-5-
There are different foster families for those with quirks and those without. I'm not allowed to see my brothers, but I am allowed to write. I write them daily.
Only Kaito responds.
My new foster family picks me up almost immediately. I am ten, soft-spoken and dainty. They dress me in pink and frills and ask me why I carry a flashlight at all times. I don't answer, and they don't make me. They don't even try.
They take me to different places, to different ceremonies, parties, and celebrations, showing me off like some sort of award, parading their goodness and kindness for all of the world to see. And when we return home (is that what this is?), they feed me and leave me to play.
Their quirk is plant-based. Mr. Takamura runs a successful business using his quirk to increase production and cut costs. His wife, Mrs. Takamura, is in charge of his marketing. Their daughter, Hina, goes to a private school in town. I am sent there as well.
It's… small.
Small classes, a small number of people, a small school. Pink carpet floors, crisp white walls, and golden door knockers.
It feels too small. Like I've been stuffed into skin that's suddenly too tight. A life that doesn't fit. Everything itches in places I can't scratch.
I break after three days.
We are sitting in homeroom, my pencil in hand, as they play a tape of All Might on the announcements for hero something anniversary. And I can't stop staring. It's like watching a crash on rewind. It's like slipping on ice and knowing your about to bite your tongue. He rises over the car, like a god rising from the waves. Up and up and up. And suddenly I feel like I'm drowning in that wave, in that smile, in that laugh. And suddenly, I can't stop unseeing the men and women in suits, Mama screaming as she claws at their clothes and faces. I can't stop hearing the sound of Daddy's jaw-breaking, of the sirens and my brothers' screams. I can't stop feeling the ache of watching my brothers shove past, of searching for a flashlight in a dark alley, of finding everybody gone.
Shadows pour out my skin, out my pores, out my eyes, like thick, vaporous pus.
Shadows of thick, octopus tentacles. Shadows like black flames, licking at the ceiling, swallowing the projector and the image of the hero. The world dissolves into blackness and screams. It smells of wet earth and bones. It feels like bones, like nails pinching against my skin, scratching against my arms and legs, bruising as they crawl over my body.
I don't know how long I sit, swallowed in the shadows.
I don't ask.
Eventually, I find my flashlight. I turn it on. The shadows slither away, choking me as they slide down my throat and drip to my feet. The room destroyed around us.
Mr. and Mrs. Takamura don't tell me anything. They come to school, stare at me with shaking arms and pale faces. They whisper quietly in a room with the principal, their daughter clutched and crying to their chest.
A woman in a gray suit picks me up from school instead.