skin that seemed seconds away from simply falling from his cheek. "Do it," he said in the same voice he used to call out instructions in the gym. It rang with inevitability.
Fuka leaned forward aiming for the cheek but Sengoku's voice rang out again, "No dear, no." Fuka understood. Later, she wondered how she mustered up the courage to peck him on the lips as she was forced to. Afterwards she could not stifle her tears as Sengoku laughed at their appearance.
"Alright Hayama, savor that over the years. Was that your first kiss? Well it'll also probably be your last. Yet another favor I've done for you. At least you've kissed before you die. You've never thanked me, never thanked me for giving up my life so you can die in ipeace/i, Hayama, brother dear."
Fuka, now that her part was over, was safely out of Sengoku's scrutiny. She eagerly stepped away from the boy who she could not, for the life of her, relate to. She cowered near the door, unable to feel anything for him besides fear and disgust. She had grown up with parents who loved her and provided for her with memories where the sadness was always smothered with a happy resolution. She had never encountered sadness that couldn't be healed but had to be lived with and dealt with like a sore that refused to heal. In such naiveté Fuka only wanted to shut her eyes and use disgust to postpone the knowledge that must eventually be learned, that life for some yields only misery.
Hayama turned his head on the pillow, away from them, and closed his eyes. Sengoku shook his head condescendingly and led his crying charges away from the room with the boy who for each second that passed made him only more aware of the death that had not yet come for him.
* Sengoku-san is the teacher of class 1 in junior high. He has a very very bad prejudice against Hayama. Remember he hits him???