Hello, this is a rewrite of my previous fanfiction. If you want more context about what this story will all be about, there is some at the bottom of this chapter. There are also three playlists on Spotify: Re: Hachiman Hikigaya, Re: Yuigahama Yui, and Re: Yukinoshita Yukino. Now, enough talk, enjoy.
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ACT I: THE MONSTER, THE ROSE, AND THE DAHLIA
LET THE SUN TALK
Was the sun god?
I neatly cracked one of the eggs in my palm into the hot mass of butter in the pan before me.
The demiurge, perhaps?
My other egg followed suit, the two of them bubbling slowly.
It could be more along the lines of what Ian Wright proposed. Some sort of representation of Capital? Although I admit I incorporated the sun into his analysis.
I laid four pieces of spam down into the pan beside the egg.
The only thing I knew for sure was that the sun was powerful. It has been an object of worship for most of civilization. The Bakongo had Nzmabi Mpungu; for the Inca people, it was the Apu Inti.
I checked the spam and flipped it over, a greasy brown sheen showing on its flipped side.
Human sacrifice was demanded in extreme cases, such as the Aztecs with Huitzilopchtli. Blood had to be spilled for the great god in the sky. One could argue that this was the naive assumption of young civilizations trying to explain away what the sun was and what it provided to the people and the land. The sun was a terrible miracle, they must have thought. It yields us crops and gives our skin life, but it also kills our people when they expose themselves too long. It's heat punishes us for our arrogance. It must be hungry, then, demanding something for its gifts.
I slid the eggs and spam on two plates, one for me and one for Komachi. I checked my watch, 7:15. Not too bad. I moved to the back end of the kitchen and started preparing some coffee.
I found the popular academic line of thinking around sun deities boring and not very convincing. The sun permeated more aspects of our lives than we think. Hell, the flag of Japan itself paid homage to its power. The battle flag during our short-lived empire struck a sense of fear into the hearts of people who viewed it. The sun radiates an imposing power, almost as if humans inherently recognize its terrifying strength. Why am I thinking about all of this? One might ask. It seems random and unimportant. Who gives a shit what the sun is, it's up there, and no one can do anything about it. I peeked through the blinds of the kitchen. There it was.
That face.
The sun looked at me. Beedy-eyed, with a strangely malicious, wide, boxy grin combined with an intricate design of waves and angular lines across its face. It glows in its arrogance, its assurance of its existence.
I closed the blinds and turned the coffee machine off, pouring out a sizable cup and sitting in front of my breakfast. That bastard was so annoying. I don't really remember when It showed up; it was sometime early last year. One day, I woke up, and it was there. It freaked me out pretty badly at first, but with enough time, you get used to anything. Some days, it isn't there, like it's teasing me, stringing me along.
I was in a pickle, as the Americans say. The sun wasn't going away anytime soon. And I didn't know what it wanted from me. It was easy to dismiss this as me simply just being balls to the walls crazy. Which, I was to an extent. But a little bit of insanity is a good thing. Jung was definitely a little crazy, and it helped him out in the long term.
I slathered my eggs in ketchup and took a bite.
Back to the sun, I had a problem. It was looking at me for a reason beyond just me being crazy. I could feel it in my bones, my dreams, my soul. There was a missing piece here. The problem is I haven't found out what that piece is. Is it torturing me? Teaching me a lesson? Some sort of karmic punishment for being evil in a past life? I hadn't been able to cross off anything definitively. It had been getting more bothersome, however. I had been experiencing other pronounced fits of hallucinations and derealization. Annoying things mostly, seeing dark figures, sharp pain in my eye and ear, hearing murmuring and cooing voices. That thing wasn't giving me a break; it had trapped me in a corner. It's taunting me.
"You know what's really helping all this? Spending all day ruminating and jerking your pity dick off all day. How about we get up and do something for once."
I rolled my eyes and nipped my ear with my finger; these guys were starting to pipe up more, too. Annoying.
"We are you technically, remember? Besides, I don't know why you're getting so worked up. Let us feel bad for a while; stuff hasn't been easy."
"We're in the same shitty body, moron. I know it's sucked. What's not helping is lazing about all day thinking."
I started hearing defined voices a month or so after I first saw that face. It was just murmurs and half whispers at first. Eventually, though they developed into "personalities," for lack of a better term, they were me, though, I suppose, parts of me.
"Precisely, we need time to mull over this. Figure out what's going on with that sun. Physical activity isn't exactly going to cure this."
Some days, they, or I guess 'I,' were more talkative. A lot of the time, it was just radio silence. Nothing but me and my wandering thoughts. It seemed like they were feeling a bit chattier the longer this went on, though.
"Hey, I hear you, you know? Don't act like I'm some sort of parasite."
I rolled my eyes for the second time and leaned my head back to stare at the ceiling as I felt a sharp pain in my left palm. Like I was Jesus on the cross, whatever that thing in the sky was, it had some sick fetishes.
"Big bro…" A tired, meek voice rolled across the dining room.
"Hey Komachi, I made you breakfast. Sit down." I patted the napkin across the table from me.
"Why are you up so early?" Komachi yawned and sleepily rubbed her eyes before sitting down.
"Couldn't sleep very long; I just needed some time to think."
"That's, like, all you do." Komachi snarkily retorted. "They talking to you again?"
"When are they not? But yeah, they are, but that's not why I woke up."
"What's up then?"
"Just thinking about the sun."
"Ugh, you're still stuck on that?" Komachi moaned. "It's not good to spend all your time working on that big bro. You need something else to do." She pointed at me with her fork accusingly.
"Well, this is what I'm good at, and besides, I'm doing fine. What should I be doing instead?"
"I dunno." She rested her chin in her palm. "How about making some friends? Do something other than reading and drawing all the time. And your light novels don't count!"
I grumbled and said nothing. Hey, Monogatari is a good series, even if there is some weird sexual stuff in it. "Well, that's more your wheelhouse; I'm pretty fucking stupid."
"No, your not. I can barely understand what your saying most of the time."
"Maybe when it comes to academic stuff, sure, but you have a lot of friends, and you're happy and personable. Social smarts, I don't have any of that." I said, chewing on my spam and looking outside the window. That damn face is still there.
"Hey." Komachi snapped her fingers in front of my face. "Stop looking at that thing and focus on me; it'll freak you out."
"Sorry…" I mumbled, digging into the rest of my eggs.
"Don't apologize, big bro; I know it's hard. It's just…" She trailed off wistfully.
"Annoying dealing with your crazy brother?" I said, smiling a little.
"No!" She nipped my hand and shot me a half-assed glare. "I just don't like seeing you all cooped up in your head; it's not good."
"She's right, Hachiman. We both know you're slowly losing it. Komachi won't always be there to save you."
"Well, I have you, and honestly, that's all I really need to keep me in check. I'll be okay, promise."
"I guess…" Komachi moved the food around her plate dejectedly. It hurt seeing her like that; I didn't like seeing her worry that much about me.
"For someone who's feeling so bad, you certainly aren't doing jack shit about it."
I nipped my ear again and stood to place my dish in the sink.
"Can you atleast try to talk to someone this year?" Komachi whined behind me.
"No promises…but fine."
"You better!" she stood and moved to the shoe cubby. "I'm cashing in all my Komachi points for this!"
"Woah, she means business."
I rolled my eyes again for the umpteenth time as I heard Komachi walk out the front door. What a stupid life I had.
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My Japanese literature teacher, Shizaku Hiratsuka, read over the paper in her hand. She scoured over it with her eyes one final time, set it down, and looked up at me from her desk.
"Hikigaya, can you please tell me what the assignment I handed out in class was," she said as she picked up her cigarette from the ashtray next to her and took a drag, blowing the smoke to her left.
"A reflection on my high school life so far." What am I, some sort of short-term memory loss-afflicted dumbass? She handed it out yesterday.
"Why do I feel like I just read a more schizophrenic version of Virginia Woolf's suicide note then?"
"She cuts straight to it, huh?" I grimaced.
"Excuse me, Hiratsuka-sensei, but that's a bit harsh. Besides, it was probably more engaging than whatever else was handed in."
She let out a breathless snort. "You'd be surprised, kid."
"Was something specifically wrong with it, Sensei?"
"You can write about yourself, Hikigaya. I know you can; you're a smart kid."
"Yeah, but I don't want to." I could easily pump out some faux trashy memoir about youth or whatever; I would rather blow my brains out than do that, though.
"Well, tough! That's what the assignment was!"
"Are you going to give me an F for this?"
"I don't know, Hikigaya." she sighs exasperated, sucking her cigarette a little more. I had dabbled before; smoking turned me off; too many consequences for the high it provides. "Does it really matter?"
"Well, if you're not going to give me at least an A for this because I didn't write it in your preferred style, then I can always just redo it. This doesn't have to be a problem." I shrugged
"Hikigaya, my problem is that a kid your age typically does not write the response you provided when asked the simple question, 'Reflect on high school.' What's your deal? You blabbered on about sun deities and capital accumulation for three pages."
I stared down, somewhat confused, at Hiratsuka-sensei as she stared up at me incredulously.
"I wrote about my high school experience."
"No, you didn't!" she exploded, suddenly rising to her feet. She calmed herself slightly, letting out a heaving sigh as she fell back on her chair. "You spoke nothing of your personal experiences."
"I didn't feel like sharing that stuff, not like there is much of anything. And if you wanted me to talk about that, you should have specified it with me."
"Don't start splitting hairs with me." she snapped as she slowly rubbed her temples. "Hikigaya, I need you to try in this class."
"It's not my fault that the curriculum is all stuff I've already covered," I say, pulling my eyes toward the ground. I mean, seriously, we only just started reading Camus.
"God, your ego…" she said, massaging her head further. Seriously, does this lady have a brainworm in there or something?
"Not really egotistical if it's true. I'm smarter than most of the kids in our school."
She tossed me a glare and huffed, "Kid, why do you think I even called you in here today."
"Because you have nothing better going on."
She sighed and rolled her eyes. "Because I know you're smart. I know you can write something personal better than this."
"You weren't sounding so personal and caring a second ago with all that shouting."
"Ugh," she managed to get out before swiveling towards the window and taking one final, slow drag before carelessly blowing it everywhere. "Do you have any friends, Hikigaya?" she asked with the tone of a person knowing I didn't have any.
"No, I'm not sure why that's relevant though."
"Ha, I was right!" she declared cheerfully. "One look into those rotten fish eyes, and I knew." she pointed at me with her pen, wearing a suspiciously teasing cat-like face.
"She sort of got us there…"
"How about a girlfriend or something, then?"
"No, not right now…" the word 'girlfriend' still stung a little, not because of any past experience but rather the idea of it. Girls don't go for guys like me, and for good reason, if I was just a nerd loser, then maybe. But who wants to shack up with a crazy, apathetic nerd loser?
Hiratsuka-sensei bobbed her head to some imaginary beat, seeming like she had just pieced together a great mystery.
"Okay, here's what's gonna happen, Hikigaya; you don't need to re-write your depressing paper, but you will need to attend the Service club as a member."
"Hachiman, time to bail. This woman is walking all over us. Just say no!"
"I could really just rewrite the essay for you sensei."
"Nope! I'm making an executive decision. Hurry up, get your stuff, and follow me." she snapped, striding out of the room.
I remained planted and a bit dazed before deciding to catch up; I would rather avoid Sensei's rumored middle-aged lady wrath.
"Wow, way to stick it to her."
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As I walked down the halls with Sensei toward the special building, my eyes lazily glazed over a group of raijuu. It was getting around the early afternoon, and the cliques formed to chatter and gossip. I clicked my tongue and continued forward. There was something almost physical about how repulsive it was. It was all so fake, so performative, I despised it. It sounds dramatic, almost cringe-worthy to think of it like that. But I couldn't help it; something was disquieting about how they acted.
"Don't feel too down on yourself about it. It's only natural for you to feel like this."
"So, does this club have anything to do with physical labor? I'm not really your guy for that."
"If there were any, you'd do it if I told you." she glared down at me, lightly slapping me on the back of the head. "But no, it's not. So don't worry."
"I told you to bail, and now look, we're probably going to be forced to join the free hug community club." I couldn't disagree with him on that one.
"Alright, here we are," Sensei said, stopping before a standard classroom door.
The door rolled open, and I peeked inside behind Hiratsuka-sensei. I instantly spotted a dark-haired girl sitting at the far end of a table, intently reading a book as a slow breeze drifted in. She quickly bookmarked, shut it, and looked up.
"Hiratsuka-sensei, I believe I told you to stop entering unannounced."
"Woah, this girl is so out of our league." I concurred. She struck a slender frame with piercing light blue eyes and flowing black silky hair; her skin was smooth and resembled the sheen of finely maintained porcelain.
"Yeah, but you never answer when I do Yukinoshita."
I looked around the room. Not much to see, honestly. Just the lone desk the girl was sitting at and a stack of art supplies and chairs in the corner. Nice, gives me some materials to work with without having to lug around my stuff from home.
"You never give me the time to answer sensei, and who is this moron with you." She snipped.
"This is Hikigaya; he's joining the club."
"Is this true?" The girl's gaze switched to me.
"Huh, me?" I pointed to myself. "Yeah, names Hikigaya Hachiman, Class F, Grade 11."
Hiratsuka-sensei pulled on my ahoge and shot me a glare.
"And yeah, I'm here to join, I guess."
"Stop letting this woman pull you around like a puppy on a chain! Have some dignity!" I picked at my ear in annoyance.
"Better." Hiratsuka-sensei sighed. "Your punishment for that lousy essay is joining Yukinoshita here for club duties. And I better not hear any whining from you, got it?" She curled her fist and gave me a painfully sweet smile.
I gulped. "Well, maybe she is a little intimidating…"
"Fine." I relented, throwing my bag on the desk and pulling out my sketchbook.
"I'll have to decline Hiratsuka-sensei. This man's lecherous eyes are making me worry for my purity." I looked up at the girl as she shivered.
"Are we really that ugly!?" "She's just laying it on thick, Hachiman. Don't think much of it."
She was pretty, that was undeniable, but not that pretty. I snorted and flipped my book back to my last piece. A strange cybernetic-fleshy star that I had been trying to piece together from my last dream. I pulled my acidic green marker from my bag and started drawing harsh lines on the landscape.
"He's really not a big threat, Yukinoshita; he won't do something stupid. He's more of a…creative."
I laughed and pulled a ballpoint pen out. "She could have just called us a freak…"
"Hmm…" Yukinoshita glanced at me and shot me a look. "Nothing more than a starving artist."
"That's one way to put it, I suppose." I bit back.
"Fine, I can't exactly deny a request from you sensei."
"Great! Thank's Yukinoshita, I'll leave him in your care. And hey." She turned her gaze to me and shook my shoulder a bit. "Get out of your head for a little bit and chill out, okay?"
I grimaced. "I will if you stop beating me so much, lady."
She scoffed and meandered out the door, shutting it behind her.
I looked back to my sketchpad and fleshed one of the angles of the star out more. I needed to make sure to balance my proportions out better. I glanced up across the table. "Your Yukino Yukinoshita, right? Sorry, I wasn't really paying attention to Hiratsuka-sensei."
A look of shock passed over her face for a moment; I guess I didn't seem like a very personable guy. "Yes, it is. You are aware of me?"
I laughed a little. "How could I not be? It's hard to even exist in this school without hearing your family name. Your bourgeois daddy set up a pretty good situation for you, huh?"
She glared at me. "Don't speak as you know me, creep. It's more likely that you're nothing more than an obsessed stalker."
"This woman clearly has some ego issues she needs to sort out. Maybe coming from her family's social standing?" Yeah, tell me about it, man.
"You're pretty, but you're not that pretty. Now, do you mind? I have something I'm working on over here."
Yukinoshita threw me one last glare, clicking her tongue and returning to her book.
I winced a little as I looked down, the ghost of Orimoto's face fusing with hers for less than a second. Not good memories.
"It's okay to think about it…" "Don't get too caught up in it, though; we have work to do."
"Yeah, I know…" I trailed off and pulled a red marker out, sketching an outline on the irradiated green star.
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Woah, hey, I'm back. I know this was a pretty short break, but I already had the foundation for the first chapter written. If you are unaware, this is a partial rewrite of my previous fic, "Sunrise, Parabellum." It will be deeply introspective primarily and political secondly. Mind you, not in the binary of American politics, but real social-national issues. If you have any background knowledge, some thinkers I am drawing from are Frantz Fanon, Carl Jung, Karl Marx, and Jean Baudrillard. You also might notice that Hachiman is more of an artist in this one! I wanted to add it retroactively to "Sunrise, Parabellum," but I found doing that pretty cheap. For any prior readers, I hope you enjoyed this revised chapter; new posts after this will come pretty slowly, though. I want to map out more stuff before I push on. Also, I am not sure if I mentioned this in the previous story, but most of Hachi's mental stuff is directly inspired by my own hallucinations and experience with psychosis. I didn't want to just do a self-insert story, as I really hate things like that, so I obviously changed most of it.
-redmaayya