Whoo, back again! Higurashi Month 2019, because it has become one of my lowkey life goals to keep perpetuating this until it becomes a proper tradition for all three-and-a-half people in this graveyard of a fandom. And then keep doing it anyways, because tradition. If you wish to check out the prompt list, its on my tumblr page under the same username.
June 21st, 2019
Satoshi sleeps.
He is not used to dreaming coherently –except those few, terrifying dreams, later on, after he quit the team, those dreams of Oyashiro-sama's hollow-eyed presence at his bedside, staring down at him with a look of such utter, cosmic disappointment, he almost welcomed the cold fingers that stole around his next as nothing less than he deserved–
Except now, his dreams seem more disjointed than ever. His memory, when he can remember anything, is extremely fuzzy. He has a blurred sensation –or is it just mere intention? Has he even done it?– of buying that huge stuffed bear for Satoko, of calling Coach because it doesn't fit on his bike, and then-
Blurry, static blips of fear, of alarm, of oh no it didn't work and utter, soul-shocking terror, jitters of discomfort that his mind shies away from and flashes of bright, nigh-on technicolor images, Irie's worried face, the bear, being in a car, a burning in the crook of his elbow and a flash of steel.
Darkness.
Satoshi can't remember, can't seem to piece together those broken fragments of impulses and memory and future intent and wrench it all together into a cohesive whole, can't even drag together enough pieces to tell him what happened or even care that he doesn't seem to have awoken in…
…a while. A length of time. It seems long, but haven't his nights all been like that lately, huddled over the phone and typing out numbers at random, the cool plastic buttons cupping his fingertips like old friends as he dials up Rena, Mion, Mion (Shion, her name is Shion, a whisper of memory about temple names), even Rika, just to have someone to talk to, someone to keep the lurking shadows at bay. Auntie and Uncle won't let him use the phone, they always yell about him wasting their money when they catch him at it, but Satoshi almost welcomes the sharp sting of pain that accompanies their slaps and the deafening force of their yells.
(It distracts him from the extra footstep limping along behind as he crawls to he and Satoko's room like a frightened, broken animal.)
Satoshi doesn't know how long its been. His memory is a mishmash of darkness and discomfort and a bright, hot light shining down on his face, blurry and melding together into the familiar cloying black of slumber. The groggy traces of his intellect wonder if this is divine punishment by Oyashiro-sama, or something else entirely. A delusion, perhaps, or maybe that bat in his hands erred and Auntie lived and-
Satoshi wonders if he's dead. He feels as though death should be more…definitive, that his mother and the latest in the long line of their stepfathers would be waiting for him across the river, but perhaps the religion he knows is wrong. Perhaps he is just another lost soul, wandering through the world until his purpose is fulfilled and the bear he bought for Satoko is delivered to her. He wonders what happened, if Irie is dead too. Perhaps their car crashed.
His head hurts when he tries to think about what happened after those blurry scratches of memory of Satoko bear and car street bright and Irie worried pain and, further back, bat hitting hands shaky blood and Auntie dead yes finally Satoko free. It's a deep, grinding pain, like someone's wrapped a steel compress around his skull and is cruelly increasing the terrible pressure, winching the clamps tighter millimeter by agonizing millimeter.
He can't think. He's too disoriented, too groggy, and it aches when he tries: everything's too confusing, he just wants to sleep and be free of pain for a little, but no matter how long he sleeps (if this is sleep), the discomfort and swirling storm of thought-fragments and confusion and strain never abates, never lessens.
Satoshi just wants it to end, so he can go back to his family, go back to Satoko, with the stuffed bear held high on his crumbling shoulders.
But he sleeps, and dreams away, even as the worlds re-rewind, again and again and again, unaware of the drama and tragedy playing out on the exterior of his white box.
AN: Continuing to read Umineko. Beatrice is a big fat meanie. Ange is great and deserves all the good things in the world despite her character's participation of the whole Japanese "onii-chan" fetish. Shannon and George should get married and be happy forever. Kinzo is an ASSHOLE.
9.55 AM, USA Central Time