"Humans are always in a constant struggle to survive, but the one thing we cannot survive is death. Still, the human race always fights. That's the world of liars we live in."
I told her my name. She didn't say anything. She left. Just like everything good in my life.
I didn't understand it—I don't think I could. Did traveling feel so lonely? I don't know; I only know what I think I know.
The train stopped. Or so it seemed. I just lifted my gaze and walked, so slowly, so normally. I left the station; the air felt normal—or so I think I believe. I no longer know what to believe in.
I walked through Tokyo Station; my house was very close. I walked across the cold floor that says nothing but feels every step. The dense air breathed, and the path felt eternal. And yes, that's how it seemed to me. I didn't want to get home.
I wanted to stay in that moment forever, the moment where I felt I had made a friend. That's when it seemed my mouth opened to yawn; everything felt strange.
As if I were back at my school, watching couples pass by, breaking me inconclusively because… I don't know. I'm strange. I think I say I hate people, but…
Better think about something else.
I'll try a new path. Oh, it smells so good. Wow, it's a ramen stand—I'll stop by.
I opened the door of the place, but unfortunately, there was no one there. I guess I was still hungry, so I ordered a ramen, but they were already closing; I had to leave.
It's my fault for trying new places. After that, I went home and walked up to the door, which felt cold—very cold, too cold. I grabbed the handle and almost froze my hand. I put the key in and opened the door.
I shouted, "I'm home." It seemed like no one was there. Better eat instant ramen, I thought. I put the water to heat. I laughed without wanting to. I tried to pour it into the ramen, but I dropped the pot. The pot… it was special. I had bought it with them. I don't know what's happening to me. Can't I do a single damn thing right? Why? Everything goes wrong for me—why?
I tried to pick up the pot and fell clumsily—not funny—slipping on the water. I got up quickly and tried to hide it. I saw the water on the floor and saw myself; then I wondered: why did I pretend? There's no one, right? Right?
What? There's no one. My lips betrayed me; I couldn't control them—they moved on their own. I tried to stop them.
I don't know what's happening to me.
While I said there was no one, loneliness became more present. I don't understand. Someone, explain this to me. I'm fed up.
I wanted to grab the ramen on the table and saw something falling into the bowl: drops? A dropper? I hadn't noticed. It wasn't just drops. It was my tears. Am I crying? Why? Why? I don't understand… I don't understand…
I can't take it anymore.
Why? Because I can't stop crying. I wiped my tears over and over, but they didn't go away. Why?
Why did I say, "I'm home," if my parents are dead? As I said those words, memories of them resurfaced, and those simple words dug a hole deep in my heart. I kept saying it: They… they… are dead. I live alone. What's happening to me? I don't understand anything. The more I thought, the more tangled I became, the emptier I felt. How long am I going to keep pretending? I'm tired.
I'm just tired.
When I wake up… when I wake up it will be another day, right? I smiled sadly. Deep down… deep down… what do I have? Love or compassion? Fear or hatred?
The more I asked myself, the fewer answers I got; loneliness crushed me.
I don't know.
I won't think about it. If it hurts, better not think, I told myself. But if that's the case…
Why? Why can't I stop crying?
Better go to sleep. As I walked, the air felt heavy. I feel so tense. How stupid… what does "I feel lonely" even mean?
I can't sleep.
I repeated to myself that I would sleep. I'll sleep. I'll sleep. I'll sleep. It didn't work. I repeated it so many times, millions of times… and still I couldn't fall asleep. I think I'm broken inside; I think I understand things, but in the end I always end up questioning and still understand nothing.
I thought of something silly to distract myself: I remembered those panties. I laughed shamelessly and blushed. The laughter didn't fill the emptiness; it only made it clearer. I thought maybe, like some times, a shameless act would fill me, but… what stupidity. It wasn't like that.
When I realized it was already morning. Time passes fast when you think about panties. But that joke still didn't fill me, which was logical—I thought the second time would be the charm.
Sometimes I think I should be a comedian. I would laugh at everything, and no one would notice what I'm breaking inside.
I looked at the time: it was school time again. The same absurd routine as always. I showered, devoured the cold food on the table, and got dressed.
Socks on, I ran to the train. I walked fast because, of course, I still don't have the age to drive vehicles.
It wouldn't hurt to break the fourth wall and introduce myself, right? I'm so forgetful that I even forget to introduce myself… or maybe the real forgetful one is my writer, the one who writes about me.
Or maybe I'm forgetful because he is part of me? Are we the same person? And if so, does that mean he's as lazy as I am? I don't even want to imagine it. I couldn't stop laughing.
I should teach that writer how to create a good character. Or better yet, make him write about me winning the lottery or something more interesting.
Anyway, my name is Tsunami Tatsuki, and I'm 17 years old. I study at any random school, live in any random house. I'm the most sociable guy in the world, I have tons of friends, I'm 1.90m tall, muscular, and, of course, I have a harem. I'm also the best in my class.
Did you really expect me to tell the truth? Don't make me laugh, HAHAHA. Although, if I lie so blatantly, it's because I hate you all. Hear me?
Back to the main story…
After getting on the train, I saw her again—I can't believe it, I saw her again. How shameless the world is, yes, sure, as if this were a romantic comedy… I wish.
The worst part is that it's the complete opposite, simply plain. Looking at her, she seemed as beautiful as yesterday—or so someone from an anime story would say—but I… I honestly don't care about those things.
Better take a seat and relax while I think about other things as I always do, right?
After relaxing, I stopped thinking about what happened yesterday, such unnecessary things.
I sat in my seat on the train, trying to go unnoticed.
But then…
— …
She looked at me!
SHE SAW ME! SERIOUSLY?!
I felt cold sweat run down my back. Instinctively, I grabbed my backpack and tried to hide, but it was already too late.
Her eyes locked on mine, shining with a sweetness that… WHAT?!
No… it can't be.
And she sat next to me on the train, looking at me with that tender face, and she slowly moved closer, too close to be precise. I hadn't felt that scared since that time I was challenged to go home alone. Once she got that close, she started moving a disgrace called the oral cavity—or as some ignorants call it, the mouth.
And she started saying things like, "How are you?", "What are you doing?", "Why were you ignoring me?" But what surprised me most was the first thing she said—a sound I never thought I'd hear—and it was a "hello" so long it would unsettle anyone.
She said a perfect hello. She moved to my side, and I felt time wasn't on my side. Every drop of sweat fell, and the seconds ticked on while my heart raced little by little. Then I heard that perfect hello, a long hello, as she slowly brought her face closer to mine. I saw her lips move—so perfect, so red. I felt my life pass before me, but I kept my composure.
It's incredible how a human, unpredictable and far from perfect, can do things that result in perfection. That comforted me—or, as others would say, kept my sanity: thinking logical things while having a beauty by my side.
I emphasize that it's not my fault that someone as irregular as me feels this way. It's a natural bodily response, it doesn't mean I like her or anything like that. No, "NICEEE!"
This time she told me her name after I hadn't answered any question. She said her name was Elizabeth. Incredible, I was amazed—it wasn't a common name, nor had I heard it much.
Still, I didn't care about that; I wanted to know why she kept insisting. Why was she still here? I don't understand. Why did she start talking to me? I was nervous and asked why she insisted so much. I told her, even though my stomach churned and my body resisted with every molecule. While trembling, I looked at her.
And she said with a smiling face, a smile that carried sadness, a sadness anyone might miss. As she looked at me and tried to look away, she said: —"So you don't remember me, huh?" For a second, I could have sworn I noticed a sad face, and that left me unsettled.
I asked if we had met before, but sadly the train had reached the stop, and she smiled at me again.
—We'll see each other later.
She said it so cheerfully. I didn't know what to say. What can someone like me do?
It's not as if, by magic, I became someone popular out of nowhere or someone to be trusted. And to be able to discuss the reason for her behavior? I don't think that would ever happen. Or so I think…
But I don't know; I was glad to talk to someone other than myself. Right? Right? no? I said it three times, but each time losing strength until I ended with that sad "no." I understood it then; yes, that's how it is. I felt sad, very sad. I don't understand.
—"I hate everyone"—I thought again as it began to rain. Rain? Inside a train? Ah, yes, again, again: I'm crying. I asked myself: if I hate everyone, why do I feel so sad?
I think the fact that I can't be someone to trust, or the fact that I'm an unimportant person in life, frustrates me a lot.
I can't understand it. Better not think about it, as I always do. I wiped my tears, walked out of the train, ran up those rotten stairs to school, with an emptiness in my heart as I always do.
When I realized it, I was already sitting in my seat. While everyone wondered why I still went to school if my grades were so low, I wasn't good at anything, and useless, I only heard one word, but I heard it.
—Why doesn't he just die?!
I hadn't thought of it that way. I think she's right. Why should someone like me keep existing? Right? Right? Right? N… I got depressed again, damn it, why do I still go to school? I don't understand.
I hadn't noticed, but someone was listening at the entrance. It looked like a familiar figure. When I tried to recognize her, I noticed her angry face.
She entered furiously, hitting the table where those people I didn't get along with were sitting. Although, I don't get along with anyone, I don't know why I say it that way.
It was then that she shouted:
—Shouldn't you talk about people like that? What's this about wishing death on them? You don't know what the feeling of loss is. That's wrong, that's wrong!
I felt it. Yes, it was. The last word, I noticed on her face, the sadness as she said it. I felt it. Yes, ah… she understood: what loss is.
She stared at me and said:
—Why do you let others talk about you like that? That's wrong.
She grabbed my hand angrily and led me away from the classroom. I didn't understand. I feel like I never understand anything. I think I'm getting worse.
As we walked, I felt the world move a little slower, just a little, and I thought: it's the first time someone gets involved with me like this. While she held my hand, I smiled, just a little, but I smiled. When we realized it, we were at the back of the school, and she still hadn't let go. She took her food and started eating without letting go of my hand.
I was a little nervous and thought how unnecessary it was.
So I said:
—How unnecessary.
Then she looked at me and started laughing, and said while moving the hand that held me so tightly:
—You're weird, but I like you. (She said it while showing me such a sweet laugh)
She captivated me.
But the moment arrived, she realized—we didn't notice—that we were still holding hands. Or so I thought. She looked nervous and let go immediately. She looked away and nervously told me how I shouldn't let people treat me that way.
But for me, that kind of behavior toward me was already normal. I didn't pay attention.
So I asked if that was all. I had to go eat alone as always, and she said:
—Why don't you eat with me?
I looked at her again, thinking she was joking. I told her to stop joking.
She looked at me and made me sit forcibly. She tried to give me a bite of her food while looking away. I wanted to try it very slowly, so I moved closer. I was very embarrassed while approaching the chopsticks; my heart was beating faster and faster.
And when everything was getting stranger and stranger for me, because no one had ever been so nice to me, the other girl—the one who tripped that day—arrived and shouted:
—There's the shameless stalker! So you're here!
She left me no choice but to run. I ran without looking back, my heart pounding as if it wanted to escape before me. Maybe, deep down, I owe her one… at least she gave me the perfect excuse to escape that suffocating moment.
I ran without stopping, without thinking, and in the midst of that whirlwind, I felt the soft, unexpected breeze draw a smile on my face. I didn't understand it then… but that fleeting moment was, in reality, the first step of my true story.