He was innocent.
So pure hearted.
And yet so dark.
So lost.
He was walking. Slowly. The wooden floors creaking beneath him. His eyes still barely open, not focusing.
Where is he? Why is he here? Was he not asleep a few moments ago?
He came to a stop in front of the stairs. Something was edging him on But another was saying stop. He placed a small foot at the first step, and then proceeded to place another foot. He paused. He smelt something very strange. Something familiar. Something that should not be so strong.
Blood.
His heart was racing. What happened? Why was the floor wet? He did not dare look down. He continued down the stairs, hands gripping the railing very tightly.
He could see rays of light peeping through the curtains. Something was wrong. Since when were the pure white curtains splattered with red? Was that the design? No. It was never there. It should not be there. Dripping. Dripping. They were wet. No, not wet. Damp. Crusting at the edges. It was not a rose red. No. it was darker. So dark. So evil. He did not understand. Whose was this? Was it not only him with crimson liquid running through his body? No. There were others. He had not seen many, so he could not quite say.
The morning sun was burning him. It was not warm. It was not welcoming. It screamed, "Go back! Return! You do not belong here! Retreat and return to your slumber!" Shall he listen? Is he obedient? What has happened? He continued walking, walking, steps ever so soft. Dripping. Dripping. So softly, softly. His foot hits something soft. Downwards is a sin. Do not look down. No. No. No. No. Not down. Dripping. Dripping. There is ringing. From where? Where? Somewhere far. He cannot reach. Do not look down. No. Downwards is a sin. Dripping. Dripping, softly, softly.
He looked down. She stared back. No. Not staring. Just looking. So dead. Too dead. Not focusing. Just looking. The puddles ripple. There is a little crusting. It ripples. Dripping. Softly. Darkness is coming. Run. Run. Far. Run far. No. He is lost. Lost. It is dark. There is ringing. He is still staring. She is still looking. He falls. He hits another. He turns his head. He is looking. He is staring. He is still lost. Little one. Still dripping. Dripping. Ringing. Ripples. Dripping. Ringing. Ringing. Dripping. Softly. So softly. So loudly. So loud. Loud. Loud. LOUD. LOUD .LOUD. OUD. LOUD. OUD. LOUD. LOUD. LOU. LO. LOUD.
Everything came to a stop. Everything became dark. All was silent. The stare was so loud. The looking. It was so loud.
When he opened his eyes, the sun was shining brightly. It was still stabbing him. Penetrating his pale skin. Hurts. Hurts. So painful. Soft ringing. There was no more dripping. His clothes were crusty. He looked down, and saw his shirt caked with blood. He looked down again. And saw her still looking. He looked to his side, and saw him still looking. Still looking. So loudly. So loud. So silent. Soft ringing.
He got up. There was a phone in the kitchen.
Yes. He needed to go there. Get help. No. Don't let anyone in. Yes. Get help.
He got on the stool.
No, do not call them. Yes, you need help. No. No. Yes. No. Yes. Yes. Help. Help. Help.
He was dialing.
No. Stay away. Go away. Go. Go. Help. Help. Help. Help
"What is your emergency?"
"HELP"
The bodies were taken. He cried. He didn't know what he was doing, nor did he know what the liquid pouring from his eyes were. He had never cried. He was so lost. So lost. He had no light. He was left in the dark. So many questions. He had so many. So did the men in uniform. They asked so many. He did not listen. He only let the salty water pour from his eyes.
No. No answers. None. Never. He wanted to know. So did they. Neither knew anything. They left him to ask the others. His neighbors. His family.
No. Not his family. They were only people that had similar blood as him. He did not see them as family. No. He did not want them near him. They did not understand. Pain. There was pain in his arm. No. Not downwards. It is a sin. Not downwards. Do not look.
There were nail marks. He had gripped his arm too strong. There was blood. He stared. Not looked. Stared. So red. Like the curtain. The floor. His parents.
Where did they go? He had to be by their side. Why did the men put them in bags? What was happening? He so lost. He was so innocent. He was invisible. So forgotten. Where did it start? Why did this happen? What was the cause? He is lost. He is in the darkness. He needed help. But he was invisible. No one remembered. He was only a "thought." Did he really exist, they ask. Yes, the others say, he is in the pictures. Where was he? Who were these people? He is scared. So scared. There is more ringing. Why is there ringing? Why will it not stop?
So loud.
He covered his ears.
Still ringing. Ringing. So loud. Where was this ringing?
He cried again.
He was forgotten. So invisible. He was invisible. He needed more pain. Do not forget him. He is in danger. He is in danger of himself. Be careful. Still ringing. The ringing. It was changing. Not ringing. Voices. There were voices. So many. High pitched. Low pitched. So many. The voices.
He still cried.
They tried to calm him down.
He cried, screamed, he was trying to say something.
A few made out a phrase or two.
"The voices," they heard, "hurt me."
The blood related relatives managed to contact his therapist. They explained the situation. The possibility that he is hearing voices.
She came as fast as she could. The city was a half an hours walk, a woman of good physique could easily run it in a few minutes.
He was still crying. Not screaming. Just muttering.
Voices.
She went up to him. She touched the top of his head. He flinched. She flinched as well.
"Do you hear voices?"
He nods.
"What do they say?"
He shakes his head. "I don't know." A quiet response. Barely audible. But she too had gotten used to the quiet voice.
The woman sighed. She turned to the blood relatives. "I'd like to do brain scans. It could either be temporary that will go away after a while, or it could be something much more serious."
The CAT scans were on the positive side. The problems should subside within a matter anywhere from a few days to a few months. In the meantime, they said, continue coming to therapy like usual.
The boy, Kuroko Tetsuya, he was now alone. He was now completely silent. He was now unseen.
There was still voices, They were fading, though. Fading into light ringing.
He had gotten used to them. They were now the only attention he received. After the men in uniform left, the relatives related only by blood began to discuss about money. Of course they would. One side had been a family full of successes and the other of failure. They did not get along, nor did they plan to. They had just been taking care of the boy, comforting him, not 2 minutes ago, and they acted as though they forgot about him. The only company were the voices. They were comforting.
In truth, he did understand what the voices were saying. Words only told by his now dead parents, said in voices he'd never heard. "We'll stay by you." " Leave everything to us." "Don't worry." They were his escape from reality. His comfort. His home for now.
So when the voices started to fade back into ringing, he felt a rush or loneliness. In the end, he will remain alone after all. Blend into the background. Remain a shadow. The light still hurt on his skin. The voices left him with a parting kiss, "Never worry, child, we will be back when you need us most." After the whisper of parting, the ringing stopped. He was left in complete silence once again.
Kuroko had managed to convince the relatives that he would not give any of the money to them. They were nothing but greedy pigs after all. They did not deserve the hard earned money of his parents. And they did not deserve to remain by his side.
Kuroko Tetsuya was in 6th grade when the police gave up on finding the killer. Kuroko Tetsuya might have been young, but he was a brilliant child when it came to breaking down information. The center of the problem was money. He had figured it out in 5th grade, and he was so much closer to find the killer the next year. Someone of his own family. No, his relatives of blood relation. They did not deserve the title of "family." The last ones with the title had long died, and rest within an urn placed upon a cabinet. Human affection had died along with them. Perhaps he was destined to be alone. Perhaps.
Perhaps.
The end of 6th grade brought upon a new beginning. One that would be filled with new experiences. His therapist decided it was safe for him to stop coming, and told him to be careful when attending school. "The moment you feel something is strange, you come as soon as possible, am I clear?" was the last thing he heard from her. He did not dislike her, but he did dislike the sessions. The lady was kind and taught him many of the basics of living alone. Therapy was no longer a place for him to return to "normal." It had become the last place of human affection. When he was told he did not need to come, he accepted it. He could live alone. He did not need love. He could not be loved, nor could he love himself. Those emotion as well, were hidden well within the ashes.
Perhaps.
The new beginning was only the first page of the new chapter or his life. He will continue living life, but he will learn the lessons that come with it. He will be empathetic and he will be apathetic.
Perhaps. Only perhaps, the very soft, faint ringing was a figment of his imagination.
Not sure is people have noticed, but the entire story revolves around the concept of human affection, and how Kuroko (in this story) feels as though he had lost all sources of it. And about the repetitive style of typing, thought it'd be cool add an effect of psychopathic tones.
Kuroko no Basket does not belong to me!
Thank you for waiting, and thank you for reading!
See you in the next chapter!
edit: omfg, these typos, maybe I need someone to beta?