The morning went on without Tsubaki, who woke up wide-eyed and shuddering, donned in the soft greys of the Landel’s uniform with her hair feathered around her. Like it’d all been a dream. A terrible, terrible dream.
But it hadn’t been, and in a daze, she was led through the usual routine, a passenger in her own body. She hadn’t even thought to draw her hair up as she did every morning, and it stayed in a tumble around her shoulders as she stepped up to the bulletin board. There would be notes, she’d thought. There were every day. Maybe some thoughts, some explanations, maybe some word from her friends. Tsubaki scanned each message, absorbing everything, but with a numbness between her head and her heart that wouldn’t let her feel what she was reading. Not yet.
So people had experienced something, too, something that’d set off the furious tone on the board…
Died, because of…?
Tsubaki felt fine, no wounds, no voices or moans in her ears, no visions that danced in front of her eyes. She hadn’t died. She was perfectly healthy, warm again, and everything around her was noise and sunlight, standing in stark opposition to cold, slick darkness and the smell of camellias…
“Excuse me… I have to go to the bathroom,” she said weakly, and backed out of the cafeteria, back through the double doors, back through the Sun Room. She mumbled more ‘excuse me’s in cutting through throngs of prisoners, head down, until she was finally inside the bathroom and was pressing her back to the door. Silence greeted her. There was no one there but her.
Then she broke.
Whooping for breath like she hadn’t breathed in a million years, Tsubaki stumbled to a sink, clutching the counter with white-knuckled fingers. In the mirror, she was fine. A smiley face sat where before blood had been gushing from a fatal stab wound, not from the katana as she knew it, but from a ninja blade. She knew how deep the knife had went, how final a blow it had been, because she’d put it there herself--she’d felt it--but now there was nothing. Her brother’s image chased away like every other nocturnal menace.
Tears choked her, forcing a pathetic noise from her throat. Putting her hand to her mouth, Tsubaki bent over the sink, tears rising hot in her eyes and slipping down her cheeks to patter in the basin. It was the breaking point. She’d held back so much over a week, and now it rose up in a suffocating wave, rolling over her like the ocean’s surf. Nii-san, why? Why had that happened? Why did these memories keep being pushed to the surface, and the dead along with them? Was that what happened when prisoners disappeared so suddenly? And for those that hadn’t, those like her brother who had died in peace somewhere else, were their essences being dragged into the same nightmare and tortured? His death, she’d felt it…
Tsubaki was bent so far over her forehead nearly touched the counter, but as the muffled sobs began, she stumbled back and made for one of the bathroom stalls. No one deserved to see her like this, not one of the nurses, not a fellow prisoner. The grief felt endless. If no one came looking for, she would be thankful.
no subject
The morning went on without Tsubaki, who woke up wide-eyed and shuddering, donned in the soft greys of the Landel’s uniform with her hair feathered around her. Like it’d all been a dream. A terrible, terrible dream.
But it hadn’t been, and in a daze, she was led through the usual routine, a passenger in her own body. She hadn’t even thought to draw her hair up as she did every morning, and it stayed in a tumble around her shoulders as she stepped up to the bulletin board. There would be notes, she’d thought. There were every day. Maybe some thoughts, some explanations, maybe some word from her friends. Tsubaki scanned each message, absorbing everything, but with a numbness between her head and her heart that wouldn’t let her feel what she was reading. Not yet.
So people had experienced something, too, something that’d set off the furious tone on the board…
Died, because of…?
Tsubaki felt fine, no wounds, no voices or moans in her ears, no visions that danced in front of her eyes. She hadn’t died. She was perfectly healthy, warm again, and everything around her was noise and sunlight, standing in stark opposition to cold, slick darkness and the smell of camellias…
“Excuse me… I have to go to the bathroom,” she said weakly, and backed out of the cafeteria, back through the double doors, back through the Sun Room. She mumbled more ‘excuse me’s in cutting through throngs of prisoners, head down, until she was finally inside the bathroom and was pressing her back to the door. Silence greeted her. There was no one there but her.
Then she broke.
Whooping for breath like she hadn’t breathed in a million years, Tsubaki stumbled to a sink, clutching the counter with white-knuckled fingers. In the mirror, she was fine. A smiley face sat where before blood had been gushing from a fatal stab wound, not from the katana as she knew it, but from a ninja blade. She knew how deep the knife had went, how final a blow it had been, because she’d put it there herself--she’d felt it--but now there was nothing. Her brother’s image chased away like every other nocturnal menace.
Tears choked her, forcing a pathetic noise from her throat. Putting her hand to her mouth, Tsubaki bent over the sink, tears rising hot in her eyes and slipping down her cheeks to patter in the basin. It was the breaking point. She’d held back so much over a week, and now it rose up in a suffocating wave, rolling over her like the ocean’s surf. Nii-san, why? Why had that happened? Why did these memories keep being pushed to the surface, and the dead along with them? Was that what happened when prisoners disappeared so suddenly? And for those that hadn’t, those like her brother who had died in peace somewhere else, were their essences being dragged into the same nightmare and tortured? His death, she’d felt it…
Tsubaki was bent so far over her forehead nearly touched the counter, but as the muffled sobs began, she stumbled back and made for one of the bathroom stalls. No one deserved to see her like this, not one of the nurses, not a fellow prisoner. The grief felt endless. If no one came looking for, she would be thankful.