In Light of Comedic Effect

An uncooked bag of rice sits in the fridge. Mold covers the white grains. The plastic is wrinkled and decayed as if deflating in on itself. If Satoko tears open the package, she's certain a rancid stench will hit her in a plume of green gas, a comical scene that would have fit the atmosphere of the Hinamizawa Branch School.

But this place is the home to termites. They have eaten through the wood and rested in the rotting shingles. Long ago, it had housed Satoko and Rika, but that was many lifetimes ago, and she supposes squatters have their rights, too, as although Satoko returned, Rika had abandoned their home for St. Lucia.

This loop is no different from countless others. She knows the game by now. If Rika leaves, a tragedy will occur. In some circumstances, Satoko will also perish, and that is preferable to witnessing the lifelessly cold body that had once been her Nii-Nii. She's already seen Rika's equally lifeless and cold body too many times to count with both her fingers and toes, each corpse more garish and bloody than the last.

The difference is Satoko knows how this world will end. The snow is already piling on the roof. Wind hammers at the windows that threaten to shatter. Ominous creaks fill a dying house. The lights flicker in the kitchen, and Satoko slams the refrigerator door shut. She decides to die hungry, knowing the next world will bring a peaceful, warm, and filling meal to be made at Rika's side. She hopes to awaken when Chie is in the midst of her curry contest, and the spices waft around her, warming her when her sweater will not.

Satoko's footsteps are silenced by the storm. She makes her way to the foyer, ignoring the empty futons in their old bedroom. She remembers the way Rika had draped the blanket around her shivering form when they were younger, and she idly rubs her shoulders, Rika's soft touch lingering on her blue skin.

If Satoko had bothered to go to the bathroom, she would have seen the effects of the chill. Purple lips. A mottled complexion. She is already dead, and she knows it. All she needs is the blood in her veins to either freeze much like the pipes rattling against the house.

Satoko drops on her back, spread-eagled. She narrows her eyes on the ceiling, its moaning growing louder. The entire home shakes, gale-force winds striking her haven, threatening to tear it from its foundation. She almost wouldn't mind. At least it would have provided a slight deviation to the norm that she had come to expect in the worlds where Rika lives in St. Lucia while she becomes more like her brother with every passing day after bowing out.

Fall already, she thinks, glaring at the ceiling. Something shifts on the roof, then cracks, but nothing happens. Hurry up and accumulate. Let me move on to the next world.

No one listens. The storm moves at its own pace. Satoko itches her scalp, dandruff filling underneath her fingernails. She rocks from side to side, her agitation like fuel to her fury, and she stops only upon realizing how foolish she looks to the beings leering down on her.

Gnawing on her lip, Satoko curls into herself. If she falls asleep, then she wonders if she will wake up in another world faster than waiting for the inevitable. She wishes she had stolen a few bottles of pills to quicken her demise, but Irie would have become suspicious, his attention to detail impressive, and she would have been placed on suicide watch, a specimen to be observed like Satoshi.

She can drag herself back to the kitchen. Rika's wine is still untouched. Although the tang isn't to her palate, she can drink herself into a stupor that will bring her closer to death. But as she entertains that idea, she remembers how Rika languished. Rika was nothing more than a sorrowful, slobbish, spiteful caricature lamenting her fate when she guzzled her wine. If Satoko gives it a second thought, that was simply another facet of the complex century-old identity known as Furude Rika.

She always had more than one side. The shrine maiden. The princess. The drunk. The survivor. The friend. The tourist. The cynic. The cat. The lover. And I know all of them, some in secret.

Satoko smirks. Rika would have blanched if she ever realized how much Satoko really knew. Everyone hid specific aspects of themselves. Otherwise, Keiichi would have immediately admitted how he gleefully shot at little girls on their way home from school or "Mion" would have taken ownership over how she had taken the moniker from "Shion" that stained her backside. Even now, Rika wears her masks, alternating between the Rika who needs to be present in the moment to study, to escape, to dance, or drink her sorrows away until she passes out.

The roof whines. It sinks, the plaster and paint chipping. Satoko ceases her line of thinking. If she becomes too analytical, she'll awaken with a migraine in the next world. It'll worry Rika and her friends, and she only wants to laugh, act like her merry self, if she can ever find that Satoko again.

Snow seeps through the cracks. It falls like sand in an hourglass, slowly, but surely, filling the termites' home. It melts through her sweater and jeans, but her skin has already become numb. She doesn't mind how it wets her greasy hair, and with that cooling sensation sliding through her limp strands, she closes her eyes, waiting for death.

Something clicks. Hinges creak, and the door slams into the wall. The harsh wind must have taken the doorknob clean off, and the storm rushes at Satoko, slamming her with hail beating at her legs and cutting her chin. She doesn't bother defending herself, reminded of how Rika was helpless when that monster sliced through her belly, taking every ounce of agony, searing it to her memory.

"Satoko!"

She knows that scream. Her eyes snap open. Her body reacts with such quickness that the blood rushing to her head dizzies her. Vision blurring, she squints at the colors approaching her. Silky hair the color of blueberries. A school uniform ill-fitting with the culture of Hinamizawa. Eyes that have seen heaven and hell and all that remain in limbo.

Rika kneels and snatches Satoko's hand. "Come on! We need to leave now! We can head to the clinic and shelter there until it blows over!"

Satoko gasps, white puffs of air escaping her. "Wh-? Rika? Rika, why are you-?"

"When I learned about this snowstorm, I came right home! I had a bad feeling!" Rika's expression twists, the cracks spreading and deepening above her head. "Let's go! Come on!"

"But why?" Satoko asks, snapping her hand to her chest. "Why are you here? They let you leave St. Lucia to come home in a blizzard? How did you even make it here in time for this?"

Rika's mouth drops. Her brows furrow as snow continues filling the room. "What? Are you crazy? Has the cold made you lose your mind? We don't have time for questions!"

Satoko has all the time in the world, not that Rika understands. Standing up, Rika grabs her hand again, but Satoko becomes like a statue. She is immovable, tethered to her spot no matter how hard Rika pulls. Satoko watches how her face burns from exertion, her jaw tensing as she works to pry Satoko from the floor. When she utters an exhausted wail, Satoko almost laughs when she seizes Rika's wrist. She drags Rika to her knees and smiles so hard her cheeks hurt, her dried lips breaking in thin cuts. She can't help but shake her head, her entire body quaking, and it isn't from the chill pervading through the home.

Rika's arrival is nothing short of stupid. The power to loop creates countless opportunities. Some of them are painfully idealistic, which is what Satoko is in at that very moment. Being saved by Rika is like the end to a nightmare. But even so, she is in a curse known as reality, and what will come next is simply abiding by the logical course of the story instead of enjoying undeserved plot twists.

"Rika, this ending is so bad. Word of advice but you really need to learn how to fit the mood," she coos, patting Rika's cheeks.

Rika is nothing short of baffled as she bellows, "What the hell are you talking about? We need to go!"

And in an obvious move, the ceiling collapses.

Rika shrieks in Satoko's eardrum. She tightens her grip on the back of Satoko's weather. Tons of metal and snow crushes their bodies into what must be mangled lumps waiting to be discovered by the villagers. As her teeth are knocked out and her brains are bashed by shards of shingles, Satoko can't help but think of how ridiculously hopeful that scenario had amounted to only to end in familiar tragedy.

"Satoko?"

She opens her eyes. She had fallen asleep in the middle of a lecture at St. Lucia. Rika touches her shoulder, her smile carefree despite the other lingering eyes of the students peering at them.

"Nipah," she whispers, and Satoko smiles, appreciating the gesture.

"Ohoho," she mumbles back, and they lace their fingers together for the briefest of seconds before giving their attention to the teacher. Resting her hand on her cheek, she twists her pencil between her fingers, thinking, These loops are becoming messier by the second. What's next? Am I going to drop a chandelier on Rika's head?

She pauses.

Oh. Wait. That could actually happen in some other world. Huh, I wonder how I'd even set that trap up? Maybe I'd embrace Rika, too, and go out with a real bang in front of these stuck-ups.

A smirk plays on her lips, one that she knows will have the strange woman who started her on her journey laughing.

A tragic romance ending doesn't sound too bad for this world. Much better than whatever the hell that trite previous loop was. Eh, well, I guess I have all the time in the world to figure out the plot going on around here, right?