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11.
You Are A Special Person

The wind is bitingly cold, a cruel mistress whose full red lips trace across every inch of your body. She marks the skin with her pointed teeth and traces nonsense patterns along the ridges of butterfly-wing shoulder blades with her sinuous tongue, but she is one who never gives what the other truly desires, the burning, wanting need. It is man's shame to yearn for such a thing, and yet…it is also man's most secret hope. A person's choice to be free and to set free.

Pain is weakness. Weakness is punishment. Punishment is the art of asking why and how and what did I do to deserve this. It is a tortured, bone-crushing cycle of life.

She drops the jacket to the ground. The hairs on her arms stand to attention, the pores puckering like a slug doused in salt. She doesn't recoil; the air feels…comforting, welcoming, a lover's embrace to a soldier who returns after a long tour overseas.

She wonders if she will experience this same feeling when she falls into the water, wonders if her reflection will guide her to which all mankind must return to someday.

She's been thinking too much, far too much.

What does it mean to be human? What does it mean to exist on a path that may or may not already be pre-determined? What lies beyond death? Is there such a thing as heaven and is there such a thing as hell? What of limbo, purgatory? Why is there a consequence for every action performed? How come there is so much negativity in the world? Why do people act the way they are? Why do the people we love, the people we love to hate, have to die? Do we get second chances or do we mistake those second chances for draws of luck, coincidences? Who or what created us and what is the purpose for being here? Are we people in the image of higher powers or are we tools to be manipulated by those higher powers for their own amusement?

Too many questions, so little time. She thought she had all the time in the world to find those answers, but all she learned was people – humanity – could care less. Who needs gods when you have money? Who needs love when you could lead astray and pull the unfortunate soul with the chain leash?

Who needed masks to hide your true feelings when you can breathe that huge sigh of relief and finally stop pretending? With them gone, that's two less competitors to worry about in this struggling economy.

Mother.

Father.

Tangled in a net of twisted plastic and broken cartilage.

Blood, fire, and gasoline, a sweet, repugnant invader in the nose and the back of the throat. Black smoke unspooling in serpentine threads, sunshine bleeding and lunatic.

They were gone in an instant.

And here she stands, young and forever alone.

YOU SHOULD BE HAPPY.

ISN'T THIS WHAT YOU WISHED FOR?

THEY WON'T BOTHER YOU ANYMORE.

YOU'RE FREE.

YOU'RE FINALLY—fInALLy—free….

(FREE AT LAST FREE AT LAST FREE AT LAST—)

She stares into the water and the water stares back, a yawning black-blue abyss of beer bottles, algae, and hungry fish.

Go on. Do it. No one will notice.

NO ONE WILL CARE.

Do yourself a favor and take the plunge. Search for that ideal world you've always dreamed of.

NO ONE WILL CRY.

Hell is what you make of it; and hell…

HELL IS A FLOWER WITH THORNS.

Jump right in. The water's fine.

She swallows back the moan rising to escape, bites her cheek until she bleeds and the pressure behind her eyes loosens and calms. Her features settle, betraying no emotion.

Come on now, don't be shy!

She takes a step, another, and a third, then stops. She peers down; the tips of her shoes hover an inch off the edge of the pier.

IT WILL CLEAN YOUR SOUL.

The wind combs through her hair, a soft, uncaring sigh.

They'll be happy to know that as you saw me go, I was singin' this song~

No. No, dammit, no. Anything but that…that…just no. It's not fitting. It's not—

We'll meet again some sunny day~

She takes one final breath, lets it go, and throws her arms back. She wills the muscles in her legs to move and slowly, shakily, her foot leaves the wooden planks. She relaxes and begins to tilt forward….

Then a voice penetrates the darkness within, blazing like the meteoric rise of the sun, resonating as the clear crystal toll of church bells across open land. It is soft as silk, cool as the breeze caressing her sweat-slick face, and warm, so pleasantly warm. It sounds close and quiet, fluctuating from a high pitch to a low timbre.

"Nichiyou hiru sagari arifureta kaze to, Kimi no naku arukuma chikato kimi o mitsuketa…."

That voice…she's heard it from somewhere before. She can match it to the visage of the person who sits at the front of class every day—always attentive, always humble, always there to lend a hand when someone needed help or had to go see nurse for medications and rest.

Her name is Kaname Madoka, and, as Tomoe Mami turns toward the girl with the rose-colored hair, she has the most beautiful voice Mami's ever heard.

She turns away from the water and sees the younger girl sitting at the edge of the pier, lying back with hands splayed behind her. Gazing out at the lake, she proceeds into the next set of stanzas: "Kizukana ifurishite zure chigatta mitta, Kimi wa tada toku mitsumete tatazun deita…."

She looks…so at peace. With nature. With the world.

…With herself.

Why? Why is that?

How?

How does she…?

Her voice cracks at a particularly high note and she stops. She grimaces, clears her throat. Mami takes advantage of this opportunity. "…Madoka?" she says dumbly. That's not how she wanted to kick things off; she had more to say, much more, but the words are stuck, trapped.

"Ah, senpai!" The girl jumps, startled from her reverie. "How…how long have you been standing there? I-I didn't even see you!"

"I haven't been here long," says Mami; and she thinks, Liar, you keep coming back to this place day after day, hour after hour, hoping the abyss will leap out and swallow you whole. "What are you doing?"

"Oh, you heard that," Madoka says softly. She lowers her gaze, a shy smile working its way onto her lips. "I heard it on the radio last week. It's a pretty old song – it's from way back in the early nineties – but, well, I liked it. I sing it now and then and work on my vocals." She giggles. "I'm still practicing, but I know the lyrics by heart so that should make things a bit easier."

"You don't need practice. You sounded good—no," a vehement shake of the head, "better than good, you were perfect. So you hit a rough spot, it won't change my opinion. You are fine just the way you are."

A gasp, and Madoka lifts her head so quickly and so sharply Mami almost recoils. "Do you really think so? I…I don't think I do. I know I'm good, but not that good. Compared to all the other artists and would-be aspirants I'm…just plain, nothing special."

"But you are. Even if everyone else were to say otherwise, there's at least one person who'll still believe in you." She stares at the water, its surface calm and unperturbed…waiting, beckoning like a sultry siren from foreign shores. "To me, that person's views – and that of your own – will only matter, because the rest of the world won't know what they're missing."

Madoka's cheeks glow the shade of fire-bird red. "Th-thank you, senpai. I'll admit you're not the first to tell me the same thing, but hearing it from you…it makes me happy. Senpai is…usually very quiet. She's also…quite lonely, even though her actions don't portray her as so."

"You don't know anything about me," the elder bites, and suddenly the wounds reopen, pain and sorrow and bitterness stirring a storm that refuses to rest. It fights and bleeds and screams "I" at the top of the world; and it aches—oh how it aches! and why won't it go away? "If you truly believe in the garbage people pass along to one another, then you have no right to associate with me. A person like that doesn't deserve to be my friend." Her mouth spits the empathized word as if it carried a foul taste.

"It's not because of that."

"Then what is? You had to have heard of me from somebody." She scoffs, "Everyone knows who I am."

"But they don't know you as well as I do."

"What!" Mami exclaims, and for that second time she's at a loss for words—not out of child-like awe but bemusement. "That's ridiculous! This is the most we've spoken to each other! How can you say you know me? I hardly even know you!"

"It does sound strange," says Madoka, "but...how do I put this? I know you not because of gossip, but because I've watched you. No no, I never stalked you! Honest to Gods I haven't! I'd never!" She flinches at the predatory glare bearing down on her. "I just…noticed. The day the term started and our seats were assigned, I could tell." She blinks, long lashes like curtains hiding the hurt within. "No one should have to feel that way. No matter who you are, everyone wants somebody to make them happy."

"That's selfish." There is a shift in reality, and in the space of microseconds Mami sees her father and mother sitting in the living room listening to the latest on the stock market; and there she is, young and innocent and small for her age, tugging insistently at her mom's sleeve. She asks to play with her, with her father, anyone, she wanted them to be away from the television, from work. Her mother answers with a finger tap to the forehead and a tender smile, and her response would always be the same: "I'm sorry, Mami, perhaps another time."

"Maybe it is, but it's in our blood. It's part of what makes us…well, us. If we find the people that make us happy, then we would feel more alive than we are when we're lonely." The blush on her face darkens. "At least…that's how my parents put it. I'm…not what you call 'poetic material'."

The wind picks up, plucks at the fabric of their clothes. The water is still there, but now it grows tired of this game. It captures her wrist with fingers dripping of muck and algae, and whispers in her ear, Come with us. Stay with us. Why do you idle when you can dream forever? It pulls pulls pulls, just like how she pulled at her family's arms, begging with eyes brimming with muddied tears, teeth bared in a smile made of rotting fish bones.

Mami stamps down the repulsive shudder. She says, "You sound pretty confident, but it still doesn't convince me. Again I'll ask: How can you know me if this is truly our first meeting? What proof do you have?"

"I don't have any proof to show you," says Madoka, "but somehow…deep down…we know each other. I'm not sure how, or why, but that's the feeling I get whenever I look at you. Seeing you up close strengthens it."

Mami regards her with a long, strange look. "I'm sure we never met before the term. You could be mistaking me for someone else."

"I'm not!" Kaname Madoka declares almost pleadingly. "I know it's weird, but I'm telling you the truth. Maybe it's déjà vu. Maybe it's karma. All I know is that I can't stand seeing you this way, all alone and with nobody to turn for help when you need it the most!" Her voice raises several octaves at the end, and this outburst happens to stop a few passing folk and draw a number of eyes in their direction.

Mami, for her part, can only stare, lost and in awe.

Come! Come! The wind and the water whine, Come on!

Madoka doesn't notice the unwanted attention she's attracted. She doesn't seem to know there are even people other than them. Her gaze is riveted on Mami and Mami alone, bright and intense like a pair of alien suns, and Mami can't look away. They're so big, so wide, so…so open, as though she is gazing not into oblivion but infinity—weightless, boundless eternity.

Those eyes didn't belong on a human being. Those eyes belonged to a god. They made her look so…well, not so much as old; rather, they appeared to make her ageless, neither young or old but in between both sides of the physiological spectrum. Like an object floating in zero gravity on a space shuttle always and forever, and the emotion that stings like a poison dart in Mami's heart and soul…while unnerving, it's not uncomfortable.

The hardness in Madoka's face softens and falls, and right then and there she is a lot older than she should probably feel. Mami couldn't be sure. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell at you, senpai."

"It's okay," Mami says softly. "Get if off your chest if it helps."

"That's not it." She shakes her head again. "I want to help you in any way I can. Whatever troubles you have, I'm more than willing to listen."

"You…wouldn't mind?"

"Of course not. That's what friends are for, senpai."

"Friends?" Her breath catches in her throat and pressure builds at the corners of her eyes. She closes them and swallows back the lump forming there. "I would like that…Madoka," she adds evenly. "Please take good care of me."

"I will, senpai."

"Just Mami will do."

"Mami it is, then." She smiles, and in that moment—slowly, gradually—the darkened veil lifts from Mami's world.

The wind moans and the water screams after her, but she doesn't hear it. The light feels good, the light is warm. Such is the smile of Kaname Madoka.

Those were the days, weren't they?

Yes. Yes, they were.

Those days are gone.

Yes. Yes, they are.