Change the Needle, Change the Thread | Motive Reaction | Open
It was remarkable how her reason to live was simultaneously what tore her into pieces.
Before her nimble fingers found the thread and cloth, before hemming clothing became second nature, before she learned to affix a button to a shirt in thirty seconds flat, nothing good ever came of Shiruku Maeda. Her feet left destruction in their wake, her very aura was permanently rich with tragedy, and no matter how good her intentions were, it all seemed to unravel and unravel and unravel until sheâd done more harm than good.
She was a hurricaneâ a storm in human skin, and no umbrella could fend off the rain of misfortune that emanated from her. Everything she poured her heart into seemed to dissipate into dust until her mistakes were a desert. Regardless of how she fought, regardless of the measures she took to keep everything together, nothing could ever remain whole in her desolate grasp.
Her entire life up to a little while after her eighteenth birthday had mostly consisted of brief, minor errorsâ things breaking in her hands, bad things happening to good people whenever she was around, problems that only seemed to blossom in her presence. It was more than coincidence. It had to be more than coincidence: when anyone you ever hoped to have as a friend found a reason to leave you, when everything you touched seemed to fall apart, when casting a shadow equated to tearing everything apart, a coincidence seemed infinitely less practical.
She was a harbinger of tragedyâ a messenger of sorrow. But when she turned nine, she managed to find a way to create. Although misfortune trailed her every footstep, the talisman to ward it off seemed to spiral at the heart of a needle and thread.
Sewing was the first activity she hadnât cursed. And she couldnât have been happier.
The circumstances were unfortunate, of course. Her sisterâs birth had only depleted the amount of money they could secure as a family, and Yen pinching grew more and more difficult by the day. But the second Shiruku had laid her hands on a needle and thread, she had known that she had found what sheâd been meant to do.
Her whole life, all she seemed to do was bring about destruction, hatred, failureâ she was a bad luck charm striding the earth in solemnity. She was nothing but a beacon of brokenness. And then there it had been: and suddenly she wasnât destroying, she was creating. She was piecing her broken family together stitch by stitch, and she was talented enough to turn a amalgamation of sorrow into a patchwork quilt. She was doing something <i>good.<i>
And yet, she still could not sew away her mistakes. Her sins, her errors, her failuresâ they would forever cling to her spine and weigh her down. Theyâd never leave her now. Not as long as she was <i>here.<i>
Sheâd known something was wrong the second that unusually comforting melody snaked throughout the air. Theyâd been here forâŚmonths. God, it had already been months, and their numbers had dwindled so severely. Five people had been imprisoned, five people had been murdered, and three people had been unceremoniously killed. Even though she knew for a fact that none of this could be a dream, the loss of thirteen high school students in just a few months feltâŚimpossible.
It was about that time nowâ the moment when the world started falling apart for a week, the moment before another one met a grisly end as well. But it took far longer than it should have for her to fathom that this was another cruel incentive.
The voice cut through the oxygen in the park like a knife. It was a soft harmony of a voice, as if sugar lined every word. Shiruku glanced up from her seat on a bench in the parkâ
Right before her stood a familiar figureâ soft minty tresses assembled into a ponytail, wide brown eyes, a sweet, indiscriminate smile gracing her lips. Even though it was impossible, even though there was no possibility of it happening⌠Hachinoko Honeya stood before her, awaiting an answer.
ââŚHoneya-san?â Shiruku said, her eyes wide. This had to be a trick of the eyes, a failure of perceptionâ it didnât make any sense. But no matter how many times she cleaned off the lenses of her glasses, Hachinokoâs smiling silhouette did not fade. âI thoughtâŚyou wereâŚ?â
<i>âGone?â<i> Hachinoko giggled, sauntering over to the seamstress with that same unfazed calmness. <i>âOh Maeda-sanâŚâ<i>
Thatâs when it all began to warp.
Bright eyes grew dark and hollow, and a tiny trickle of blood slid down from that sweet smile. A horrifying gash spread across her midriff, staining her cute apparel with relentless redâ her arm was gone, her entire body malformed by the aftermath of something she never deserved. And even still that smile did not fade.
Shiruku couldnât even draw up the courage to scream. Her voice was gone, whisked away with whatever happiness she had left. Hachinoko just kept smiling, kneeling before her and cupping her cheek with the hand she had left to use.
âI am gone. I just wanted you to know that it should have been yḬ́ÍÍÍou̢Í
ÍÍĚ Í.â
<i>âMaeda-san, my one regret is that I took Honeya-sanâs life instead of yours.â<i> Another voice rose from nearby, and Shiruku turned to find a willowy figure with prismatic hair and eyes staring down at her. <i>âMaybe if you went away sooner, no one else would have had to die.â<i>
âIâŚ? Koji-san, Honeya-san, Iââ
<i>âShiruku-chan?â<i>
She turned again, her eyes widening as they fell upon a smiling figure with layers of blonde-brown hair cascading down their back, with sleeves too large for the rest of their body. Massive bruises distorted their figure, and their eyes too were hollow and distant.
<i>âShiruku-chan~ why did you let ChĹju die? You promised to be ChĹjuâs friend. Why did you lie to me?â<i>
The whole world was collapsing around her.
More silhouettes clustered around Shiruku, their eyes all hollow and emptyâ devoid of life or light. Maya, Norio, Yuki, Mikka, Daichi, Nyakuma, Koharu, Tamago, Ai, <i>Akemiâ<i>
<i>âIt should have been you.â<i>
<i>âKyaha! Four trials and youâre no less pathetic, Maeda! You didnât even have the courage to vote when it came to avenging Aoyama. You should just die, you know that~?â
"Why did making people like you matter more than justice in the end?>
ââŚMaeda, you had the chance to sĚľÍĚĚŤĚĚ̲ÍaĚĄvŇeĚÍÍĚŻĚŚ ̤̯mĚĚĚŹĚŚĚŚĚŞeŇĚŞĚ ĚłÍ. Why didnât you? You said I was cute, it didnât take a genius to tell that you were hopelessly in love. So why didnât you sĚľÍĚĚŤĚĚ̲ÍaĚĄvŇeĚÍÍĚŻĚŚ ̤̯mĚĚĚŹĚŚĚŚĚŞeŇĚŞĚ ĚłÍ?!â<i>
Shiruku felt her heart break.
Right beyond the circle of her fallen classmates stood a teenage girl with short cobalt tresses flowing just past her chin, with bright blue, innocuous eyes, clothed in all too familiar attireâŚshe stared innocently up at Shiruku, her countenance meek and helpless.
<i>âNee-sama, nee-sama⌠whyâd you take away my future?â<i> The girl said, moving in closer until she stood right before Shiruku, the glimmer in her gaze melting away to accentuate the blankness. âIf you hadnât been so sÍĚÍĚŽĚĽeÍÍĚŚĚĚlĚĚŽÍĚşÍfĚąÍĚ˛ĚąĚ Ě°iÍĚsÍÍÍÍhĚ then itâd all be okay. Why did you have to be sÍĚÍĚŽĚĽeÍÍĚŚĚĚlĚĚŽÍĚşÍfĚąÍĚ˛ĚąĚ Ě°iÍĚsÍÍÍÍhĚ? You told me that you loved me. You were supposed to be my sŇÍĚąĚÍĚ ĚŁiĚĽĚ̤̰ĚĚŚĚs̨ÍtĚĽeÍĚrĚśĚĚŽĚŽĚł.â<i>
Everything started to blur.
Shiruku fell to the ground of the park, the earth oddly harsh against her skin. Tears blurred the lenses of her glasses, an unspeakable remorse tore across her countenance, and the whole world felt as though it had fallen apart.
Her sewing didnât matterâ the things sheâd sewn, the work sheâd thrown into it all didnât matter. Her heart was in pieces, the world itself was in pieces, and she couldnât breathe because the only thing looming in her brain, the only thing she could focus on was the fact that this was all
Shiruku Maeda could piece anything together if she was given a needle and thread.
But what was left for her to piece together?