Hana Ikeda
October 18, 2004
Classroom 3-A was never a happy place for me. Every day, I walked through the same doors, down the same hallway, and sat in the same seat—the last chair in the back row. It wasn't my choice; it was "given" to me, a place nobody else wanted. Or maybe it was chosen for me from the very start, to keep me distant from everyone else.
That became clear in the first few days.
"You'll form groups of whatever," the teacher would say now and then, but...
They formed their groups. I didn't.
Around me was a void of empty chairs, as if I didn't even belong in the room.
This is torture.
Pushed by my aunt, who took care of me, I tried to socialize—or better yet, to integrate. I smiled. I tried to make myself visible enough for someone to notice me. Nothing worked.
Is there something wrong with me?
"You're in my seat, Hana."
The voice was familiar, just like the sensation of being mocked. Nobody wanted to sit near me, yet they always acted like I was in their way.
Can't I have peace here? Can't you just pretend I don't exist?
When everyone left for lunch, I thought I'd finally have a moment alone. But their laughter echoed behind me—the same laughter, the same expression.
When I didn't respond, someone grabbed my notebook. He was taller than me. I reached for it, but another hand shoved my shoulder.
"Why don't you just stay home? You're hopeless. A waste of space. You ruin the mood for everyone."
The same phrase I heard every day. But that day was different.
Maybe it was the rain outside. The sound of raindrops on the roof was louder than their voices, louder than their insults.
Or maybe… it was because I wasn't afraid anymore.
They had already broken me.
They took my energy.
They took everything.
For the first time, I felt so empty that I wanted to fight back. A thought anchored itself in my mind:
I won't accept this anymore. Nobody will ever laugh at me again.
No matter what it takes.
But my violent thoughts were interrupted. They laughed harder and pushed me again. Then I heard the teacher's scream—sharp and sudden—from the front of the room.
That's when I felt it.
Water on the floor. A puddle. Someone had spilled it, and my foot slid.
The world vanished beneath me.
I reached out for something—anything—to hold onto, but everything spun too fast. It was just supposed to be a prank.
But humans... humans are far too fragile.
When my head hit the floor, I heard them laughing. At first. Then silence. And finally... panic.
"Hana...?" someone whispered. But I couldn't answer. I never did.
Time passed. I can't describe how much. When I opened my eyes, I was still there... but I wasn't.
The classroom was dark, long abandoned. Night had fallen. I saw it all—the dried puddle of blood, the overturned chairs, the silence.
They closed the room for investigation. Locked the doors, stacked the chairs, and threw away the desks.
Soon enough, they erased everything:
My name from the records.
My face from the photos.
My place in the world.
But they forgot one thing.
I'm still here.
The last chair in the back row was never replaced. It was never used again.
Until now.