A woman in a wheelchair, a former swordsmaster that had lost her sense of purpose by being unable to do the one thing she considered the bone of her existence - many people would probably feel pity for a person like her, but through his grey-green eyes, Komaeda could see nothing but admiration for her, which was probably what bothered him the most about the situation they were in.
In reality, he was nothing but confused, as much, or perhaps even more, than anyone else of his former classmates, that desparately tried to seek for a new fertile ground to sow new seeds that would grow into a better, a new, future, would be.
While everyone around him seemed like they were already watering their little plants, he stood there alone, in a wide and open field with his own seed still laying inside of his palm.
Sometimes he had considered throwing it away, because telling himself that death was the only future he deserved was so much easier than moving on with legs that had grown tired under the heavy weight of his cursed fortune.
Because death had always seemed so much sweeter to him, because living his life was too much of a burden for him.
It was a good thing, he kept telling himself, carefully muttering it whenever he laid down and felt his sadness threatening to jump out of the chains of apathy he had carefully wrapped around it.
A good thing, since nobody needed him.
He was alone, a threat for everybody around him, an existence with a burden that grew bigger and heavier each time he foolishly said that one more step would be okay, that maybe this time it wouldn’t happen like it always did.
But of course, bad fortune came to him anyway.
Good luck followed as always and so he abandoned his own hope for a better outcome in order to focus on the best possible thing he could do with his powers.
Ultimately, they lay beyond his reach, he knew that, but there was a difference between controlling an absolute force fully and influencing it’s outcome all together.
If he’d give up himself and his own future, it would be so much easier to sacrifice his own happiness for the sake of supporting others that were more important than him.
He enjoyed pretending that their success became his new content, yet in reality, he didn’t allow anyone to look past his smiling masquerade that was satisfied with this empty existence of his - he didn’t want anyone to see how deeply unhappy he was, not even himself.
He was done with being a hinderance for everyone.
It seemed like the concept of happiness simply wasn’t meant for his person.
Of course, things had changed by now, or did they?
Inside the programm he had learned that the people he had supported and admired so much were lower than dirt and had decided that everyone, including himself, had to die for the misery they had brought upon the world.
Why did they had to die again?
Because they were evil and deserved to die?
How did he not notice earlier, then?
Because he never dared to question them?
Or was it because he never expected people that radiated so much hope to eventually end up that low?
Their minds were erased, her manipulation wasn’t there at this time and place.
That didn’t change the fact that they eventually did become just like her.
They were hopeful, despite being vessels of nothing but despair.
He hated them. He hated that he loved them.
Admired those with talent.
And the one without it, as well.
What had he been so shocked about?
The truth, or their betrayal?
Was it the fact that he didn’t see it earlier, or that he genuinely grew to like them?
He played with the seeds of future inside of his hand.
As always, it predicted him hope and despair, hope and despair—
Why didn’t he want to seed it and see his future grow?
Why did he want to die?
Because he was a coward.
Because he was sick of this life between light and darkness.
Because the light he had clung to, the people that would have made his existence meaningful had disappointed him.
Then why didn’t he take his life?
Because he wanted to
live?
How selfish.
Clinging to a life everyone including himself wanted gone was selfish.
Why did he want to live?
Because he was hoping for a
better outcome?
A change?
He didn’t want to die but
he didn’t know the kind of life he wanted to live either.
She knew.
"Yes, you’re very inspiring", he nodded again, his lips spread into a cheerful smile and a chuckle escaping from the depts of his throat at the view of the young woman next to him.
Honestly, Pekoyama had always been a much cuter person than he had thought - he immensely enjoyed the faint embarrassment of hers, though.
For a moment, he decided to dwell in the strangely innocent atmosphere, before his face turned serious again and he averted his eyes, focusing his stare on the white flagstones underneath him.
"I always thought it would be fine, dying for what I believe in the most, which is why I don’t understand why I have to sit here again.
You probably felt the same, the moment you decided to shield Kuzuryuu-kun with your life.
All fear of death melted into the thought that this was for the best, right?”
He stopped.
An overwhelming feeling of dizziness, almost like he was about to faint overcame him, causing him to clench his single fist, his body trembling slightly as his face grew pale.
Shutting his eyes slowly, he did his best to keep himself from shaking, breathing in order to calm down.
Slowly, he leaned forward, his flat palm covering half of his face as another chuckle escaped him, yet this time it didn’t sound cheerful, but was filled with dread and darkness.
"I love it", he muttered in a dead tone, raising his head again in slow motion.
"How someone as despicable and low as a former puppet of her still holds enough hope to move on and start a new life.
Despite everything that happened, despite how utterly useless your body’s current state is, you’re still longing for a happy future with the person that resembles your hope.”
His chuckle grew louder, almost into a cackle, his former smile having completely shifted into a twisted grin.
His forehead felt hot and sweaty, eyes swirling into a deep pit of light and darkness.
He took his hands away and their eyes met - these ominous irises clashing against fiery crimson, hidden behind glasses.
If she could do it, why wasn’t he able to?
Because there was no hope left inside of him?
Or rather
because it was easier to pretend that it was this way?
He doubted that she could look past him this much.
She didn’t seem like a person that was good at reading other human beings.
If everything was going according to how he predicted, she would be frightened and stop asking.
She wouldn’t question about the intense emotions she had triggered inside of him and only pray that their meeting would be over soon.
He was miserable and a terrible human being.
A lying fool, all alone behind his very own iron bars.
"This must be the proof that not even the strongest kind of despair can crush absolute, pure hope."
His words didn’t match with his facade anymore.
With his heart racing like it was about to jump out of his chest and his face hot and sticky, he never noticed when exactly he had started to cry.
"It’s beautiful…"
A single tear ran down the cheeks of a crumbling masquerade, showing off a young man that tried so desparately to keep his jumbled thoughts under control.
His views didn’t fit into this new world, they probably had never fit in the first place - if he didn’t have to die, was he supposed to live this cursed existence of his?
Why was he never allowed to be happy?
Because his happiness brought pain.
Why was this woman moving on as easily as that?
It hit close.
It was a slap in the face of a man that was too afraid to take the same step as her.
Nothing will happen if she moves on. But if he did, certainly something will happen.
He didn’t want to hurt anymore.
The salty tear fell down his chin, hitting his fingers underneath it.
That was when he shut his eyes and turned away, still snickering and sighing in false contentment.
"That your hope is giving you strength in such a desparate situation…
Truly is admirable.”
His seed remained silently inside of his hand.
He knew the day he decided to plant it, it would grow into a monster that consumed all other flowers on their field.
Inspiring... Her mind lingered on that thought. It hadn't been easy, picking herself back up. Nothing in her life had every really been simple, not since childhood. Eventually, she averted her eyes to emotion-- blinded herself to the way Bocchan felt when he was around her. He'd been upset because she'd stopped acting as a friend-- instead, distant, cold, professional... Scarily i n h u m a n. How many times had she seen him cry? How many times had she done nothing to stop the tears from rolling down his pink hued cheeks? And now she knew he still cared about her... she was lucky enough to still have him by her side. Perchance, for once in her life, she was one of the more fortunate of their classmates, to still have someone she held so dearly with her after the incident. She'd always traveled on a wind that was never her own. She allowed him to carry her halfway there-- as within him, existed her purpose. Not that she minded. She wanted to protect him. Because of the muddled memories of her past, maybe it wasn't in a healthy way. Still, she knew she cared about him. Maybe even loved him. With him at her side, things seemed so much easier-- she wasn't alone.
❝ ………… I considered that things
would have been better... or, perhaps, easier if
I'd simply died that way, yes. Fulfilling my purpose… ❞
It's how her story should have ended. Dying for him, and him alone. Blissfully unaware of her inability to rescue him from the supermassive black hole that was despair. A red 'x' smeared across her photograph; standing silently in her place at trial-- never to be replaced with her presence again. Her head throbbed-- t'was a memory she shouldn't have. Her death in the program, had in fact, been strange. While she indeed thought herself to be dead, there were some instances that she felt she was able to watch out for Bocchan. And... there was a point of time where she thought to have confronted him-- scolded him to keep moving on with his life. It was hard to say, whether that was a false memory from accumulated nightmares and dreams alike. Distinguishing what memories came from reality had become rather challenging, after the stimulation concluded. Like waking from a bad dream, she averted death. That was the hardest part. Not only had she awakened post mortem-- but she had come to realize all that conspired. How much blood had spilled on her hands? She wasn't even aware-- bodies were everywhere, in piles like trash on the sides of the road, in back alleyways. She was a tool for killing-- she'd always been somewhat numbed to witnessing death, taking lives. But in such excess, it made her feel s i c k.
Then he continued to speak of her achievements, and she watched in exasperated wonder. Rambling on about her success, the 'hope' that she found... She felt as though she were standing back in the island stimulation again, at a loss for words alongside everyone else. His mixed emotional signals throughout, perchance, were what made her feel as though she'd lose her footing when trying to word a reply.
Stiffening, she practically turned to s t o n e when she noticed tears falling down his cheeks. Muscles pulling taut, she can feel the tingling sensation of color draining from her face adjacent to the deep drop in her chest. Never had she been good with consoling others. Utterly inexperienced in fact-- hell she'd even forgotten to smile she was so emotionally detached. And... if she could not smile, t'was impossible for her to make others smile as well. Not only that, but she'd lost Bocchan's mind to despair because she wasn't strong enough to be there for him as a companion, instead of a hollowed tool for his "protection". Reacting to such emotion, helping others through it... She didn't have the answers, she didn't know what was best. Rooted in place, she sat very quietly. For the time being, it'd be best for her to ignore her own emotional vaults so she could fixate her attention on the collection of puzzle pieces spilled before her. Snapping them back into place... was something she wouldn't be able to do, not in full. What if she made him feel worse? He wasn't someone she spoke to often, wasn't someone she entirely understood. She'd known Bocchan all her life and had done nothing for him-- so how was she supposed to help Komaeda? At a loss... she still considered the notion of at least trying to do something in response. All she could do for the time being was listen to his words and attempt to understand exactly what he was struggling with. If she backtracked far enough into the words they'd exchanged, it seemed that something in her own resolve had caused a stir in him-- and his mixed array of emotions stirred white noise in her thought process. After a while, she found herself looking away-- it was almost in courtesy, as she wasn't quite sure if she'd like to be watched while crying herself.
What did it take, for all of someone's carefully constructed walls to come tumbling down? For them to break in the presence of others? Perchance... the loneliest of people bottle so much emotion up, hold it inside... and eventually everything would need to come spilling out. She had only recalled it happening to herself once before-- which was, of course, right before she walked into the execution chamber. Ungracefully, in a fashion which would likely have earned her a punishment from her sensei in the dojo. Never had she seen that sort of emotion from him, though. His words, however, were familiar to those before she'd gone off to her death. Compromising how she would die either way-- eagerly waiting to see what fate Bocchan would chose as a result. Whether or not he would choose to live in hope with the rest of them... What exactly did hope mean to him? Why did he seem so enchanted by the achievements of their peers? Her head was spinning, throbbing, and she wondered if there was anything at all she could say in response.
If she was nervous, though, she hid it quite well. If it was a part of her resolve to become a better friend, then who would she be to avert her eyes from this? Avoiding the emotions of others to keep an arms length from an unpleasant situation... That's what she would have done in the past. Deciding against over thinking things far too much, she instead decided to answer as honestly as she could. Whether things became better or worse was far out of her reach... but she'd never taken such risks before. Maybe if she'd made that effort in the past...
Maybe Bocchan wouldn't have always been so lonely. Maybe things would've been better for them. Even still, there was no use considering what might have happened-- letting her heart get trapped in the past wasn't an option, if she wanted to try and recover.
❝ Tch, you say it's admirable. I don't know whether or not that's true.
…It's all I have left to hold onto. Protecting him is... all I've ever done.
Whether or not things will change for the better cannot be said. ❞
Was it the path she was born with, or the path she chose? In that moment, she wasn't quite sure if there was a firm distinction between them. Because, she knew that she still held Bocchan dear to her. Even if he refused to accept her as a tool, she could instead become something of a comrade instead without having to worry about what his family might think. Everything could... really be all right, for once. They could learn more about each other, learn not to misunderstand one another. However, the outcome of their endeavor had yet to be decided. She still could hardly walk on her own two feet, ill and frail. In the time it would take to relearn her steps, to retain muscle memory... it'd be important to mend her mind as well. Komaeda, in her eyes, seemed to be blowing her internal journey out of proportion. Beautiful... She didn't see eye to eye. Maybe her words were misleadingly prouder than reality.
Unsure of what to say, she decided to be straightforward.
❝ We all walk different paths, have different ways of thinking...
…I may not understand in full, but you're clearly upset.
Will you tell me what's wrong? ❞
vaporwave
yousharknotpass
jacobvanloon
