"C'mon, push!"
"You got this!"
My head and muscles are on fire, the strain in my nerves practically tangible.
Damn it, push!
220 pounds or 99.79 Kg of weight on a bench.
The cold, hard metal feels like it's heating up under my arms, thanks to the ridiculous amount of energy I'm putting into this lift.
The gym's alive with the usual sounds: idle chatter, clanking weights, the occasional thud of something heavy hitting the ground. The air conditioning's on, but the heat in the room betrays any sense of trust I had in it. Bummer.
It's dark outside, and beyond the windows—
Wait, I need to focus.
"Go, go, go!"
The one yelling like a gorilla is none other than Jerome Daniels, a good-looking young sport with a moppy hairstyle.
The other, sporting a buzzcut, taking a sip of his bottle, is the famous Takeru…
Takeru…
…Uh, I forgot his last name.
The pressure on my wrists begins to double over, impacting my ability to raise the weight.
Go up.
Go up.
Pouring every ounce of strength I have into it, I manage to explosively push the bar up, racking the weight with a satisfying clang.
The sound of metal banging against metal rings against my ear.
Before I can even take a breath of relief, my still-trying-to-recover-chest, is slammed with the powerful hands of the human gorilla known as Jerome.
"BWUH—!!"
"Knew you could do it!" He says, his tone betraying such a violent action.
I almost choke as I sit up. I'm coughing and spitting like I just got punched in the gut.
"Guh—! Guffaw!Guffaw!"
Turning my face towards him, wiping my mouth from the torrent of spit I just released, I yell, "What the hell was that for?!"
"A celebration! You've finally hit a new PR!" He says proudly, like he didn't just nearly turn my lungs into pancakes.
"Celebrating does not require you to slam your arms into my ribcage!!"
If that weight didn't kill me, those hands might've. Seriously, I felt like I died for a second.
I'm aware that guys often strike each other to get the adrenaline pumping throughout the body, but that's supposed to happen before the set.
Not after I'm already half-dead!
"Ah, lighten up, dude." Takeru sighs as he passes me a water bottle. I catch it, the drops of dew seeping into my heated hand. It's cold, just the right temperature where I can hold it with no issue.
"Yeah, I'm just excited for you, is that so wrong?" Jerome says, leaning casually against the bench, grin wide.
"It's only natural for your best buddies to get all riled up when you hit a new PR. You're getting stronger, yknow?"
I sigh, standing up and wiping my face with a pink towel, the small bristles rubbing against the contours of my face.
"Hah, whatever. It's fine."
Honestly, it's not worth getting all introspective about. Just move on, forget the small stuff.
"What's the time, by the way?" I ask, glancing at Takeru.
He fishes a sleek red smartphone from his pocket—the color pops against his dark pants—and checks the screen.
"It's about 22:40…." He looks at me, then gives a facial expression one would have after having a small ball thrown at his face. "Or, uh, 10:40 PM, in your terms.."
A sigh escapes me.
Again.
Yeah, my lungs are still trying to recover from earlier. That's definitely what it is.
"Guess we don't have time to get another exercise in, huh?"
"Dude, it's almost 11:00 on a school night, I need to get home before my mom does a suplex on me," Jerome says, throwing his bag over his shoulder.
No, you don't. You just wanna get home and stay up all night playing that new Duty Calls ripoff on your GS5.
"Yeah, aren't you an exchange student or something? I thought you guys were supposed to be the studious type, not the stay-out-late type. Plus, isn't your sister gonna get worried?"
Takeru adds.
"For the gazillionth time, she's not my sister, she's a relative, though she barely qualifies as one."
By now, Jerome's fully geared up—hoodie on, bag slung over his shoulder—just standing around to eavesdrop.
I'm the only one sitting down on the bench, still holding onto the bottle, like it is some kind of lifeline.
"I got a track meet early in the morning, so I can't really stay up too late," Takeru adds, throwing a black puffer around himself.
"Tomorrow's a rest day, right?" Jerome asks.
"Yeah, but right after is a push day, so don't get too comfy." Takeru shoots back.
"I hate Fridays."
A few more minutes pass. We're currently hypnotized by our phones, scrolling, caught in the weird after-workout haze. I'm sure I saw about 5 adults walk past us, glaring at the youth caught in the curse that plagues their generation.
"Ah, my mom's here, catch you guys." He says with a smirk, turning on his heel to the exit.
Yeah, don't even bother hiding your excitement, pal.
Takeru is the next to board his flight, leaving the gym with a simple wave.
Well, he raises his hand, his back facing me.
I'm inclined to yell, 'Pull up your pants!' to make him lose some of the mysterious guy aura he's trying to attain, but it feels like if I even say another word, I'm gonna start seeing colors.
The slow look around I perform gives me a familiar feeling.
I'm all alone.
This particular gym is a 24-hour gym, which is quite the find, but hardly anyone stays till late. Obviously, it's due to the simple fact that most workouts take 2 hours max, and besides, people have work.
My phone buzzes, a small message popping down from the top of the screen.
'where r u?! Im hungry!'
The message is accompanied by an angry emoji.
It's not in English, but that's the best way I could describe it.
I type back the equivalent of 'Omw' and hit send.
Sighing for the trillionth time, I stand up.
The gym now feels eerily quiet, save for a few stubborn souls still grinding away.
Two middle-aged men pushing each other on the leg press, a young woman jogging steadily on the treadmill.
It's a stark contrast to just 10 minutes ago, but it's to be expected.
Grabbing my bag, I toss in my water bottle and Bluetooth earbuds, the zip of the bag sounding way louder than it should in the dead silence.
I throw my hoodie over myself, grimacing as the sweaty fabric of my shirt is further pressed against my skin.
All I can think about right now is taking a shower, and…
Damn it. I need to cook, too.
Dragging my tired body across the polished wooden floor, I make my way toward the sliding glass doors at the front. The outside world gleams through them, distorted slightly by the reflections.
Expecting to see a typical American parking lot, my sight is filled with the view of the typical Japanese streetside. The land of the sun.
The cold air hits me the moment the doors open, sharp and biting.
My breath curls into little white puffs in front of my face.
Normally, I'd be freezing my ass off.
But thanks to the intensity of my workout, my body's still radiating enough heat to handle it.
If I recall earlier, it was going to snow, as it usually does in the winter.
Stepping onto the sidewalk, I take a sharp left, heading down the street. My home isn't too far. It's tucked away in the suburban outskirts of the infamous Shinjuku Ward of Tokyo.
A place bustling with massive commercial hubs and administrative buildings, all blanketed by a flood of neon lights and endless advertisements for—if I'm being honest—mostly useless stuff..
Sometimes, my eyes would wander to a video game announcement or console, but other than that, they were usually glued to either my phone or the street in front of me.
My situation of living in another country is quite a basic and uneventful one.
It started around my junior year of high school, when a cultural exchange program with Japan had occurred in my school, for which many students had signed up.
There's this "Wow, Japan!" hype that tends to blow the mind of the average American teenager.
Personally, I wasn't really all that hyped.
I signed up on a whim, just on a whim, mind you, I truly wasn't expecting to be chosen, given that my grades weren't stellar, just average grades.
To my surprise, I was selected.
I still remember receiving the email in the middle of a store, with my friends, who had done the shouting in surprise for me.
I'm a cheerful guy, yes, but I only do it in select situations, where it's needed to impact the environment. But most of the time, I'm the typical 'loner who doesn't care' about anything.
Anyway, thanks to that, I ended up living in Shinjuku, in a nice house with four bedrooms, a kitchen, and four bathrooms.
Not too shabby.
I'll admit, at first, the idea of living in Japan had me gassed up—all fired up and ready for a grand new adventure.
But... over time, that hype faded.
I guess that's really how hype works with people. At first, you're really excited about something, then over time, you just become... bored with it. The second it becomes a normal part of your life, it loses its shine. We always chase the things we don't have—and the moment we do have them, they stop feeling special.
If you really want to value something... it has to stay just out of reach.
At least, that's what I think.
Typically, foreign exchange programs last about six to twelve months.
But for some reason...
I get the feeling this one's going to last a little longer.
Making another left, the different colored lights in the district slowly but surely begin to disappear, with regular houses starting to populate the streets.
The thud of my footsteps softly tapping across the pavement is the only sound that remains in this quiet landscape.
What am I going to make tonight?
I've left out some chicken to defrost, so maybe I can fry it, throw together a quick curry, and call it Katsu.
..Dammit, I'm forgetting the traditional 'Eat miso with every meal' that the Japanese seem to love doing all the time.
Well, actually, to be fair, it's a misconception that they do it all the time. And it's not like there's anything wrong with it. Miso has a unique property which allows one to be satiated if they drink it right after even a small meal, which is extremely beneficial healthwise.
So instead of reaching for a second serving of rice, you're happy with one.
The lack of calories and abundance of nutrients is a plus, too.
Hmm, maybe the curry'll have to wait a bit.
Kairi might bite my head off, but patience is a virtue.
Clicking my tongue, I begin to reflect on other things that I need to be aware of at the moment. I've got a calculus test coming up, so there's that. I'm going to need to study, but-
Ah, who am I kidding?
You don't care about all those boring, real-life responsibilities, right?
________________________ ________
I'm now in front of a medium-sized auburn colored door. It's just a bit taller than me, no more than 2 inches. The house is quite large, with a front gate spanning about 12 feet. Beyond that, the space between the gate and the front door is about 10 feet. Next to the house, there's a small blue SUV parked neatly.
It's quite modern-looking, something one would see in those home TV shows where they review nice looking houses. Or, in otaku terms, the kind of house you'd see the main protagonist go to halfway through the episode.
You know, the blocky-looking white one.
Fumbling with my keys, I push them into the lock, the lingering feeling of the earlier pressure in my wrists still present.
I twist firmly, opening the door.
Earlier, when exiting the gym, I was met with a cold, unwelcoming air that might as well have slapped me in the face.
Now, in this environment, I'm met with a warm, welcoming air that embraces me.
"I'm home!"
The soft white lights spread across the room, greeting me in return, highlighting the various pieces of furniture scattered around.
I say, 'various', but I don't mean it in the sense of a plethora of objects placed around. If anything, there's one black sofa, a TV, and a dinner table.
Yes, despite being quite the large house, there's only a few objects scattered around.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, prompting me to take it out. A message sent to me reads: 'Welcome home.'
I groan.
Is coming downstairs really that hard?
Removing my shoes and socks, I place them next to another pair by the door.
The cold wood against my feet makes me feel lethargic — like I could just lie down and sleep right here.
Sadly, I've got to make dinner.
Again. Boring responsibilities.
Going up the stairs to my room feels like torture. Every step takes everything I've got.
I make my way to a small hallway with about three doors, two leading into bedrooms, and one leading into a bathroom.
My room is located second to last in the corridor.
Turning the doorknob, I don't even glance inside, instead opting to toss the bag into the darkness. I hear a soft thud sound, so I'm expecting it to have fallen onto my bed.
I then peel off my shirt and toss it toward the dirty clothes basket like a seasoned basketball player.
"Brutus! C-come here!" A voice calls. A voice belonging to someone who actively avoids interaction with others, leading to a weak voice filled with stutters.
Brutus isn't my name, as well; she just refers to me as that. As if she were the Julius Caesar of this house.
I'm about to head to the shower, but stop, pressing my teeth together in frustration.
I sigh, heading towards the last door on the corridor.
When I open it, I'm greeted by a familiar sight.
The final boss of messiness.
The harbinger of hygiene.
The lord of indulgence.
Kairi Furukawa.
Nineteen-year-old NEET.
Okay, I'm being a bit mean, she's not really a NEET. Outside, she's serious and hardworking — the kind of person everyone respects.
At home? A total gremlin.
You know that one saying, 'A different version of you exists in the minds of everyone who knows you'?
She's the embodiment of that saying. A perfect, upright, conventionally attractive woman who everyone looks up to, but when no one's looking, she turns into… this.
"O-Oi, TF you look so confused for?" she says, barely glancing away from her screen.
I sigh.
"What is it, Kairi?"
Right now, she's wearing a tank top, the side practically falling down her arm, and her messy black hair is drawn downwards. Her eyes are practically glued to the monitors.
One screen's got some kind of platforming game, the other... well, it's a BL anime.
(How do I know? Two guys' faces just inches apart.)
"W-when's the food gonna be ready?"
"Like, 20 minutes give or take. I just came back from the gym."
"I starve, Brutus. I don't think I can take it any longer..."
"If you really were starving, you'd come downstairs, there's plenty of food in the fridge."
"B-but I don't wanna…"
I groan.
I toss her a pack of chocolate sticks.
Despite her sluggish and tired demeanor, she catches them surprisingly fast.
Yeah, I'm sure you're starving.
"My hunger is satiated… for now." She says, chewing on a stick, her face lit up by the screen.
"Pull up your shirt," I say, closing the door behind me.
"S-says the DOOD with his bare chest out." I hear faintly as the door closes.
Making my way towards the bathroom, I remove my pants, humming to myself a game theme that's been stuck in my head for a while.
"Legends! Go!" I shout in English, striking a dramatic pose, body exposed to the world.
Now's the only time I can let myself act dumb since no one is looking. Other than that, I'm just… there.
I step into the shower, turning the valve on.
A faint creak.
Slowly, as the water begins to run, I find my cheerful demeanor slowly leaving my body. My hair sticks onto my head, bangs sticking to my face. The feeling of water running down my body feels nice, but the weight of my mental state is cancelling it out.
Responsibilities.
I hate responsiblities.
Every human has them, it's their obligation to even live on this planet. To have responsibilities is to label yourself as a functioning member of society. Without them, you'd just be a deadbeat, bringing nothing to the world.
Yes, they're really important.
I get it. I really do.
But honestly?
I hate them.
I hate responsbilities. If it were up to me, I'd love to just ditch them all. Not worrying about college entrance exams, not worrying about life, about getting a good job. I wish I could run away from them.
Again, I acknowledge that responsibility is important.
I'm sure these feelings are a normal thing many people my age go through.
After all, this is the age where you're transitioning from a sheltered kid into a functioning member of society, a metamorphosis of sorts. It's necessary, but emotionally, I hate it.
But unfortunately, Responsibility isn't a subjective thing, it's an objective one, and no matter what, I have to face it if I want to live a successful life.
"I know that…. But knowing doesn't make it any easier to accept."
_____________________________________________________
Right now, I'm standing in front of a pan full of oil, dipping breaded chicken strips inside. The sound of sizzling fills the room, with the occasional drop of oil flying onto my shirt. I'm too tired to even care, to be honest.
The boiling of the pot to my right fills the background with a steady bubbling sound.
"Yo, Kairi, can you turn down the temperature?" I call out.
Zombie-like, she shuffles over, her eyes still glued to her phone, and twists the dial down.
Then she plops herself at the table like a sack of bricks.
Am I really supposed to believe this is the same woman who earns more in a month than most people do in a year?
"D-damn it, Team 4KAZ lost the semi-final."
I flip over a strip.
"You're talking about the Go-strike one?"
"Yeah."
"I mean, I heard 2KZ was their best player, but didn't think they relied on him that much."
"H-his reaction time is OP, so it makes sense. You'd think the rest of them would be good too, but they're kinda bad, TBH."
"Mmm."
"When's the finals?"
"T-Two weeks from now."
"Huh, might tune in."
After placing the last chicken strip on the plate, I turned off the stove and headed over to pour some curry next to both dishes. The curry is comprised of mostly potatoes and some onions for a slightly stronger flavor.
I carry the plates to the table, sitting down.
_________________________________________________________________
Dinner is uneventful.
A few failed attempts at conversation erupted from me, shut down by Kairi, who's practically fused with her phone.
I'm gonna make a rule about no phones at the table.
Wow.
I'm really turning into a housemom.
"M-Mr. Tendo came again today," Kairi mutters, eyes avoiding mine.
My expression tightens.
Mr. Tendo.
I only know him by his surname — and honestly, that's all I want to know.
Overweight, greasy, and way too persistent.
He used to show up here while I was out, trying to coax Kairi outside. The kind of guy who can't take a hint — or a threat. He backed off for a while after I snapped at him to stay the hell away.
But now he's back.
I feel something burning at the edge of my thoughts.
"Why didn't you tell me earlier?"
"Forgot."
I sigh.
This guy's getting out of hand.
"Alright. Next time, tell me right away. I'm not joking — I'll call the cops and have them ship him straight to Alcatraz."
Kairi gives a half-nod. The tension in her shoulders doesn't ease.
That's that, then.
Honestly, I'm holding back.
If I let myself show even half of what I feel, it'll just stress her out more.
But next time?
No more warnings.
Standing up from my seat, I'm about to pick up my dish, when I stop in place.
I suddenly remember very key, vital, and important information. Something that can save me from the burden of standing.
"Wait, you're on dish duty today."
Kairi's head practically snaps towards me.
"Yeah, don't think I forgot just because you took the calendar." I say with a smirk.
"W-wait! We can settle this! Crush Bros.!"
I wipe my nose, grinning.
"Beware! Young Furukuwa!"
Typically, in any other household with real adults, that proposition would be met with a swift 'no.' But unfortunately, we're both young and stupid.
This is the only way.
____________________________________________________
"I-I win! EZ!" She calls out, practically shattering my eardrum.
No fair. She plays this game religiously.
Then again, she plays every game religiously.
"Honestly, what was I expecting… I'm fighting the personification of no-life."
"Cry more!" She says, dancing. They're absolutely abysmal moves, but the confidence she has makes up for the lack of skill.
Honestly, seeing her like this makes the ends of my mouth curve upwards.
She was probably holed up in her room for the rest of the day.
Of course, I can't say something like that makes me happy.
So…
"You were waiting for me the entire day, huh?" I say, a cheshire-cat like smile on my face.
A sudden pillowy projectile strikes my face with the speed of a bullet. I practically flip over from the force into the couch, my legs dangling in the air from the impact.
"Cringe lord."
My thumbs up is an indicator that I agree.
____________________________________________
It's about 1 a.m.
By now, I should be tucked in bed, asleep — I've got school tomorrow.
But I really want to watch just one episode of this drama a friend recommended.
"Ah…"
No. I need to sleep, or I'll be nodding off the entire day at school.
With a sigh, I shut off my phone, plug it into the charger, and let myself fall onto the bed.
I stare up at the ceiling.
Just another day in my life.
A boring, uneventful life of a normal student.
A speck in this world — just another person with responsibilities, trudging toward some vague idea of success.
I…
I don't want this to change.
If I can wish for anything, it's for things to stay like this.
Just a little longer.
I'm in my final year of high school.
Soon, everything's going to change.
My eyes drift shut. Darkness wraps around me.
A quiet comfort settles in.
I'm standing at a waterfall.
The current pushes against me — hard.
I'm walking upstream, step by step, fighting it.
But eventually, I'll fall.
And when I do…
I won't get back up.
________________________
The morning sun pierces through the window, forcing me to squint.
I'm in the kitchen, hurriedly spreading butter on a piece of bread. Five minutes remain before I need to head out. There's no time for anything fancy.
I rinse the butter knife and return it to its place before tossing the bread into my mouth. With one hand, I run through the contents of my bag — textbooks, notebooks, pencil case. Everything seems accounted for.
3 minutes.
Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I head toward the front door.
"Are you leaving now? It's quite cold outside. Do you want me to drop you off?"
"If I wait any longer, I'll be late, so I'll just head out on foot. Thanks for the offer, Furukuwa-san." I reply, slipping into a more polite and formal register without thinking.
Now, judging by the voice that just addressed me, one might come to the conclusion that this was a different person, but that was not the case. This indeed was Kairi Furukuwa, albeit with a more cleaned presentation, and her hair tied into a neat bun.
It's like she morphed into an actual responsible adult capable of making actual decisions.
"All right, well, have a good day." She calls out, checking her purse.
I nod as I leave the door, stepping into the cold.
The chill wraps around my body almost instantly. My breath clouds in the air, visible in short puffs. I adjust my scarf, prepping for the walk ahead.
Hopefully, today's a snow day. Ah, who am I kidding, I'll probably die before it does.
I exit the gate, making sure to close it behind me. I can hear the car starting behind me, presumably Kairi heading to Work.
I begin my journey.
It's about 7:55.
The walk to school isn't long — maybe five minutes — but I've made it a point to keep a perfect record. I don't rush, but I don't dawdle either.
Turning the corner, the sight of many students wearing my school's uniform fills my view.
Most are talking in groups, while others remain glued to their phones. That's just how things are these days.
Still, I'm glad to see people connecting — even if through fragmented pieces.
The school building comes into view after a few more moments of walking. It's not a fancy building, but it's got… character, if that's a good way to put it.
Shinjuku Metropolitan High School.
There's a rumor that it dates back to the Edo period — something I've never believed, but I won't go out of my way to dispute it either. Most of the staff are young, oddly enough. Teachers in their twenties or early thirties make up the majority.
There are some talks of renovation in the future, but that'll probably come after I graduate.
Interrupting my thoughts, A hand the size of a gorilla drops onto my shoulder.
"Ohoho! Mr loner! I could feel the drearyness from all the way in the back!"
Jerome's currently shaking my arm like he's trying to rip it off.
You're way too energetic this early. I vote we rewind the entire day and try again.
"I'm just tired, went to sleep late last night."
"Pfft, you need to start drinking energy drinks, man. Seriously, they save lives."
I don't think heart attacks count as a life being 'saved.'
"I like having a functional heart, thanks."
"Suit yourself."
It's obvious he's already had one — or five. That would explain the way he's practically vibrating.
Jerome Daniels is quite the character. A loud, strange, good-hearted guy. Like me, he's a foreigner, so our reliability levels are more or less matching, but the difference is that he's moved here with his family from some European country, as opposed to me, who's alone.
Guess he actually has a good relationship with his parents, unlike me, who only brings trouble.
Well, never mind that.
The rest of the walk consists of me and him chatting idly, mostly things that weren't really important, like gym-related things, games, or random TV show spoilers I didn't ask for.
Eventually, we reach the school gates.
I take a slow breath and step forward.
Here-a-we-go.
_________________________________
The day passed uneventfully, save for some talk concerning the science teacher of my glass dying.
This is the fourteenth time I've heard a variation of that same story. "I heard he collapsed," "Someone saw an ambulance," "He hasn't shown up since last Thursday."
I've fallen for these enough times to know better now.
At this point, I simply adapt.
A healthy layer of skepticism keeps me grounded.
_________________________________________
The walk home is quiet.
The streets are mostly empty– students are still stuck in club activities or taking their time. Unlike them, I don't belong to any club. I just head home. Nap. Gym. Study. Repeat.
I turn the familiar corner.
The short number of students still left heading home are replaced by emptiness, the streets quiet and solemn.
Ah, that's right, it's snowing.
Guess I'll die.
Chucking and shaking my head, I sigh.
Still, I keep walking, eyes drawn to the sky.
It falls gently, each flake slow and deliberate. The kind of snowfall that silences the world, painting it in soft whites and hushed tones.
I like snow.
Snow gives a feeling of comfort, of memories once long past.
The memories of being a child, making snow angels, throwing snowballs, and creating a snowman. Those memories are things we as humans share. A comforting feeling.
A feeling of comfort, something universal. That is what I adore.
An escape from an everyday environment, a once dark and dreary place, can be replaced with snow, turning it into a quiet, reflective place.
I continue walking.
Speaking of which…
Takeru missed school today. That's strange. He's the student council president — the type that prides himself on showing up even when he's sick. Never absent. Not once.
Well, whatever. Right now I'm heading home.
When I reach the gate, a chill works its way up my spine.
No.
Not a chill — not a vague feeling.
An assurance.
Why is the front door open?
No. No no. Don't jump to conclusions. She probably forgot to shut it again. Maybe she got into that hikikomori mode again — sprinted inside and left it wide open in a rush to cocoon herself under the kotatsu.
Yeah, that's probably it.
I close the gate, shaking my head at her stupidity.
Entering the house, I sigh as I close the door.
The door creaks as I step in, and I let out a sigh, already speaking aloud without thinking:
"Aw, Cmon, there's snow inside-."
My voice catches in my throat.
I almost choke.
Why is there an extra pair of shoes?
No, it's gotta be a friend of hers. If I recall, she's invited a 'friend' or two over. Although a majority of the time, it was them who wanted to get closer to her, rather than a mutual feeling, so the best term would be an acquaintance, given that Kairi had no friends.
I take off my shoes, stepping onto the cold floor.
The floor.
Why is it so cold?
Walking down the hallway, the quietness almost feels maddening, like I'm walking inside the mouth of a terrifying monster beyond human comprehension.
No hum from the heater. No rustling. No ambient sounds.
Just... stillness.
That's when I see it.
A stain on the wall.
What is that?
Ah….
It's blood.
Thud.
Its on the wall, dripping down slowly.
My stomach drops.
I don't even think, no, I don't even register myself as a single entity, breaking into a sprint upstairs.
The hallway spins.
I'm running with so much vigor, I'm sure I've broken a nail slamming my feet against each individual stair.
"Kairi!!!"
My throat feels like it's going to explode any second. The world is becoming darker, my vision is becoming more and more limited, just focusing on what's in front of me.
Please, god.
Please, let her be okay.
Please let her be in that same room, sitting, watching the screen.
I don't want anything else, just that.
I practically trip, making my way over to her room.
I reach the door, hands soaked in sweat, slipping off the knob.
It's locked.
"Fuck, fuck!"
I throw myself against it. Once. Twice.
My shoulder feels like it's going to crack any moment, but I don't care.
The sound of wood breaking gives me the reassurance I need that my efforts are working.
I back up.
Then charge.
Boom.
The door slams open.
My sense of smell.
It smells like iron.
Iron.
Why is there iron?
My sense of taste.
It tastes so bitter, like citrus. Or maybe sweat. I don't know, I'm constantly swallowing.
My sense of touch.
There's a splinter in my hand. It burns, but I don't care.
My sense of hearing.
There's the sound of an unfamiliar man, whimpering. No, not unfamiliar.
But I can't focus on anything else right now.
And my sense of sight.
What is in my sense of sight?
What I see—
What I see is—
T H E C O R P S E O F K A I R I F U R U K U W A
no
no no no no no
no no no no no no no no no
no
thats not
thats not real
shes not
she's not dead
this isn't real
this isnt happening this isnt this isnt this cant be
kairi
hey
hey
get up
stop joking
cmon please
please kairi
get up get up get up get up get up get up get up
im begging you okay im
okay im gonna laugh if you sit up now just laugh just please
move your hand move anything
kairi
kairi
i
i don't
i don't understand
the gate was closed
the keys the doors
how did someone get in
how did how did this happen
you were here
you were safe
you were supposed to be safe
why arent you breathing
why arent you fucking breathing kairi
you said
you said you'd be here
you said you'd stay
no no no no no please
dont do this
dont leave
you cant leave you cant leave you cant leave you cant leave
just
just open your eyes
even a little
even a blink
move your fingers
please say my name
please say my name please say something
please
please god
i'll do anything i swear i swear
take it back take me take anything just give her back just bring her back
please please please please please please please please please please please
please
"I-I-I didn't do it.. I just wanted to.." Mr. Tendo stammers. His shirt is off, and his pants are down.
"She just did it to herself.. I didn't mean.."
He's crying.
My head turns to him.
I'll kill him.
I'll kill him.
"..."
I don't say a single word.
I just go silent.
And walk over to him.
There's a second priority now.
Killing this bastard, no matter what it takes.
There's tears running down my face.
I lunge at him, and kill him.
….
That's what I wished had happened.
Unfortunately, reality is never the way you intend it to be. That's the thing about life. No matter how much you beg, it'll never follow your script.
That's what I think after something sharp impales the side of my stomach. A jolt of electricity shoots through my body as it registers… Pain.
White-hot pain.
I stagger, barely catching myself. My breathing is increasing, I can't control it.
I look down.
There's a kitchen knife embedded in my side.
And hands—
Pushing it deeper.
Who else is in this?
What kind of sick freak would involve himself in this situation? Who would do something like this?
A boy.
A boy I know.
A boy I know named Takeru.
His expression is one of a panicked one.
"Ta-"
The blade is ripped out of me, and I scream — or try to. My body won't respond. I reach for his arm, too slow, too weak, and—
Another stab.
Right into my solar plexus.
Blood pours down the front of my shirt. My white shirt. The one I wore this morning.
Now stained red.
I feel wet. Cold.
I can't struggle. It feels like I'm falling asleep.
Then, another stab..
I wake up, pain reaching into my brain, and I attempt to push him away, but he backs away, causing me to fall over.
"U-Uncle! Let's go! I told you, I told you—!"
The rest of his dialogue drowns out.
What is he saying?
I can't hear, just static, white noise.
The fucking bastard pulls up his pants and leaves, falling over, the sobbing mess he is.
Coward.
It's just me now.
Me and the corpse.
Theres no one in this house any longer. Just one boy, death slowly inching closer to him.
I extend my hand.
Her face feels cold. Devoid of any life.
I can feel the folds in my face begin to scrunch as I begin to sob. Ugly, loud, and desperate.
Why me? Why do I have to go through this?
…No, there's still time. If I call the cops, I can get an ambulance here. Yes, that's right.
I summon every ounce of energy in my body to get up.
Every nerve in my body screams. Blood seeps freely now. But I can take it. If it's for something—anything—then I can take it.
I stagger towards the stairs.
Then my foot slips.
And I fall.
Pain explodes through my limbs as I tumble down.
I land on the cold ground in a broken, gasping heap. I feel like I can fall asleep here.
I turn onto my stomach, and begin to crawl, dragging my body across the floor towards the door.
My phone… it's right there.
The door's wide open, snow pouring into the room. This place that once had warmth is being swallowed by cold.
I won't let it.
I can't let it.
I crawl.
My bloody hands smear across the screen. I'm clutching my side, feeling the warmth leave me, replaced by a dizzying cold. My vision fades in and out.
I need to stand up, or at least prop myself up.
I push myself, leaning on the frame of the door, trying to wipe off the blood on my screen.
I press the on button.
It doesn't turn on.
It's dead.
Like Kairi.
Who am I kidding?
I knew she was dead. I just didn't want to believe it. I kept pretending.
My breathing starts to slow down.
I find myself looking at the snow.
I hate responsilibites.
Because once you let go of one of them, or neglect even one, you're punished. I hate responsibilities because you can't let go of them. You can't neglect them for even a second, or something like this happens. I hate reality. I hate the real world. I hate that anything can happen, whether you like it or not. I hate that I was even born here.
But…
At least there's snow.
A comforting feeling.
Even if the world is dark and ugly— snow will cover it up, making it reflective and peacfeul.
I feel my phone slipping from my hand.
I'm falling asleep.
Well, I did sleep pretty late last night.
Maybe a quick nap won't be bad.
The sound of it hitting the floor—
A neighbor screaming—
That's the last thing I hear
Before I drift off
to sleep.