A Few Good Men
Ring around the rosies,
Pocket full of posies.
Ashes to ashes,
We all fall down.
We all fall down.
*~*~*~*~*~*
Chapter 4--Me, and Her
It’s coming towards you, kid.
What is?
The moth.
I looked around me. Where? I gave Schrudich a suspicious glance.
Sure enough. He gave me a teasing grin. Gotcha.
I gave him a dirty look.
He gave me another grin, then he looked over at Crawford and gave a yawn.
Bo-ring.
I ignored him and looked at Crawford expectantly. Not that I expected he would
actually say anything, because he normally doesn’t do that. But then, as of
right now, circumstances are pretty out of the ordinary.
Like, for example, his hailing all of us here—that’s a strange thing, since he
normally doesn’t do that. And then, there’s the fact that for some reason, he
was home even if it was still early—something about that is strange. And since
he didn’t usually call us all together in this room during the mornings,
something about that was strange, too.
-And- since he didn’t usually call for meetings with people other than
Schrudich, Farfello, and I, something about that was also strange.
Not too far back, about a year ago, when this man named Takatori Reiji, whom we
worked for, was still alive, we—Crawford, Schrudich, Farfello, and
I—collectively known as Schwarz—used to, on a regular nighttime basis, hold our
meetings right here, in this room, on the fourth floor of the SZ mansion. This
is a room big enough to house the whole downstairs living room, but in contrast
to the physical appearance of the living room, this room is pitch-black, and it
holds a certain outer space sort of exterior.
Normally, we would all go here, summoned by Crawford. He would be standing right
across this oval-shaped glass table and leaning on the wall. Schrudich would be
sitting on a chair beside the table and his elbow would be resting on top of the
table. Farfello would be standing at the corner opposite the door, and I would
be sitting either on the sofa opposite from where Crawford was, or beside the
computer near the sofa.
And then, we would all stay there, silent for about an hour, waiting. Actually,
we never have any meetings that involved definite conversations or something of
that kind. Our meetings usually consisted of waiting for about an hour or so.
Waiting for what? Well…the next move, or something like that, I guess.
Maybe one can say that this room was more of a waiting room than a meeting room.
At least, for normal people, that’s what it would seem. But we were never
normal. I guess that’s why typical meetings for us are similar to doing nothing
but wait for normal people.
I guess that really doesn’t make much sense, does it? But that’s fine. I never
could make much sense of anything anyway.
If there’s anyone who could actually make sense of anything among the four of
us, it’s Crawford. For one thing, he’s the oldest, and for another, he knows a
lot about things. I think it’s probably due to the fact that he could tell the
future. I’ve never actually known him to have no explanation for anything.
Strange as it may seem, I think he actually finds sense in everything.
Or maybe I just think that because I can’t really make much sense of the world
around me. I don’t know.
As for Farfello, it’s really hard to tell if he can actually make sense of the
world around him. I don’t think I’ll ever know what he’s really thinking. I
never really understood him.
And Schrudich? His tendency to explain things in circles makes everything all
the more confusing. But then, at least he can explain them. That must mean he
can at least make sense of something…right?
Uh…anyway, as for me…I think I’ve said it already. I understand some things, but
not all things. The problem with me is that there are more things in the world
that doesn’t make much sense to me than there are things that actually make any
sense.
So what does that make me? Well, as much as I think it’s sad that I have to be
like this, I think it’s more…pathetic.
I’m pathetic.
I mean, the fact that I’m almost seventeen and I still can’t make much sense of
many things in the world, that’s what makes me pathetic. And the fact that maybe
I actually knew a lot more four or so years ago than I do now, -that- adds to my
pathetic state.
But then, four or so years ago, someone was there to actually help me make much
sense of things. I sort of wish she had been around longer to help me out, but
as I said, that was four or so years ago.
I mean, I guess Crawford could have been the one to help me make sense of a lot
of things when she left and even when she was still around, but when it’s him
who explains things to me, instead of making them clearer, they become more
blurry.
I don’t know why the heck that was. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s a lot older
than me and the fact that he and I grew up differently. I’m not sure.
Where was I? Umm, yeah. Four or so years ago, I had someone younger, nearer my
age and knowing my background to teach me things and help me make much sense of
the world. Although we were both young and she probably couldn’t make sense of
the half the world back then, she made me understand a lot of things.
Plenty of things, especially about life. Though I don’t know how she came to
know all that. But then, I didn’t really know much back then, did I?
She was eight and I was seven when we were separated, and then she was twelve
and I, eleven when we were reunited.
And then, she was fourteen and I was thirteen when we were again separated. Back
then, right before she left, I tried to keep as much as I can of the things we
had shared with each other, and the things she’d tried to make sense of for my
sake. In a span of two years, she was able to help me make sense of a lot of
things that was probably equal to the amount of knowledge I would have gained
had we been together, say, two years more.
Meaning to say, those things she thought me for two years would have been equal
to what I would have learned for four years. But now that I think about it, had
she been around longer, I would have had something worth more than four years.
If that had been the case, I should think I would be a much different person
from the person I am now.
But fact is, that wasn’t the case. That was mostly wishful thinking on my part,
because I am who I am now, and she wasn’t there those four years—in those four
years she was gone, a lot has happened that made me what I am now.
And I had forgotten a lot of what she had thought me—a lot of things that made
me what I was four years ago, and because I’d forgotten, I changed.
But I never meant to forget. Two years was just a bit shorter than four years,
that’s all. I mean, I always thought I would be able to preserve much of what
she thought me those two years. But I never understood her words back then,
right before she left.
“Things will never stay the same over a period of time, Nagi. That never
happens in reality. In reality, things grow. Things change. The world evolves,
and as it does, so should you. To evolve would mean to adapt to the changes
around you. But remember, you must never forget everything you’ve learned since
you were young. You must learn, but never forget your past learning, for if you
do that, you will never understand the changes going on around you. Never
forget. Keep these in mind: the key to understanding is remembering...and
feeling. You must feel. You’re the only one who can do that, Nagi. When I leave,
I won’t be able to do that for you. No one will do that for you. No one but you.
Understand?”
No, I never understood what she meant by what she said, but I nodded in
understanding anyway.
I guess maybe I should have asked her what she meant then. Maybe if I had, I
wouldn’t be as pathetically senseless as I am now.
But she’s here now, isn’t she…? A voice inside me asked.
I gave a little sigh. I wonder…would it be too late if I ask her about what she
said back then…and what it meant…now?
Is anything ever too late? I thought that to myself as I gazed at my
sister with hopeful eyes. My sister, Futora Naoe—she who taught me everything,
but in vain, for I ended up losing most of it.
She, who left me, four years ago, and came back only now—now that a lot of
things has happened.
Do I blame her for what happened to me? No, I don’t. Not really. It was my
fault, for not understanding, but still, I just wish she didn’t leave me alone…
But she’s back now, isn’t she…? That same voice inside me. I looked over
at my sister again.
She was sitting on a chair beside the side of the table across from Schrudich.
-She- was the only person other than Schwarz who was in the room right now. Her
presence here with us, as I said, was strange. I wonder why Crawford called her
here with us?
Why do I find her being here with us strange? First of all, my sister wasn’t
Schwarz. Second, she didn’t have any idea of what we—Schwarz, that is—do, and
third…
Third, well…I just find it strange, for some reason, to have my sister around
with us. Especially since I haven’t seen her for four years. The way she acted,
and talked, and most of all—looked, they all made it seem clear that she was
different from the sister I knew before—I mean, before she left.
And that’s strange. What would make her different from the sister I knew before?
She was still Naoe Futora. Futora Oneesan, my sister.
But still, it’s somehow…strange.
What’s so strange about it? A voice suddenly spoke up inside my head.
I gave Schrudich another dirty look. I don’t remember asking you to read what
I’m thinking.
He shrugged, then looked over at my sister. Don’t blame me. She just wanted
me to find out what’s making you so worried.
That was when I noticed my sister looking over at me with a concerned expression
on her face.
I gave her a reassuring smile. Tell her it’s okay. I was just thinking about
some things. I said to Schrudich.
He raised an eyebrow. Why not tell her yourself, kid? Didn’t you two use to
read each other’s thoughts? He gazed over at me expectantly. Well?
I looked away. Yeah, but…that was before.
*~*~*~*~*~*
I was seven years old that time when my younger brother Makoto, my older sister
Futora, and I were separated. That happened right after our parents’ death.
Right after they were killed. Executed, as Futora Oneesan would say.
It was strange, that day when my parents were executed. I couldn’t do anything,
couldn’t say anything. I couldn’t even feel anything.
I couldn’t even cry even though it seemed perfectly normal for me, a
seven-year-old boy, to cry when he sees his parents die.
Perfectly normal.
It was even stranger that one of the only things I remember about that day was
when they allowed us to say goodbye to Mother and Father. That was before they
were executed.
I don’t remember anything that happened right after that. I only remember the
aftermath—right after Mother and Father died, when some people came to take us
away.
As for what happened in between, I don’t know. I only remember that, right after
saying goodbye to my parents, I was so angry that it felt like there was a
storming blowing up inside of me. A storm that flashed destructive thunder,
lightning and rain and destroying everything in sight, everything in this world
that made my life—our lives, the living hell that it was.
The next thing I knew, my sister was calling me and telling me that it was time
for us to go. That was when I was able to go back to where I was.
And that was when I found out that my parents were dead.
Beneath the soundproof glass in that room that was so dark and sad, I looked…and
saw in there, two bodies, covered from head to toe with blankets. Not my parents
anymore, just two dead bodies. Dead bodies of my parents.
They were dead, and I didn’t even see them take their last breath. I didn’t even
get to say one last goodbye. I wasn’t even able to shed a single tear for them,
if I still had the capability to do that. Nor did I even hear Makoto’s helpless
cries…or my sister’s, if she, too, was crying then. I wasn’t even able to offer
them any comfort. And we were so young then, and comfort was probably the only
thing that could have eased our broken souls…if they weren’t permanently
damaged, that is.
I didn’t have time to contemplate all that, because the next thing I knew, my
sister and I were being dragged out of that room to somewhere else.
And then, the next thing I knew, my brother was being taken away by people I
didn’t know.
And then, I looked over at my sister with a questioning look in my eyes,
unspoken, asking, why, where are these people taking Makoto?
She shook her head at me. I don’t know, Nagi. Let’s just hope he’ll be
alright.
Unspoken.
Why, Oneesan? Why? I thought to myself, not even thinking to ask her that
question directly.
But surprisingly, I got an answer.
These people…-they- seem to think this is what’s best for us. We’re orphans
now, and we don’t have any other relatives but Father and Mother. This is the
only way we will be able to survive. A thought, from my sister, sent
straight to my head.
I don’t know if she knew what we were doing.
I found out, soon enough. Will we see him again? I thought.
She looked over at me as I looked over at her. I hope so. She answered.
And at that moment, we understood what was happening, even though it was
unspoken, and even though it was un-thought.
And even if we didn’t know what it actually was. We only knew then that,
somehow, in some way, we were able to communicate to each other without so much
as a word, only thoughts sent to each other through our minds.
And that was how everything started.
*~*~*~*~*~*
Not long after that, a man and a woman took me away, just like people took
Makoto away.
Right before I left with them, I made a promise to my sister. We’ll see each
other again, Futora Oneesan, I gazed at her for long moments, making sure to
remember her face, making sure to remember -her-. I promise.
She wouldn’t look at me, but I understood. Even that time when Makoto left, she
didn’t look at him. She couldn’t bear to see him leave. But for her behalf, I
said goodbye to my younger brother. I prayed and hope then that he would never
ever forget us. And even then I saw that tears had fallen fast on her face. I
knew she couldn’t look at him as she couldn’t look at me now for fear that she
would just cry more if she does look.
But I did hear a very faint thought from her.
Goodbye.
I started out to join the man and the woman who were waiting for me outside. As
much as I didn’t want to leave Futora Oneesan, she was the one who said –this-
was probably the best thing that could happen, under the circumstances, for us
to survive. I stepped out the door.
Nagi?
I turned around upon hearing that thought in my head.
No matter what happens, I –will- see you and Makoto again. I’m going to
reunite the three of us, if it’s the last thing I do.
She wiped her eyes and gave me a fleeting gaze. I promise.
I remember, just before he left, Makoto was crying because he didn’t want to
leave until he was able to say goodbye, face-to-face, to both of us. He cried
for a long time because Oneesan refused to look at him. Then all of a sudden, he
stopped crying, bid us goodbye, and went to join the people who adopted him.
Oneesan must have given him that fleeting gaze that she had given me just now.
I promise that to you, Nagi. Just as I promised that to Makoto.
I gave a firm nod. Goodbye, Oneesan. I’ll see you again.
Then, I went out, without looking back. But as I left with the people who
adopted me, I thought to myself, I’ll never forget my promise to her. Just as I
will never forget her promise to me.
Promises.
Promises were something I clung to a whole lot back then, when I was just a
little kid of seven years old until before Oneesan went to Germany. But the
story of that comes later.
As I said, promises were something I clung to. Promises were something I lived
for. My sister’s promise—that we’d all be reunited someday—was something I hoped
for, something I looked forward to.
And at the same time, -my- promise to her—that I’d make sure we’d see each other
again someday, someway, somehow—THAT kept me alive.
It seems crazy that we had given each other similar promises. But I knew that
for our promises to be fulfilled—that for us to be reunited again, all three of
us—it would take –all- our combined efforts.
And so, I knew I had to stay alive, even if only to fulfill my promise to
Oneesan, and even if only to fulfill my unspoken and un-thought promise to
Makoto.
-And- even if only to fulfill my promise to my parents—which was—for us siblings
to take care of each other, and as much as it is possible, try to stay together.
Yes, I had made a promise to them, just as I’m sure my sister and brother did
too. Right before my parents were taken to the execution chamber, I was able to
talk to them.
Unfortunately, I think I wasn’t able to keep one of my promises, because right
after they died, my sister and brother and I were separated.
That is, -physically- separated. I had hoped that even if we weren’t together
physically, that we were at least together even if it’s just in heart. If that
were the case, then I’d know that I haven’t broken my promise to Mother and
Father.
I never want to break any promises or even come close to breaking them, that was
why I kept all the promises I had made to the people I love at heart. I made
sure I remember them for every single day that I lived. More importantly, I made
sure –I- lived to fulfill them, even if not immediately.
I had to survive. I had to survive so I can be able to help reunite—physically
as well as in heart—what’s left of my family.
I had to survive.
I had to live, even though many people wished and tried it very hard to make
sure I would die. Or even if I was alive, made sure my life was a living hell
that death would be the best release from it.
Death.
From the time I was seven until now that I’m almost seventeen, I’ve been
surrounded by a lot of deaths. Some of them were caused by the people around me,
while some of them were caused by me.
Right after Mother and Father’s death, the people around Makoto, Oneesan, and
I—wished death for the three of us.
I don’t know how I knew that, but the moment Makoto was taken away by some
people, I had a feeling. But I kept it inside me, still hoping that I was wrong.
And as I myself was being separated from my sister by people I didn’t know, I
had hoped she would be OK. And at the same time, I had hoped –I- would be OK
too.
And for about half a year of living with the people who adopted me, I was OK.
And I was happy. At least, happy as happy could get for someone whose parents
were dead and whose siblings he was separated from.
For about half a year, I was pampered, given everything I wanted, sent to
school, and I was treated nicely, like I was a real part of the family. The
couple who adopted me weren’t very old, but they had two almost grownup sons.
Those two sons were like my real older brothers. Oneechans. Every single day,
they brought home gifts and lots of nice things for me. My new parents,
meanwhile, read me stories and gave me nice things. They even gave me a nice
room to play and sleep in.
I had felt like I had a whole new family, and I hoped my sister and brother were
in the same condition as I was. I had a new family, and I loved this family. For
every single night that first six months, I lied on my bed and thanked the
heavens for giving me a new family, and repeated again and again how much I
loved this new family.
How I loved them.
But I was a child of seven who can easily be fooled by material things, false
pretenses and fake promises. And for someone who lived for promises, what
happened in the next six months came upon me like a crashing blow.
If only I had ears that could hear so much that even the most silent things,
like the blooming of flowers or the growing of grass, then I would have been
able to hear the deception being plotted behind the walls of the house that I
lived in.
Deception that involved me. Or should I say, deception where I was the central
figure.
I was the one being deceived, and I never even knew.
I was just a little kid then, barely eight, and I never knew, until one day, the
whole world fell upon me and what was once a world close to heaven became a
living hell.
One day. Or one night. It started one night, in my bedroom. Just as I was ready
to go to bed, a tall figure appeared at the doorway. The next thing I knew, he
was in the room—the couple’s eldest son, and he was forcing himself upon me.
He was raping me, and I couldn’t do anything to stop him. I couldn’t do anything
but cry. I cried all the tears that could have equaled the tears I could cry if
the lifetime I’ve spent in this world was doubled.
I cried myself to sleep and I don’t know when he stopped doing what he was doing
to me, but he was gone when I awoke.
I never cried again after that.
And that next day, my new life started. From earth it became a living hell. I
literally became a slave to the family who adopted me. I couldn’t protest. I
couldn’t even do anything to defend myself every time one of them feels the urge
to abuse me right then and there.
And abuse me they did. They did things to me that I never knew of—I only knew
that every time they did those things I felt pain.
And I couldn’t stop them.
Why?
Because I loved them. They were my new family. They made my life a living hell,
but still, I loved them.
That was how I was able to bear living with them for the next half a year. Every
single day of those six months, the cycle of living hell—the cycle of abuse in
the morning and abuse in the night, went on. During the night, the two grown-up
sons took turns raping me. Of course, I didn’t know then that rape was rape,
only that it was painful. But I don’t cry anymore. I didn’t know how to cry
anymore. And when they stop, I don’t fall asleep anymore. Not immediately. I
spend the whole night thinking to myself.
Even during the first six months, I spent some of my time at night thinking,
mainly about Makoto and Oneesan. When I began to spend my life in living hell, I
hoped and I prayed to the heavens that they weren’t in the same situation I was
in.
I always, always hope that they would both be in much better situations than
what I was in.
And then, I get to thinking about my situation. Why do I let myself be hurt
like this? Every single night since that first night after I was raped, I
wondered that. Why do I let them do this to me? Why don’t I just run away?
But I knew I couldn’t do that. If I ran away, I don’t know where I would go.
Even if these people are cruel to me, at least they feed me, and I love them.
Abruptly, I think about them.
Love?
Why do I love them?
I never got answer to this question. Saying that I love them because they made
my life a living hell was like saying that I wanted to die.
And then, that word hovers above my head. Death. Then I start thinking the
unthinkable.
Maybe it would be better if I killed myself. After all, no one’s going to
worry about me anyway. And if I do that, I can escape this hell of a life I’m
living. No one’s going to look for me anymore, anyway. No one, except…
Futora Oneesan and Makoto. But then again, if they knew the life I’m living
right now, they would probably think I’d be better off dead.
But what about my promise…? Whenever my thoughts take a turn to my
siblings, that’s when I shake the thoughts of killing myself out of my head. I
knew I couldn’t die just yet. I still had promises I need to keep.
When I start thinking that, I knew there was only one thing left.
A resolution.
-My- resolution.
I can’t die just yet. I have promises to fulfill. I’m not going to break
any promises. I’ll see my brother and sister again. We’ll take care of each
other. That’s a promise.
Stay alive, Naoe Nagi. Stay alive until you reunite with them. You can’t die
just yet.
I fall asleep with that thought in my head.
It was one year after I was adopted when my feelings for the family who adopted
me changed from my loving them to hating, loathing them utterly for making my
life a living hell. That, among other things.
Something that I heard on the news triggered the changed of my feelings. Or not
that, directly. More like something they said and did in connection to what I
heard on the news—that changed my feelings for them.
Or it wasn’t a change of feelings, exactly. It was more like an awakening. But
that comes later.
That day was more than a year ago after my brother Makoto was adopted. And the
news was about him.
It turned out that he had run away from the couple who adopted him, leaving the
couple gravely wounded from head to toe. But no fingerprints that my brother was
in any way connected to whatever happened to the couple.
And then, the family who adopted me said and did some things that hit a very
soft spot in me. If only they’d kept their feelings and thoughts to themselves
even just for a little while—that action would have been able to save their
lives.
But they chose to talk. And they chose to laugh. And they made fun of things
that they shouldn’t have made fun of in front of me.
Not just things, they made fun of people.
Like my brother.
And I am really sorry that whatever happened on that day, happened. But I have
to say that they could do anything they want freely in this world—laugh, insult,
hurt, violate, among other things—as long as they direct it to me, I can endure
it. And I won’t complain. I would endure every single suffering—as long as it’s
me, and just me who gets it.
But when it comes down to hurting the people I love—EVEN if it’s just in
words—and mocking and insulting them in front of me—that’s a whole new different
story altogether.
“That kid probably did it. Kids today…”
“That kid ran away, didn’t he? I’m positive he did it.”
“If I were that kid, I’d kill myself.”
“Yeah, I would, too. But he’d probably be too scared to do that. Poor, poor
kid…if he gets caught, he’ll be taken apart bit by bit…”
I heard all those insults, mocks and jeering laughs. I’m not even going to
repeat what else they said. Everything made me angry.
The first sign of my anger was when the TV blew up. And they continued talking.
As they continued talking, I felt that it was one of those times when I wish I
were deaf. But I heard everything. I heard every single word…
And then everything came crashing down. I saw red. Crimson.
Blood.
And I got so angry at them. So angry that I wasn’t able to control my anger
anymore. Every single thing in the house came crashing every which way, even the
four of them. Fire broke out. Hell broke loose. And I couldn’t make myself stop.
All the while, as everything in sight crashed and burned all over the place,
memories came flashing in my head…every single physical and verbal abuse they
had so kindly given me…and my anger boiled up uncontrollably until everything
blazed out of control…and even then, more memories of the hell I was in
continued flashing before me. And then, my awakening started.
Right then and there, I knew that I never really loved them. I just gave that as
an excuse to intensify the anger that had built up inside me ever since that day
when they came to adopt me.
Right then and there, I knew that the love I thought I felt was just a cover up
for my real feelings. I realized then that I hated them from the very start.
I hated them for taking me away from the only people left of my real family.
Later on, I hated them for being nice to me for half a year, hated them for
being my new family.
And later on, I hated them for making almost half a year of my life as a child
barely eight years old a living hell.
And then later on, I hated them for insulting and mocking one of the people I
love more than anything in front of me.
And I couldn’t stop hating them. I couldn’t stop my anger even as I continually
heard their screams. I destroyed everything in sight.
I burned the house along with them. Every single one of them—the couple, and the
two almost grown-up sons.
And I didn’t stop until I could no longer hear their screams, and even then, I
didn’t stop. I didn’t stop until the whole place was completely burned into
ashes.
Ashes to ashes, we all fall down.
Only thing was, they fell before I did.
This was four of the first couple of deaths that surrounded me—deaths I have
caused. Just as my adoptive family triggered my extreme anger, my extreme anger
triggered the release of an ability I never knew I had until that day.
I could move objects with my mind. And not just objects, also people. And this
ability was able to turn four grownups and a big house to ashes in a span of one
day. I was surprised to find out I had such kind of power, but there was no time
to worry about that.
After everything burned to ashes I was left standing at the center of a pile of
rubble and ashes than was once my house. And I knew what that meant.
I had to get away from there, as far away as possible. I don’t know how, I only
knew I had to get away.
The next thing I knew, from that pile of ashes and rubble I saw myself standing
in the middle of a grass clearing under a bridge where a small river runs
through.
I had teleported. But there was no time to worry about that. I was very tired,
for some reason. I fell asleep in the middle of the grassy clearing right away.
And when I woke up, I had felt like there was a whole new world in front of
me—that my living hell had ended with the death of my adoptive family.
But that was only wishful thinking. I never knew that a lot of things still lay
up ahead for me. A whole lot of things. My living hell was just starting.
*~*~*~*~*~*
The day after I killed my adoptive family would have made my stay with them one
full year. Likewise, the day after that was my eighth birthday.
I spent my eight birthday in that grassy clearing under the bridge. No one
celebrated with me, not even me. There was nothing to celebrate.
My birthday was the second day I spent my life in that grassy clearing. I
thought everything would go all right now that my adoptive family was dead. I
had hoped, but I hoped in vain, for that same day I found out that my living
hell continued on.
When I was still with my adoptive family, as they abused me, I realized the fact
that in this world, there are a lot of cruel people—people who glorified in
making other people suffer. People like my adoptive family enjoyed making people
like me suffer. I kept thinking that if I wasn’t with them, maybe life would be
much kinder and help me meet the kind of people who help those who have gone
through suffering.
When I came to this grassy clearing, I had hoped of meeting such kind of people.
I had extreme hope, for I knew that life was kind and it would help me overcome
my sufferings.
But as it turned out, there were no such kinds of people. Everyone in the world
were either people who make others suffer, or people who receive the sufferings.
And as I lived each day in that clearing, I fully realized that it wasn’t just
the people around me who are cruel.
Life itself was cruel. And I knew that if I wanted to survive, if I wanted to
stay alive, if I wanted to be able to fulfill all the promises I made to my
family, I had to be cruel too.
Survival of the strongest and cruelest was the universal law there in the grassy
clearing under the bridge. And there were many others like me there, too, who
wished to survive. Orphans, that’s what we all were. Orphans who had no place to
go and no other way to survive. To be able to survive, I had to be tough. And
cruel.
During the first couple of days, I wasn’t used to it, and I ended up getting
beat up pretty badly. I couldn’t even use my power. I felt too weak. But at one
point, I had to keep on remembering that I had to survive in order to fulfill my
promises. And that made me strong. And yes, that made me cruel.
And since that day on, I survived. I got rid of everyone and everything that
threatened to end my life, or stop me from surviving.
I was cruel. I was merciless.
And from that day on, I hardened my heart to everything around me. I was going
to survive, even if it means others will die.
In some unspoken way, I had vowed revenge to the world—the world that killed my
parents, the world that separated me from my siblings—the world that made my
existence a living hell. I vowed I would never stop until I destroy everyone and
everything that caused my existence to be a hellish one.
And I kept that vow inside my hardened heart, along with all the promises I have
yet to fulfill.
*~*~*~*~*~*
For three whole years, I survived in that grassy clearing underneath a bridge.
The place where I lived was just outside of Tokyo.
I was a couple of months short of my eleventh birthday when a man from Tokyo
went to my home. I had set myself up a tent made of materials that I stole from
a store a short distance from the bridge.
During that time, there were only a few of us left living under the bridge. Most
have died of hunger, drowned, or killed, or some other type of death. A few of
the strong ones survived. That’s us.
It was the month of May, late springtime. Even though I had hardened my heart to
life, there was a soft spot left for my family. I still remember that May was
Futora Oneesan’s birthday. She would be twelve, since I would be turning eleven
in a couple of months.
The man who came from Tokyo had a car. He was American, and he had dark hair and
eyes, and he wore glasses. He came down to my tent that day.
I had just woken up, and I was staring at the river and making some leaves float
and stabbing a couple of fish along the way using my ability to move objects.
That’s when he approached me.
“Hey, kid,” he said. “Are you from around here?”
I looked up and glared at him. “What’s it to you?”
“Nothing,” he said matter-of-factly. “But it can mean something to another
person.”
I rolled my eyes, stood up and turned back to my tent with the fish I caught.
“Look, Mister, if you have something to say, I have no time for it, so go away.”
“You don’t have time for it?” He followed me to my tent. “Are you sure?” He
raised an eyebrow.
I glared at him again. “YES, Mister, I’m sure. Please go away. I’m having
breakfast and I can’t afford to share this with you.”
But no, he wouldn’t leave me alone. “Have you been here long?” He asked.
“What’s it to you?” I snapped. “Mister, what do you want from me?”
He shrugged. “I don’t want anything from you, kid. Question is, do –you- want
something from me?”
He was talking in circles. “Look, Mister, are you going to leave or do I have
to—“
“—Use your ability to move objects on me?” He finished.
I was stunned. He didn’t see me do anything, but he knew I had an ability to
move objects with my mind.
He gave a small teasing laugh. “Yes, I know a lot about you, Naoe Nagi,” he
continued. “I know a whole lot. I know you went here when you were eight years
old and you’ve been living here since. I know you killed your adoptive family
using telekinesis. I know your parents were executed when you were seven in the
Tokyo Police Main Building. And I know you have a younger brother and an older
sister.”
Who is this person?
I gave him a suspicious look. “Why do you know all those things? Who are you?” I
demanded.
“My name is Brad Crawford. You can call me Crawford. I know who you are, Naoe
Nagi. More than you could ever know.” He said.
“How do you know who I am?” I persisted.
“If you come with me—“
“NO! I won’t come with you! Answer my question!” I said angrily. Then I punched
him without meaning to using my power.
He composed himself. “All right, then I’ll just tell your sister Futora that you
can’t make it to the late celebration of her twelfth birthday. How does that
sound?”
My sister Futora?
“Who ARE you? How do you know my sister?” I shouted, and as I did, another blast
of my anger hit him. He staggered down.
He stood up and brushed the grass from his suit. “Your sister is in Tokyo,
living with me and two other people. If you come with me, you can meet them.”
“NO! I won’t come! I don’t believe you! If you’re telling the truth, then bring
her here!” I shouted.
“I can’t do that,” he said calmly. “I promised your sister I’ll bring -you- to
her.”
Promised.
“Promised,” I whispered. I was silent for a couple of minutes. “Hey, Mister!
I’ll make you a deal,” I told him stiffly, “if you’re lying to me, I’m going to
have to kill you, and you can’t refuse. Is that a deal?”
“It’s a deal, kid.” Brad Crawford answered seriously. “But I promise you, I –am-
telling the truth.”
I didn’t say anything to that. I didn’t believe him. I couldn’t believe him. The
only truth I know of this hellish world is that nobody tells the truth.
But still, I came with him. And as I looked back at the grassy clearing under
the bridge that had been my home for almost three years, little did I know that
it was the last time I was going to see that clearing. When I stepped into Brad
Crawford’s car and drove away with him, that’s when my new life started.
*~*~*~*~*~*
For the first time in a long while, someone who lives in this hellish world had
told the truth. As soon as I stepped out of Crawford’s car and followed him to
that stately mansion where he lived, I realized that there –are- people in this
world who existed to help other people who have suffered.
Crawford was one of them. As I followed him into the garden of the mansion, I
saw a flash of long dark hair…then the eyes followed.
Dark blue eyes. Eyes that I would know instantly and forever.
My sister’s eyes.
“Oneesan!” I shouted.
And that was it.
I came running towards her. She came running towards me.
“Nagi!” She shouted, and then she hugged me. I hugged her back.
And with that, all the ice that had hardened my heart shattered.
And as we hugged each other, I couldn’t cry.
Neither could she, but that didn’t matter. My heart wasn’t hard anymore. And
then I knew that nothing could ever harden my heart ever again, as long as
Oneesan and I were together.
Now that we were together again, it would be easier to find Makoto. And one of
these days all my promises would be fulfilled.
My hope was back again.
As for my vow of revenge to the world that gave me a hellish existence, that was
still in my heart—asleep, until such time that I can be able to make it happen.
Someday.
*~*~*~*~*~*
For two years, Oneesan and I were together. We lived in the mansion of the SZ
together with Schrudich, this German kid who can read minds and who’s almost
seven years older than me, Farfello, this Irish kid who can feel no pain and who
was four years older than me, and Crawford, who can tell the future and who was
twelve years older than me.
I became one of Crawford’s assistants, together with Farfello and Schrudich. The
four of us formed what was known collectively as Schwarz. We were bodyguards of
this big shot politician named Takatori Reiji. Our mission was to annihilate
anyone who dares compete with him.
We killed people if it was necessary.
But that was fine with me. When I started living in the grassy clearing under
the bridge, killing became as necessary and as essential as…as breathing. As
living.
As for my Oneesan, she was there. She was my constant companion, spiritual
adviser, teacher, friend, sister, and something like a mother.
Since we were siblings, we were always together. We were closest to each other’s
ages, and sometimes Farfello and Schrudich joined us. Oneesan was the one who
helped me relate with these two. As for Crawford, he wasn’t around often, but
when he was home, he talks to me and explains things to me. That was his way of
relating with me.
One of the best things my sister did for me when we were together for two years
was putting my faith back in life.
She had told me what had happened to her those four years we were separated. Her
sufferings weren’t enough for her to hate life, because according to her, life
is not cruel. The world is not a cruel world. What makes the world cruel is the
people that surrounds it. People are the cruel ones. But, just as there are
cruel people, there also exist people who are the opposite of cruel.
“And Brad, Farfello and Schrudich, are examples of that.” She had added.
She was also the one who taught me how to use my powers. The first time she used
it, she said, was the first time she ever killed anyone. In that sense, we were
alike.
“Those who adopted me…I killed them using telekinesis. They were trying to
force themselves upon me again. After that, I knew they planned to kill me
because I don’t attract customers anymore. That was because anyone who uses me
dies soon after. It’s like I was cursed.
“Anyway, I didn’t burn them down. But they were trying to use these ropes on me,
and they had knives. I used those against them. I strangled them; afterwards I
stabbed them several times. Then I left.” She said that matter-of-factly.
She was the one who explained to me why I felt so weak after I teleported.
“It’s because you’ve used up all your energy. The problem with us telekinetic
is we have to use our powers moderately. If we use it too often, we get tired.
If we don’t use it too often, we can get sick. However, if we don’t use it for a
long time, our body can get used to it until eventually the ability disappears.
Mother told me that it would come naturally for us to have those powers because
she did. Remember?”
Yes, I remembered how Mother used to float Makoto and I in the middle of the
ocean. We looked down in the water while she floated and watched the sea
creatures swim.
The last of the best things my sister gave me was my hope. When I was by myself
in that grassy clearing for three years, I gave up hope of finding them again.
But when I found her, that hope came back.
Of course, Oneesan and I can still talk to each other through our minds.
Schrudich said this was telepathy, similar to his power; the only difference was
that this was two-way, meaning; only Oneesan and I can read each other’s
thoughts.
And with this ability, Oneesan was able to teach me a lot of things.
For two years, my sister taught me a lot. Mainly, about life. Living with
Crawford, Schrudich and Farfello made her a lot wiser, because, even if it seems
strange to me, in their own ways, they have taught her a lot. And she shared all
her knowledge to me. And though sometimes I don’t get some of them, I was
nevertheless thankful.
Of course, one thing I would never ever forget was the fact that she made me
change my outlook of the world entirely.
”The law of the world is not survival of the strongest and the cruelest. But
you have to be tough, although tough doesn’t exactly mean you have to be cruel.
Life is hard, but it isn’t cruel. The world isn’t cruel. You just have to know
how to adjust. You have to know how to evolve as the world around you evolves.”
Her last words before she left for Germany went a little something like that. I
think I mentioned it earlier. It was something I never understood, and neither
did I try to ask her to explain it.
Before I turned thirteen, Crawford mentioned something to us about choosing
which of us—Oneesan or I—would go to Germany and be the SZ and Schwarz’
out-of-the-country agent. We had to pass an exam. Oneesan and I took the exam,
and of course she was the one who passed it. Unlike me, she had always been as
smart as a whip—not just book-smart, but life-smart. I was just a regular kid
back when we were young; she was the genius of the family.
Our reunion was of course, cut short, when she went to Germany. As it turned
out, we were only together for two years—not even two years, for we were short
several days. As much as that made me sad, things happened for a reason—Oneesan
always says that, and I believe it. And so again, we were separated for four
years. And in those four years she wasn’t around, a lot of things have happened
to me, and these things overshadowed everything she’d taught me those almost two
years we were together. As much as I tried to save everything she taught me, I
couldn’t. No one could’ve done it. Four years was just too long compared to two
years.
Now, it seems like I was back where I started—I was once again that hard-hearted
eleven-year old who just came back from the grassy clearing below a bridge near
a river outside of Tokyo, even though I was getting on for seventeen.
And looking at my sister, it seems like I didn’t know her at all.
She was like this tall, beautiful stranger who came in and entered my life
out of the blue.
I guess the same goes for her—just as a lot of things have happened to me in a
span of four years, a lot of things have happened to her too.
“Why did you call us here, Crawford?” Schrudich finally spoke. He looked over at
me. I’m going to convince Crawford to adjourn this, kid, so you and Sugar can
talk.
I glared at him. Sugar?
He grinned. Yeah. Sugar. That’s what I call her. Didn’t you know?
Obviously I didn’t.
“All right, Schrudich. Stop talking to Nagi. You’re clouding my senses.”
Crawford said sternly. “I didn’t call you here for any particular reason other
than to let you know that our enemies, Weiß has come back to Tokyo, for some
reason. They were in Kyoto, but their operative has asked them to come back. And
just in time. Our plans are just about ready.” He gave a sinister grin.
I frowned. The year before, those Weiß guys had the habit of popping in when
they weren’t wanted and destroying our plans. They were an annoying bunch, those
four. Not that they were any much for me anyway.
Especially that Omi guy who was our former boss, Reiji’s son. He’s strong, but
heck, he’s no match for –me-.
Schrudich grinned. “Great. Let’s have some fun.”
Farfello just laughed.
“I thought those guys were through. Didn’t you four kill them?” My sister asked.
She gave Schrudich a teasing grin.
“We couldn’t kill them. They were too strong for us.” I said sarcastically.
Stop flirting with him, Oneesan.
She looked over at me. You’re finally talking to me? I was beginning to think
I couldn’t get through to you.
I looked away. I was avoiding talking to you, that’s all.
She shrugged. Just take it easy. You looked like you were thinking of some
pretty intense stuff there.
It was nothing.
If you say so.
“The building we were fighting in collapsed. It was more of a draw.” Crawford
answered.
“So can we go?” Schrudich persisted. Get it together, kid. You look totally
bothered.
I glared at him. I –am- bothered.
Why ever are you bothered? He said with an innocent grin.
Because you won’t stop flirting and playing footsie with my sister, that’s
why. I retorted pointedly.
Why should I do that? She’s not complaining.
Are you looking for a body throw? I haven’t done any telekinetic exercises
yet, you know.
Okay, okay. I’ll stop. Geeze.
“I’m ending this meeting the moment you and Nagi stop your chitchat and the
moment you stop flirting with Futora.” Crawford said dully.
“Okay, okay. I’ll stop.” Schrudich said grudgingly.
As we left the room, Schrudich talked to me again telepathically. You and
Futora should talk, kid. You two have a lot of things to catch up on. Four years
is a long time. You two should get to know each other again.
Why?
Why? Kid, you’re family. As of now, she’s the only family you have. Treasure
that. Some of us here don’t have families, in case you hadn’t noticed. You’re
lucky you have a sister who loves you.
But…
Kid, don’t think about what happened in the past. That’s over and done with. I
know you’re thinking that you seem like strangers to each other since you were
separated four years. Maybe that’s true, but you shouldn’t dwell on that. Fact
is, you’re her brother, she’s you’re sister. Remember that. Cherish that.
Okay, I’ll talk to her.
She wants to talk to you too. She said she missed you.
I couldn’t help but smile. I missed her too.
No matter how much I try to say that we both have changed so much we seemed like
strangers, that still doesn’t change the fact that we are siblings. She’s my
older sister, and I’m her younger brother.
Schrudich was right. Instead of looking for what’s wrong, I guess I should try
to see what’s right. And for the rare times it happens, Schrudich was right.
Oneesan and I, we’ve got each other. As of right now, she’s my only family and
I’m her only family.
And I should try to cherish that—what matters now is not how we seem like
strangers to each other after four years of separation.
Instead, what matters most now is the fact that we’re family—me, and her.