What happened roughly fifteen years ago went down without a lot of fireworks – Mom and Dad keep saying that there was nothing leading to the gas pipe explosion. Nothing led to it, but about 76.3% of the people died? I don't quite get where the ".3" comes from since we're talking about people here, but that's a lot of people. The explosion's epicenter was about a quarter mile in diameter alone, and the mess took out nearly the entire city. We're no Tokyo, but we hit the international headlines, and since then our city's been nothing but a curse mark on the world.

We live on the outskirts of town, just beyond reach of the blast. A lot of things nowadays are timelined based on that critical point for us – everything was either before the blast or after. For some people, what happened before the pipeline went skyhigh faded away; a lot of us were so wrapped up in our own little worlds. For others… well, the 'after' didn't actually come. Suicide rates went skyhigh as well, and some said the funeral services were too slow to keep up with the pace.

I've been thinking about all of this since dinner last night. We are getting close to the anniversary after all, and it's a sour thing to think about. Its death personified on a calendar, and what are we supposed to do about it? Look at the date and be totally okay with it? Oh no, we're supposed to talk about our feelings about something I barely experienced. Sure, like I'd sign up for that.

I can't stand calendars partly because of stupid things like this; all they are is reminders about the past. Reminders of lives that never breathed and all the monstrosities of devastation. Every now and then we have a holiday which cheers up the kids and gives the parents a reason to spend their money, but at the end of the day, the calendar's just a cycle like everything else. The world will turn no matter how many people die, and the death will continue, day in and day out.

"Hashimoto!"

I mean, what would those kids have sounded like? What kinds of lives were they gonna live?

"Hashimoto!"
I reluctantly turn from the window, head in hand to catch my boredom in an open palm. I rest my eyes briefly on the clock above my teacher's head and flicker back to him. "Yeah?"
"Class is over."

"Yeah." I heave my backpack over my shoulder (its not like I actually had anything out on my desk) and snap a peace sign at the man. In moments, I'm at the door.

I could practically see his body collapse a little as he sighed in frustration behind me. "Hashimoto, wait."

I do, but don't turn around – God, that would take a whole lot of effort that I don't have. Lets not do this right now, Mr. Watanabe.

"Hashimoto, you need to figure out what you're doing with your life. I've seen your problem, and you know it as well as I do." I turn ever so slightly, daring him to keep going; he sees me sidestep in his direction, and hesitates under my glare.

If magic could shut a man up, we'd live in one hell of a better world.

But he's such a fool. That's why I don't care for this class – its not that I don't like history, its decent enough, but the teacher… that's another story. He's a joke.

"You're problem is that you think you don't have the mental capacity. I know you do, there's not a doubt in my mind that you know what you can do." He picked up his chin and shifted his broad glasses further up the short bridge of his idiotic nose. "Give the act a rest, and give yourself some credit. Put your back into your schoolwork now, and doors can still open for you in the future. Its not too late for you." He steps closer to me and folds his stubborn arms across his broadening chest. How much weight has he gained in the last half-year? 10? No, twelve? I bet it's thirteen. I wonder what his beef is.

"Hashimoto, you have the potential to do something amazing with this world. Show us all that you're aren't another empty face."

I pause. Do I care, or do I not? That's the question of the goddammed year.

With a shrug, I yank my backpack higher up my shoulder. "Who's watching me? Besides, you've seen the person I am. There isn't much there." I cast a glance and, to much to my surprise, see a small smile on his face.

"You only say that because you haven't figured yourself out yet, and you aren't giving yourself the chance to figure yourself out." He turns around and pages through some papers on his desk before waltzing back over to me, half-assed. "Its not too late, Hashimoto. Everyone feels stuck at some point in their life, here's your chance to overcome it."

I stare at his extended hand; its pretty poetic, if you think about it. Him, my sensei, extending a hand to a fool like me. It's not a movie, Watanabe. Things don't just happen. Life isn't all that magical.

Yeah, it's pretty picturesque.

I raise my eyes to him.

And I walk out that door.

.

.

.

Starting to pick up steam. I just wanted you to know our little angel a little better.

As per always, I love those reviews! Remember, I'm doing this for you guys!