Two Letters

Eisuke was glad to finally hang up that tuxedo coat and take off that damnable cummerbund. Monika would usually be there to help pull the coat off, but she was in his grandmother's rocking chair, nursing their baby.

He grabbed the stack of mail he was holding in his left hand with his hand, and slipped his left arm out of the coat. He moved the mail back into his left hand and slipped his right arm out before it occurred to him to just set the mail down on top of the shoe cabinet next to the door—the place where he had already set down his violin case.

"Monimoni, I'm home," he greeted his wife.

"Welcome home, Eisuke," she said, grunting as she got up. "Sayori-chan! Say 'Hi' to your daddy!" she said to their baby girl. Mother brought child into the front hall and she kissed her husband.

Eisuke bent over and gave their little girl a kiss on the forehead. "How's my little Sayoriin?"

The infant giggle happily, grabbing at her daddy.

"Here, let me take her off you," he said, picking up baby Sayori. Eisuke hefted her up to much giggles and squeals of delight. He blew fart noises on her belly.

Monika took the stack of mail from him and headed back into their living room. Reclining back into the rocking chair, she began sorting through the envelopes.

"This one's got no return address on it . . ." she called out to Eisuke as he came in and sat down on the couch perpendicular to the rocking chair. Monika handed him the little brownish orange envelope and he picked up the letter opener on the lampstand between the two seats.

Neatly slicing it open, he pulled out the letter inside. It was a single sheet of crisp, white printer paper. Unfolding it, he looked to find the printed MS Mincho text. MS Mincho was the Times New Roman of Japanese—it was the default typeface, and it was a pretty good indication that whoever used it hadn't discovered the change-font function of their word processor, yet. It didn't look bad, per se, but there were a lot of other typefaces out there that better delivered the message you wanted to communicate. MS Mincho and Times New Roman delivered the messages content the way a city bus does, but didn't carry any feeling.

Eisuke cleared his throat and began reading aloud.

"Dear Mrs. Yamamoto," he said in an overly officious tone, eliciting a lovely laugh from Monika.

"It has come to my attention that you've gone and made me a grandmother, despite knowing full well that you've probably condemned that child to a life of seeing delusions just like you do."

Eisuke's mocking tone had dropped into a normal tone and Monika's smile disappeared.

"The amount of shame . . ." Eisuke stopped reading and tore the letter in half. Monika was looking down despondent. "Monimoni, that woman is no longer in your life. She has no right to be." He reached over and gently tugged at her chin until her eyes met his.

"Don't let her live rent-free in your head, Moni. She's a blight that I won't stand staining our family. I'm sorry I even read it out as far as I did."

Monika forced a smile and screwed her eyes shut to stop the tears forming there. She inhaled deeply and then let out a shuddering breath, finally releasing the tension that was building in her chest. When she opened her eyes, her old friend, her daughter's namesake, was right in her face, looking at her with concern. So startled was she that Monika let out an "Eep!" and fell back into the rocking chair. Sayori smiled silently and then reached over and patted her on the head before skipping away, down the hall towards the kitchen.

Monika watched her go, turning her head and letting her eyes follow her friend before she disappeared through he kitchen door.

"You haven't seen her in a while . . ." Eisuke said as if he were commenting on an old friend. He knew that Monika still hallucinated Sayori from time to time—especially in stressful situations. But in the last few years since they graduated high school and then college, the once horrific and judgmental manifestation of the traumatic stress her mother put her through had turned into a very friendly, comforting, and playful living memory of her late dear friend. This Sayori would appear and help ease her stresses and sometimes make her laugh, even.

Eisuke sometimes wondered if her friend's soul hadn't come down from heaven to inhabit these hallucinations and wrangle them into the true spirit of Sayori, the girl who just wanted everyone around her to be happy.

Though he knew he probably shouldn't enable and encourage the illness his wife had, this one, he could indulge. Sayori was now a source of comfort for his wife, not terror.

"Go ahead and have those cookies in the jar," he called out to the kitchen—maybe the soul of Sayori really was rummaging around their kitchen for a snack. That brought a magical giggle from Monika. She leaned over and kissed his cheek.

"Thanks for being such a sweety," she said.

Their daughter, Sayori, happily bounced on her father's knee.

Monika picked up another envelope. This one was white and the return address was from her old neighborhood.

She eagerly sliced the top open and pulled out the letter. This one was handwritten in a beautiful, practiced hand.

"Dear Monika and Eisuke," she read aloud. "Ryunosuke and I are so honored you named your baby girl after our late daughter. Little Sayori looks so beautiful in the pictures you sent us. We're ever so happy that you'd bring us the joys of being her adopted grandparents."

New tears leaked from the corners of Monika's eyes. She was so heartened that she had to pause. Sayori skipped happily in from the kitchen and sat impossibly light on the armrest of the rocking chair. She had a big smile on her face and she reached down and rubbed Monika's shoulder. She was sharing in the joy Monika felt.

Eisuke took the letter and continued reading. "In her last months in this world, our Sayori went on and on about how much she loved her literature club, and her best friend, Monika. It was the first time she really seemed to be truly enthusiastic about something and sticking with it. If only we'd know what was going on inside . . ."

"Anyway, we want to make sure your Sayori has the best books that she can benefit from—and help alleviate a young couple of that cost, so we signed her up for a special program—all expenses paid, so don't worry about it! Every two weeks a new book will arrive—age appropriate—for her to enjoy. The first ones you can read to her, and as she grows, the can start reading them herself. The program will last until she graduates junior high school."

"And by all means, if you need a baby sitter or just want to let some old fogies play pretend at being her gramma and grampa, please bring her over. We'd love to have her, and you over whenever you'd like."

"Love,"

"Aogami Michiko and Ryunosuke"

Sayori gave Monika a thumbs-up and her winning smile. Eisuke and Monika hugged one another, celebrating the wonderful people they had in their lives.

In the year after her hospitalization, Monika and Eisuke had approached the Aogamis and talked about the aftermath of Sayori Aogami's suicide. Monika had apologized profusely, going so far as to get on her knees and put forehead to dirt.

The family proved to be very forgiving and accepting. They were having none of that begging for forgiveness and stood her back up. Michiko Aogami had glommed onto Monika and cried, and the distraught girl had returned the embrace.

Her hand held in Eisuke's for a little strength, the couple explained Monika's schizophrenia and what it had caused her to do—how she had been convinced that they were in a video game where she was the only real person. How it culminated in her bizzare actions, including tying Kazuo to a chair and then impersonating Sayori (badly).

Ryunosuke Aogami, Sayori's father kindly accepted Monika. He hugged her and hoped that she wasn't suffering anymore like Sayori had been.

Sayori's mother—maybe desperate for some connection to her baby girl—suddenly said, "Sayori? If you're there, stop tormenting this girl and be her friend again . . . she said she's sorry, so . . . please . . ." she couldn't finish and broke down after that.


In the days since, though, the Aogamis and Monika grew closer. Where her own mother had grown distant, cold, and eventually just absent from her life, Mrs. Aogami became her unofficial new mother.

Mrs. Aogami was an artist, and Monika could see where Sayori had gotten her poster-making talent. The woman had helped encourage her through college and eventually Monika got her own teaching license.

She was now a music and literature teacher at none other than Nakayama Municipal High School. By the time she took her position there, none of the teachers was still there that would have remembered her—a consequence of the Japanese school system's three and six-year teaching gigs before you were transferred somewhere else. Despite her work-load, she happily sponsored and oversaw the school's thriving literature club. A little industrious research revealed to them that their sponsor was also the club's founder. Fortunately, the question of why she left before she graduated was answered with a simple, "medical leave" and the question was dropped.

Sakura Higashiyama, a girl she'd become good friends with, at Miyako no Kouji High School—where she went for her senior year after her episodes—had gone to college with her and also earned her teaching license. Sakura was now Nakayama's drama teacher. Only she knew Monika's secret and always kept an eye out for her.


They'd put baby Sayori down for the night and headed to bed.

Eisuke looked around and asked, "So . . . if she's not here to watch, wanna try for another one?"

Monika looked around and suddenly looked confused. "She's . . . she's not here." She shook her head and cleared it, dismissing Sayori's absence as nothing to worry about. Even when Sayori wasn't there to see, Monika knew she was there, somewhere.


Sayori picked up the two halves of the torn letter from Kumiko Sumisu.

She read it and for the first time in a long time, her usually playful, smiling visage melted into an enraged scowl. The fireplace next to her erupted in full flames, though no log sat on the grate. Angrily, Sayori crumpled the paper and twisted it, and then she tossed it into the ethereal flames. It incinerated and its ashes tainted this home no more.

The flames disappeared and Sayori's smile returned, she skipped happily down the hall to a little baby's bedroom and curled up in the crib, warmly comforting her fitfully sleeping namesake.

Author's Note:

I came home from work today and found a little postcard from the Japanese government. It said I needed to go pick up my new permanent residence card from Immigration sometime before the 13th of December. I applied for permanent residence in August because I'd lived in Japan for 10 years by that point (the main requirement). The application process was very stressful, but it's ultimately paid off!

Since I was in such a happy mood, I suddenly got the idea for another little vignette for my schizophrenic Monika—a nice, happy episode.

Please leave a review! I love reviews! If you haven't already, please consider reading my other fics, I'm in the Monika, and I'm in the Sayori.

If you're wondering about the staff-rotation, almost all government employees, are rotate into and out of schools and departments every year. Most people will work in a place for three or six years. Every March 28th, I have to go buy a newspaper to see where all the principals, vice-principals, and teachers will be teaching in the next school year, who's retiring, etc. Every year is "Oh no! [favorite teacher] is transferring to the junior high school (where I don't teach)!" or "[Favorite principal] is retiring! And he's getting replace with [least favorite vice-principal]!"