I shifted uncomfortably inside my uniform; the winter tie insisted on choking my neck, and the socks, made from an unholy cotton, coiled up to my knees, suffocating my skin and antagonizing it freely. My trousers concealed their crimes, adding a cardboard-like feel to the discomfort.
Standing in the corridors, I shifted my weight without any real purpose.
Masato needed a hall buddy to help navigate the many stairs that plague our high school.
Unlike the ones near the temple — planks with gradual inclines — the stairs here at Chichibu High were not designed with care. They were steep and unforgiving, the kind that demanded full attention, and crawling on all fours wouldn't be beneath anyone who misjudged them. Masato, naturally, wouldn't tempt fate — not here, not where your future wife might be walking.
But I wasn't shifting because of Masato. I had been uncomfortable all morning.
Alison hadn't arrived at school today, and today of all days was the first day back. Despite her wild nature, she was fairly tame for school, taking it very seriously.
When she had been sick in the past, Alison would still make it in — enduring whatever she had to at the infirmary rather than surrendering to it at home. Classmates would flock to her during lunch breaks, drawn by something she gave off even at her lowest.
I remember a time when two from our baseball team stood guard by the infirmary doorway, their faces noble and stern.
This morning, upon entering the premises, I arrived with a renewed passion, almost as if school had become bearable.
Committed to our promise and with nerves threatening to spill over, I was battling inner turmoil and the sleepless night that had preceded it.
She hadn't arrived. The first day back was precisely the kind of occasion she never missed — she would have slipped in before the teacher could even glance up, her commitment to perfect attendance announced by presence alone. Yet her chair remained empty, leaving her fellow students — the large entourage — without their blooming flower as lunch approached.
When Masato returned, very little was exchanged. I sensed such silence was not from mutual concern but rather because our minds had nothing more to offer on the matter.
The empty hallway fed the silence, drawing out another thought.
It's fascinating how she has taken over all our lives and our hearts. She could just be unwell, but the classroom's mood had shifted entirely.
Within me, a selfish desire grew — a desire that today, just for today, all of us would forget about her. To ease the day ahead.
As we navigated the stairs, with Masato channeling his uncontrolled strength through his hands on my shoulders, I felt guilty for having such a horrible thought — not even the pain could make it go away.
Yet, as we entered the hallway leading to homeroom, I heard the faintest of mumbles escaping the classroom.
I entered first, Masato following behind me. The atmosphere was noticeably different — still anxious, maybe less tense — but the movement and groupings around desks gave me the impression that somehow the class was moving on.
We sat down at our desks in the middle row at the back. Our presence stirred no recognition. As I took my seat, I wondered if I could drift the day away, if my mind would latch onto something to help me get by.
~*~
It didn't take long.
I was above the clouds. A bench rested there, though part of me tensed at the thought of sitting. However, with the wind swirling and my skin noticeably rough from the cool sensation, I found my gaze steering off into the distance.
The clouds arose in layers, as if they held a landscape of their own. My neck followed the incline of it all, but the strain suddenly made it feel heavy. The bench seemed comfortable then.
I sat down right in the middle, wondering what my subconscious would stir up.
Usually, it's fragmented or, like a mirror, holds a reflection — not of me, but of something I've seen or experienced.
Lately, it has been the cyan-eyed girl.
Last night, my mind retraced the courtyard, but that was all I could control. It refused to rewind to the moment I had seen her elegantly glide across the dining room.
Instead, I moved towards the Kitsune...
I was no longer in the sky, where clouds floated like a moving world.
My mind had settled in front of the Kitsune. I was still seated — now on the grass of the courtyard.
My vision refused to look beyond or away from the Kitsune, and though I wanted to run my hands through the grass, my body asked me to concentrate.
So, I did.
I stared at the Kitsune, at its condescending expression, at how it flaunted its five tails as if each held more meaning than my existence.
These were the first thoughts that came to mind. Though the mystique it presented subsided all internal irritation, I held the gaze.
I looked into its eyes, as if somehow I'd be able to see deeper.
And I did, for then I realized its eyes had color.
They were a golden green — one that could be mistaken for gold but instead demanded recognition as natural beauty.
And it was beautiful, fierce, and otherworldly, as if it held meanings from the next life or from my past. These were my thoughts, though I felt more clouded internally — uncomfortable with the depths of this dream and how conscious I was about it all, yet clueless as to why I had drifted here.
My vision began to blur, my eyes losing focus of the Kitsune, its eyes becoming like glowing fireflies while the trees behind it grew clearer. I realized then I wanted to look beyond, behind the Kitsune.
I peered up towards the tree.
And my heart sank in dread.
One of the branches hanging over the courtyard's fence was heavier than the others. I noticed why very quickly.
Crows feverishly attacked what hung from the branch, though what struck me was how silently they did it. They worked in terrifying harmony, their beaks reaching into what seemed to be a net and tearing apart flesh.
Their feathers rustled without disturbance as I noticed two of the ravagers attacking a limb sticking out of the net. The limb didn't resemble a mammal or rodent. I think I refused to believe it initially — maybe out of fear at how horrifying and real this all felt — but I could clearly see that the crows were feeding on their own kind.
And the feasted was still alive, blood escaping from its beak and its eyes showing its helplessness. I thought for a brief moment that maybe I should intervene. One of the crows tugging at the net, at the flesh of its own kind, pecked at its eyes before gouging them out with a swift twist; blood immediately poured out, dark red and black, and the flesh that had been held compact by design unfolded onto the ground.
The crow tugging at the net immediately noticed the fallen flesh and flew down to the ground on the other side of the wooden fence.
It threw the piece of flesh up into the air before catching it in one swift swallow. Its eyes scanned the forest grounds — for predators or maybe prey.
It then noticed me, looking my way. Its head shifting from side to side, and then it launched itself instantly, right over the fence and straight towards my face.
I was still sitting on the grass.
And I had no time to react, no control over my arms. Nothing to cover up. In a swift motion, it clamped down on my nose.
I had hoped that then my mind would pull me back to reality, but as the pain coursed all over my face, tears instantly pouring from my eyes, I had to endure the extreme ravaging — my nose felt as if it were being torn open, my throat in flames, my eyes clamped shut as I fell back flat onto my back, the crow keeping its grip tightly over my nose, twisting, turning, and pulling at me.
Then suddenly I felt a hand on my shoulder, and my body, which had lost all control before, refused basic instincts — because in my mind here, you're forced to endure yourself.
The hand drew me back into reality.
~*~
"Hey Yoshi?" The voice was familiar, feminine, but my eyes were slow and my throat refluxed; my insides inverted instantly, giving me no time to gain control.
My hands grasped at something firm, but now my eyes fell back inwardly as I gave way, my chest heaving and my back rising with my shoulders and into my neck.
My nose screamed in phantom pain, but just like in my subconscious, I failed to react to it.
I could feel how my insides released, my chest rising higher with every heave and my neck feeling tighter with burns scraping all over in deep discomfort.
My eyes remained closed, out of embarrassment and loss of control.
As my hands continued to squeeze firmly on what I imagined were the rough edges of my desk, the only thing keeping me from slipping back under was this internal struggle.