The Haunted

Interlude 3: From the Journal of Narumi L. Anju – 604 words

June 1, 2012

I sometimes wonder how it feels to be dead— if it's a dark sea of imaginary piranhas nipping and knowing at your feet without mercy, or if it's a crystal clear ocean of peace and time showing you your whole life not in a nutshell, but as a slow motion reminiscent of both the impacting moments and the small happenings that make up your life.

But it seems that I will still be left in the dark about what there is on the other side.

The doctors have informed me today that in order to get better, I must move away from this place to another hospital miles away. I'm not that concerned about leaving this hospital. In fact, I dread the off-white, peeling wallpaper and the vomit green curtains of my hospital room, in addition to the sour smell that invades my nostrils. Every time I wake to find myself in this damn place, I am disgusted.

Yes, disgusted is the right word.

But I still feel terrible. I must leave in order to get 'better', according to those know-it-all doctors, but I don't want to leave her...

I DON'T WANT TO LEAVE YUKA.

I need her with me and she needs me too. But when I asked the doctors, they denied my request for her to be transferred along with me. Apparently, she does not need to move. They say that she is fine and well as is. I cannot see what is fine about her being here without me.

They don't know anything about her. They don't know how she's really feeling. They don't know what's really going through her mind, and how much pain she's in.

The doctors have NO IDEA.

No matter how much I tried to convince them, they won't listen to me. According to them, I was the one who needed the treatment instead of her. They don't understand that neither science nor medicine would be able heal completely.

I think that I'd really become insane if I ever left her alone.

And I am sure that she would as well.

The doctors would never agree with me. As my temper burst, and I started to run and shout in what they called 'another temperamental fit of insanity', they tried to soothe me by opening the music box.

...I stopped, like they had expected. But they would never know about the turmoil that I did not cease to feel from within, nor would they eventually realise that one day, even the music box would work against me.

However, I am now calm. I will go with the belief that my transfer cannot be helped. I shall leave this hospital, and I WILL get better as fast as I can so that I can come back here, for one reason only.

This is the only opportunity I have to be by Yuka's side— not as a crippled, estranged patient, but a strong, dependable guardian and lover.

All I can do now is hope for the best— that I can heal over time, and Yuka will too, so I can be there for her when that day finally comes. I will hope that Yuka understands why I have accepted this offer to transfer and that absolutely nothing— not even death— will break our unbreakable bond.

...No. I won't hope. I know nothing will break between us.

Because I love her

[Archive Note: There is a messy glob of ink where the sentence— still unfinished— ends. This journal was found two days after it was written, with pages covered in ash and edges burned from a fire.]