Secret Santa 2020 - Story collection

[Hacksorus]

Me: "Here we go, my first attempt at submitting something to the forum after years of telling myself I would someday. I hope the prompt isn't too hard!"

nuclearstudent: "Auftragstaktik"

Me: "Oh"



In this, my first attempt at voluntary creative writing, I attempted to make a short yet coherent story with this weird-ass prompt, insofar as it's even possible to bring a German-created style of military command into a story about a Japanese high school for disabled kids.

If anyone feels up to it, I'm always down to get constructive criticism.


*****


Looking out over the grounds of Yamaku on this, my first winter away from the city, I am entranced by its beauty. A light snowfall dances down from the darkening sky, and the reflection of the outside lights off of the light ground layer of snow brightens up the scenery in a way I've never seen it lit up this late at night. The pure layer of snow on the walking paths, yet to be tarnished by passers-by, bathes the surroundings in a glow of comfort and wonder. Has this beauty always been there, or am I just now seeing it for the first time? I have changed, I realize. These grounds were always a sight to behold, but I just wasn't ready to see it when I first arrived here. I feel an uncomfortable chill form on my face from being practically smushed against the window, but be smushed I must; if I step away, a glimpse of the disasterous room I'm currently holed up in will enter my peripheral, and the view will be ruined.

"What the hell, man?! I told you how dangerous it was to open those blinds! Do you want these walls painted with your brains? Because I sure as hell don't want to clean it up!"

A panicked voice shrieks out from behind me, waking up me and all of the two or three people who haven't cleared out of this building for winter break yet. Well, it was nice while it lasted.

---

Here I am sitting in Kenji's room, for the first time and, I decide in this moment, also the last. Not that the room itself is terribly offensive, really I was expecting much worse. Clothes that are scattered about the floor, pizza boxes stacked so neatly that I wonder if he considers it part of the decor, and a desk that doesn't look like it has ever been used for schoolwork. Well, I suppose there's also the hundreds of sticky notes on the walls with the names of various girls I've never heard of written in bright red pen, with about half of them violently crossed out. But I'm trying not to worry about those so much.

"Hey man, thanks again for sticking around," Kenji looks to be in unusually high spirits. "I knew you'd see the merits of chilling here over break. There's too much valuable intel kept in this place, I can't believe those bitches have the audacity to only leave a token force behind. With you and me in this together, I think we can make some serious strides in the fight."

I decide not to tell him that I'm heading back to the city to see my parents tomorrow. Not least of which because I'm bringing my girlfriend. Suddenly I feel a little bad for him. Does he really spend his Christmases alone here?

"Sure, sure," I reply, "So what's this big surprise you've got ready for me, anyway?"

Kenji flashes me a smile that one of my old friends might have described as a "shit-eating grin", and reaches into a paper bag on his desk. He pulls out a large bottle of what I realize is probably not something I'm legally allowed to drink. The label says "Jägermeister". Kenji looks at me expectantly.

Oh, god. Does my pity for this lunatic run deep enough that I'm willing to drink whatever the hell that is with him? At the same time, I have to admit that I'm a little interested. The me of a few months ago would surely have rejected this out of hand, but I find myself in a bit of an adventurous mood. Maybe it's another sign of Shizune rubbing off on me.

"All right, fine. Hit me." I say.

---

"..so I told that bastard, I told him, it doesn't matter how many hours you spend painting in that pansy-ass club with that clown of a teacher. It's all wasted! I'm telling you dude, he's just trying to get laid with all that art bullshit. He doesn't see the big picture. If he applied himself to something more manly, like rugby or baking, he could make something of himself."

I nod along with him solemly. I've decided to pace myself with the alcohol, because I really don't know how it'll interact with my meds. And maybe because I don't want to throw up. Even so, for a time, the alcohol made keeping up with Kenji's ramblings almost fun. Now, even my relaxed patience is starting to give way. Even so, I came all this way, I suppose it wouldn't kill me to play along.

"What makes you think he's trying to get laid? Maybe he just like painting." I say.

"Not a chance, dude. It's just like those frogs. Like, they're doing it to make themselves look cool cause their dicks aren't big enough."

"Frogs paint?" I ask.

"No, NO! The frogs croak really loud when it's mating season, cause the females know the loudest frogs are the biggest ones." Kenji's getting really worked up now. He's also wearing some sort of knockoff military officer's hat. How long has he been wearing it for? Where did he get it? What purpose does it serve? Those questions feel more important than the inane ramblings that are spilling out of his mouth like a foul-smelling waterfall.

"So the small frogs know they're gonna be wiped out of the gene pool. But- listen, this is really important- some of them sit and yell in drain pipes, cause the echo makes their voices sound louder."

"What does this have to do with artists again?" Trying to make sense of this is probably a foolish endeavor, but as the closest thing this room has to an authority on science, I feel a strange obligation to try.

"The painting is the sewer pipe, man. I read about it in a book once. The artist paints a bunch of gibberish and those women are all like 'Look at all those deep, important emotions he has, he must be qualified to fill me up with his genetic material.' They think they're so goddamn cool. Well, I'm not letting it slide. It's up to us real men to set the score straight."

"What about Tezuka?" I ask. "That painter girl with no arms. Is she trying to get laid too?"

"Fuck if I know. That girl scares me."

As close to a natural end to the conversation as I could have hoped for, I suppose.

---

"This is it, man. We're at optimum alcohol levels. It's time to make our move."

I start to ask myself what he could possibly mean by "our move", but quickly decide I don't care enough to try. I don't know about him, but I don't think I belong around other people at the moment. Including Kenji. Now that I think about it though, Kenji seems to still have it together, insofar as he ever has anything together of course. And this is despite the fact that he's definitely been drinking more than me. I suppose this being a regular occasion for him might explain all the missing brain cells.

"Come on, man, are you still with me? Get your shit together! Today's the day you harness your destiny as a key member of the organization." He's standing up straigher than I've ever seen him stand up, one hand adjusting his knock-off military cap.

"What organization?"

"Not the point. Anyway, we're gonna break into the student council room."

"What. What? No."

"This is the perfect time," He argues adamantly. "School security is lax, and since you're on the council, you know how to disable all the traps."

"There aren't any traps."

"Excellent, I knew I could count on you."

I'm surprised by how unsurprised I am by this development. Really, tonight had been too tame so far. If Kenji's the way that he is sober, I should have expected that alcohol would make him want to do something this stupid.

"Why do you even want to go in there, anyway?" I ask. "Do you have any idea how boring our work is most of the time?"

"You guys were in charge of processing the costume orders for that play the drama club put on last month, right? You should still have those forms lying around." He replies, his voice taking on an unsettling, excited tone.

I think I know where this is going, but I'm afraid to ask.

"And you want those forms because..?"

"The measurements! God damn. You can't be this thick. Do you have any idea what this means? If we know the girls' sizes, we'll have that much more insight into where they're hiding the weapons and cameras. And that's just the basics. We've got this one chubby girl in her class, and I have a feeling she's just a meaner, skinnier girl using a second skin."

I don't buy it for a second. Beneath all the neuroticism, Kenji's a pervert on the inside. But then again, would just the measurements be worth all this trouble, even to a huge pervert? Maybe he actually believes this crap on some level. I'm a little disturbed by how coherent he is in his own way, given how much alcohol he's downed.

"Do they really have that kind of technology?" I decide to humor him.

"It is during wartime that all the greatest technological developments happen. Steam engines, helicopters, the Sony Playstation. Everything! When the world wars started happening and they started letting women into the factories, that was when we sealed our fates. Ever since, the feminists and their employ of soyboy engineers have been hiding all the best stuff from us. Well, not any more. All of that ends tonight. Besides, I'm doing you a favor. If there's anyone in this school who's definitely wearing a second skin, it's that pink-haired drill girl."

I briefly imagine it. Misha, giving her iconic "Wahaha~" while pulling the skin off her face, revealing some grey, slimy monstrosity like those made of CGI for mediocre 90's movies.

"I've got it all figured out," He continues. "I will be the commander of this operation, and will take charge until we make it to the student council room. Then, as the man on the ground on with the most relevant info and expertise, I'll be delegating authority to you until we're ready to make our escape."

He describes this in a casual sort of tone, as if he's suggesting we might go for a picnic. As insane as all of this is, I feel slightly flattered by the fact that he seems to have this much faith in me. What's the worst that could happen if I play along, anyway? If he's got all this planned, he'll probably go even if I say no. This way I can keep an eye on him. Or so I'm choosing to tell myself.

---

Well, here we are. The student council room, in the middle of the night. Honestly, this is all going better than expected. Just like Kenji insisted, we encountered no resistance on the way here. Maybe it's the alcohol, but somehow Kenji knowing the schedules of all of the night staff feels perfectly reasonable. And who cares about that anyway, we're here now, and that's what matters.

"BAM! Just like that. I'm telling you dude, you and me, we got this by the ass! This school is as good as ours. I'll start at in the corner over there, you check these files."

..Okay, I may have given him too much credit. Nobody with half a bit of sense would be yelling now like he just did. And besides, wasn't I supposed to be in charge of this part of the operation? Given the fact that I'm actually on the goddamn student council, he maybe should be interested in my input on where exactly we should be looking. Oh, whatever. He'll probably just yell more if I try to change plans at this point. Hopefully we can wrap this up quick.

To pass the time, I take the opportunity to look some of the archives from before I transferred. As expected, it's not terribly interesting. If there's one thing I learned over my many hours in the student council, it's that paperwork isn't very fun. Even so, I find myself getting a little amused over how Shizune's and Misha's starkly different personalities can even be discerned when looking at the way they handle this menial labor. Shizune's pen strokes are neat, efficient, and consistent. Misha, on the other hand, is barely legible at times. Perhaps in rebellion of the fact that Shizune doesn't let her use her array of brightly colored pens for important council work, Misha seems determined to pack as much expressiveness into the stokes of her boring dark-blue pen as possible.

Man, what the hell am I doing here? Kenji isn't a bad guy I guess, but surely I could be doing something with my night besides whatever this is. I urge my still somewhat alcohol-addled brain to remember what Misha and Shizune are doing. Ah, right. Misha has already gone back to her family for the holidays. And Shizune is getting ready for our trip to my parents' tomorrow. She..

She said she had a few last-minute things to do tonight in the student council room.

As if on cue, I hear footsteps advancing down the hallway. I nearly have a heart attack, but then I realize that the only thing worse than dying in front of my girlfriend is dying in front of my girlfriend and Kenji. I half-sprint over to the large desk that Kenji is still rifling through, with the papers drawn right up to his face as if he's trying to lick them. I hope he's not, but I know better than to discount the possibility.

"Shizune's coming," I whisper in a forceful, rushed tone. "Hide under the desk, now!"

For once, Kenji's desperate fear of women comes in handy. After hastily shoving some of the papers into his pants- I'll have to mark those for shredding later- he tucks himself into his hiding place.

Wait, why was I whispering? She's deaf, for god's sake! Okay, okay, keep it together. This isn't anything I can't handle.

Shizune steps into the room. At first, she seems taken aback, but I flash her what I hope is a warm and not-suspicious smile. A playful smirk emerges on her face, and she comes over to sit next to me in our usual work spots.

[Well, well. I didn't think you had it in you. Sneaking into the school late at night? I could have you ruined for this kind of transgression.]

[You're here too.] I reply flatly.

[I'm the president. If a rule needs to be bent, I'm allowed to make that kind of call.]

[Then you could exempt me too?] I ask.

[Nope!] Shizune replies cheerfully.

At this point, I realize what the only logical call is. I need to go over to that desk, pretend I'm just finding Kenji now, and let Shizune eviscerate him.

At that thought, however, an inexplicable pang of guilt comes over me. Was I not entrusted with an important mission? Surely I could do something nice for one of my few other friends before I abandon him for the next few weeks. I just need to keep Shizune occupied, maybe get her out of the room so Kenji can escape. For that, however, I'll have to come up with a convincing story.

[You're late,] I go on the offensive. [I've been waiting all night for you to show up.]

[Oh, hush. I'm a busy woman, as you very well know. Why are you even here, anyway?]

[I thought it'd be romantic. Us, meeting in the empty building on a cold, snowy night. Doesn't it just get your heart racing?]

[Don't you think it'd be more romantic if you weren't drunk? Or maybe if at least both of us were equally drunk? I know you're not very good at planning dates, but I'd hoped you had a bit more in you than this.]

Damn. Is it really that obvious? At least she doesn't seem too bothered by the underage drinking.

Shizune continues. [Did you really think I wouldn't notice the clumsy, droopy hand movements? Or the smell?]

[Okay, fine. A friend offered me a few drinks and I suddenly got the urge to see my beautiful, wonderful girlfriend.] Really, it's not too far from the truth. I'm just ommiting the neurotic nincompoop squatting under that desk in the corner, muttering quietly yet discernably. Good thing she's deaf.

Mercifully, Shizune gives me a genuine smile in response to my blatently transparent flattery. [I'm in a good mood, so I'll accept that sorry attempt at being sweet. Now if you'll excuse me, I want to get this paperwork done. It's late enough as it is.]

She gives me a quick kiss on the cheek, and, in another stroke of luck, she walks over to the opposite side of the room from Kenji and the door. I might just have a chance at making this work.

Then, silence fills the air as I try to figure out my next move. Well, it had just been filling the air already, but silence with sign language doesn't feel quite the same as silence without sign language. The quiet is broken only by the occasional shuffle of paper by Shizune, and once by Kenji bumping his head and swearing. A more incompetent commander there has never been. All the more reason to take matters into my own hands; a flash of unusually bold inspiration strikes. Facing away so Shizune won't see my lips move, I call out to Kenji.

"When you hear me bump into a desk, make a run for it."

"A-affirmative." He whispers the reply, as if there is literally any reason to do so.

Before I have the chance to lose my nerve, I stride confidently towards Shizune. She looks up at me from her chair, curiously.

[You know, I really don't tell you this enough. I'm so lucky to have found you. My first days and weeks here were among the worst of my life, and you just about singlehandedly dragged me out of that. Being with you is worth having that heart attack. I love you.] I can hear my heart pounding in the silence. I hope that came out coherently.

Blushing silently with her mouth ajar, Shizune appears to be at a loss for words. A landmark moment.

[I love you, too] She replies with the most beautiful smile I have ever seen in my life, and I choose to believe I perceive it as such not just because of the alcohol.

Almost forgetting that this was all part of a plan that had no right to go this well, I move in to kiss Shizune. I make sure to "accidentally" bump into a desk on the way, and I hear Kenji bolt out towards the door. My plan required that Shizune and I kiss passionately for at least several seconds, and it doesn't appear that either of us need much convincing.

...

[Aren't you feeling strangely confident tonight?] The moment has only just passed, and she has already deigned to start teasing me again. [I'll admit that I enjoyed that, but you had the element of surprise going for you this time. Next time you plan on pulling something like that, you'd better be sober, okay? Or at least more eloquent in your romantic ramblings.]

I smile and nod in agreement. I've seen my mission through to its completion, and I did it by making out with my cute girlfriend. Not bad for one night's work.

[You look like you're getting tired.] How does she pick up on these things before I do? [Alright, enough fooling around. You need to go get some sleep. And make sure you drink some water first! I'm meeting your parents for the first time tomorrow, and we're going to get this right. I won't settle for anything less than a perfect first impression.]

[All right, fair enough. I'll see you in the morning, okay?]

I give her a quick parting kiss and walk off into the night. I make sure to take her advice and drink some water before finally going to sleep. I don't hear a peek from Kenji's room, so I suppose he's had enough excitement for one night, too.

---

I awake the next morning with only a minor hangover. I have to remember to thank Shizune for telling me to drink some water before bed. She and I are boarding our bus this afternoon, so I check around my room to make sure I haven't forgotten anything. With a bit of time to spare, I figure I may as well check on Kenji.

*Knock Knock Knock*

"I DIDN'T TAKE THEM!" Kenji yells very unsuspiciouslly from within his room. "YOU CAN'T PROVE ANYTHING!"

"It's me. We need to, uh.. debrief."

The door swings open with alarming force.

"Oh, hey. Glad to hear you made it back alive. You really took one for the team last night. I'll never forget your sacrifice, and I'll be submitting your name for promotion next quarter for sure." He certainly doesn't look like he drank a near-lethal amount of alcohol last night. I'm only mildly disappointed by how well he seems to be right now.

"Great, I've always wanted to be awarded a post-humous medal." I reply dryly. "Listen, you still got those forms you took last night?"

"Of course! You think I'd lose such valuable intel? I was up all night transcribing it by hand. You can't trust the printers in this school, as I'm sure a hardened veteran such as yourself is already aware."

"About that. I forgot to mention that they're rigged to spontaneously combust if they leave the proximity of the student council room for 12 hours."

"Oh, fuck!" He runs into his room and returns with all the forms haphazardly bundled in his arms.

"Put them back where you found them, quick! And don't worry, I made sure to flatten out the ones I stuffed in my pants."

"Thanks." I try to put some enthusiasm into my voice, but it doesn't really work out. I'm still going to shred them. Maybe I should also burn them.

With that business concluded, Kenji shuts the door, presumably returning to whatever the hell he's planning to do with the intel we worked so hard for. Oh god, I'm calling it intel now. I need to be mindful of how much Kenji's rubbing off onto me.

Even so, I have to admit that last night was kind of fun. I even find myself wondering what sort of fun "operation" he might try to come up with next. As long as we're not hurting anyone, it's fine every now and then, right? Once again, I find myself wondering if my newfound proclivity for daring adventures has anything to do with how much time I've been spending with Shizune. Well, wherever this path of mine takes me, I'm excited to see it through. Suddenly, the trip back to my hometown- where my life once came crashing down around me- doesn't feel so ominous.

[NuclearStudent]

First of all, I want to say that I'm utterly delighted by your execution of my prompt. It's better than what I dreamed of. I'm a fan of Hanako Fancopter's Operation Bedfellow tale about Kenji, and this has a similar kind of absurd wholesome energy. I naturally expected the prompt to involve the student council, but involving Kenji is a logical and enjoyable delight. While he's an oaf in the base game, he can be a fun mirror to Hisao's straightforward nature when used well like you have here.

Yes, I could have stated the prompt as "write a story about taking personal initiative." That would have meant almost exactly the same thing, and it would have made your job easier. Prof wanted to send you a briefing, but I specifically requested that she give you no help whatsoever unless you directly asked for it. Auftragstaktik, as a concept, is about trusting the initiative of those you have issued orders to. It means being minimal with specifics, and letting people read your intent and exercise their own creativity in how best to fulfill it.

I'm glad you brought Shizune into the story, as that was exactly what I was hoping for. Shizune's agony is that she wears the face and attitude of an autocrat, but wishes for others to take initiative. She's always pushing, and always lonely. She's trying her damned hardest to get people to care about the council and for her own boyfriend to make love to her, but she has to berate people or tie them down to get them to do a thing. But the face of the seemingly uninterpretable, it is possible to choose love and service, and to generate the correct meaning from vague signals. Beautiful.

Kenji is a good addition that I didn't expect. He's a soldier who displays excessive initiative, without sane orders or guidance. Here, too, Hisao takes initiative and control over an dynamic situation, interpreting the needs of his command wisely. Kenji, I imagine, is a deeply lonely soul. I appreciate how Hisao appreciated his humanity.

Today I am proud to be a Canadian. Thank you for your representation of our great nation and our spirit to endure against all inanity. It is a long cultivated gift, brought by our geopolitical position. The world is a mad place, but it can be beautiful. You are truly wonderful, and I couldn't ask any more. God bless.

[NuclearStudent]

If you don't mind me asking, how was the process of interpreting and researching the prompt? What was the timeline of events like?

[brythain]

Auftragstaktik very good. Enjoyed. Especially Kenji.

[Razoredge]

Our pal Brister already knows what I think about his story, it's wonderful, I really liked it, it was funny and filled with emotions, he did a really good job. The judgment lines in the dialogues are gems, litteraly. You have a think for dialogues, buddy, I'm pretty jealous about that. But, seeing stuff like yours, or from some other writers from the forum, make me constantly wanting to improve. And for that, thank you.

Hack, this was unexpected. But in the good way. In a very good way I have to say. You brought Shizune in the story, and for me, it's a yes. As everyone knows, I don't like Shizune at all (at least her personality)... but here, you managed to made me think "Well, Shizune isn't that unlikeable, she can be a good person too", and for that, I have to say, thank you. That Kenji part is a good one too. Everything from this story is good, I really enjoyed it, the Shizune part almost made me to like the character, and the Kenji part was so humane for Kenji it was almost uncanny. Really good job.

Prof, it was charming, really charming. I didn't expected that too, but I really like what you did.

[Scramblers]

This is for MoashLannister/Detective Emo. I hope it provides you with some small measure of entertainment.

The prompt is: "10 years into the future of KS, where Hisao is doing some Christmas shopping with his lovely wife and kids. However, his wife is a Satou (writer's choice. Akira, Lilly or even Karla), and Hisao has taken up her maiden name instead of the other way around."



Still

“Glasgow is still full of churches built in the last century. Half of them have been turned into warehouses.” – Alasdair Gray

Christmas weather over Glasgow: A sky of grey gradients; everywhere a weak and diffuse light that erases shadows; air like clarified spirit. Rain makes threats but doesn't back them up. Even so, street lamps, already on, reflect on the slick, treacherous tarmac. In the unreachable distance, golden sunlight punctures the overcast at a diagonal. This celestial vision is lost a moment later behind a they dull, squared-off concrete of a six-storey car park.

The steering wheel faux-leather feels chill and grainy. Akira leans forwards, drumming the fingers of her right hand against it, and with her left, scratches her rear. The light goes green. “Finally,” she says under her breath; then to Hisao Satou, né Nakai: “What did I tell you? They do change sometimes.” She drives forward and noses the car up the ramp.

He catches her eye briefly, with a subtle hint of a smile. “Good thing we have your insider knowledge of Scotland, or we'd never survive here.”

“When did you get so sarcastic?” she asks, laughing.

“I think that's from living with you. I could go back to being mopey if you prefer.”

The car in front of them, uncertain, lumbering, pulls to a halt with a flare of brake lights. This stop gives Akira the opportunity to turn to Hisao, put her hand to her chest, and pout. “Would you? For me? It would really make my Christmas.”

The car ahead starts, stops, starts. Skye Satou kicks her chair again. Akira can't blame her. It's been a long drive. The exchange with Hisao has salved the stress enough that she can stifle the urge to snap. “Nearly there, kiddo,” she says instead.

She trails the car up three full levels, watches it take the only free space on the fourth, then finally parks on the fifth.

A tangle of personal and professional circumstances has landed the Satous in Glasgow for the week, and Akira, wanting to make this Christmas better than the previous, has found the opportunity to get something special for Lilly.

In the stairwell leaving the car park, the elevators are broken. Fluorescents flicker at the edge of awareness, like a mosquito hum rendered visual. Halfway down, Skye slows. “Can we go on the orange train?” she asks.

“Of course we will. But what about Auntie Lilly? If we don't get her present, she'll be sad, won't she?”

“Disappointed.”

Disappointed. That, Akira has to admit, is an insightful summary. Either that or Skye has picked up on her repeated use of the word. “You're right! And what about Auntie Shizune?”

In this way, they make a game of reducing familial obligations to emotional states. Shizune will be angry. Granny Nakai will be hurt. Grandad Satou probably won't care.

By the time they reach the ground, the stakes have been outlined and the promise of the subway has been momentarily forgotten. The air drains warmth from any exposed skin. People hurry back and forth across the road. Akira pulls her coat more tightly around herself. “I'll be glad to get back to Japan,” she murmurs

First round of presents are the local culture reduce to iconic trinkets: Saltires emblazoned on ceramic and sweaters; shortbread; and a Nessie-themed tea set. They wit in lines. They take turns distracting Skye. After nearly a decade, Akira has Hisao well-trained enough not to try and be chivalrous. They share the weight of baggage between them.

Going through a starkly-lit department store, Skye detaches tugs at Hisao's hand, and gets him to bend down so she can whisper in his ear. Akira gives them room.

“We're going to go and do something that I'm absolutely forbidden to tell you about,” Hisao informs her.

“Oh, goodness, whatever could that be?” She waves. “Have fun. I'll meet you at the exit, and then we can go and get something for Lilly.”

They walk off with Skye pointing the way. Akira heads in the opposite direction and wanders about a bit. The intercom jingle stops so someone can mumble something incomprehensible. When she's out of sight, she closes her eyes for a moment, and groans a little.

That out her system, she continues. And idle skim of toys and sweets turns up nothing of interest. On the way to the exit, she passes the alcohol aisle. She tries to avoid giving it too much attention – except at the end there's a garish displaying shelf, backed by cutouts, advertising a Hendrick's gin gift box. A classily-serifed recounts a mythology of two stills. The last time they talked, Hanako mentioned a growing fondness for gin.

Akira considers going to tell Hisao so they can come back here and buy it, and dismisses the idea. Ridiculous. No reason she can't do this herself. No disaster will befall her. She checks the price, calculates the duties, then grabs the gift box and goes to the checkout.

A memory surfaces:

A little over a year ago, around a polished black table in some anonymous Tokyo highrise, Akira and her fellow office drones-cum-predators (corporate hierarchies, you know how it is) laughed. She leant forward and poured the dregs from some colourful bottle into her empty glass. She was offering a joke about herself, something like, “And here I am, a year into my thirties and still having my meals cooked for me!”

“We're all preparing for the top floor, but Satou here is preparing for the care home!” someone said. They all cackled again. (Surely it was funnier than that? But the memory, already fuzzy, offers nothing.)

Hisao and Skye are waiting at the exit. She appears, brandishing the gift box. Best to make it known up front. “That's Hanako sorted!”

Hisao takes it. “Great. Thanks.” He adds it to his own burden, and she lets him.

“I can't tell you where we've been,” Skye announces.

“Ooh, do I have to guess?” asks Akira.

“No!” Then, after a brief consideration, “Yes.”

“Let's see now … the Great Barrier Reef?”

“No.”

“Hmm … Outer Space?”

Skye laughs. “No!”

“Inner Space?”

“No!”

Akira tries to look as if she's deep in thought. After a good ten seconds, she shakes her head. “I don't know then. You're too clever for me. Shall we go and get Auntie Lilly's present?”

“And then the orange train?”

“And then the orange train.”

Well, then,” says Hisao. “Lead the way.”

Akira takes out her phone and checks the map. “Down … here, I think.”

She leads them off the pedestrian road, down a side street of parked cars and rusted dumpsters overfull and spilling rubbish into the road, past a tiny muddy park, and past a row of cramped terraced-houses, a couple of which display dark Christmas lights like cankers.

After ten minutes or so, it has become evident that the city centre and the tag on the map are not in perfect agreement. Skye's enthusiasm has drained away. They head back down a street. Akira peers at her phone, zooms in, and mutter, “Where are you, you little b … linker?”

“Hey, hey, it's okay.” Hisao puts an arm around her. This isn't the comfort either of them would like it to be, but Akira slows.

Hisao placates Skye with a choice of lollipop. Red? Blue? Orange? Orange, of course.

“It's somewhere down here, but it's definitely not that. Thats a warehouse.”

“Then we've only got a couple of streets left to check. Do you have a picture of it?”

Akira calls up a photo on her phone and shows him.

They split up, Skye following Hisao, and peer down both streets. Hisao waves to her. “Here!”

The antique bookshops is fronted in green, the paint flaking or bubbled in places, with gold letters. A bay window looks onto densely-packed shelves. The doors clonks a bell on opening and closing. Inside, it smells of ageing paper.

Lilly's fifth language, and current obsession, is Italian, with all the cultural baggage that implies. In the past sixth months, Akira has already learned more than she ever expected to know about Florence and Pisa and Venice, Marsilio Ficino and Giovanni Pico della Mirandola.

A serendipitous encounter with a local colleague brought this shop to Akira's attention. According to her source, it holds a perfect way to make up for the inadequate and ill-conceived gifts of the past few years: A braille version of the Decameron in the original Italian.

The labels on the shelves are of no help. Neither is the man behind the counter, who gives off an odour of stale tobacco and shrugs in response to her question.

“You try that end,” she tells Hisao. “I'll do this end, and we can meet in the middle.” She reminds him of the Roman letters to look out for, just in case.

They meet in the middle. They continue past each other. Akira checks and double checks. Skye, following Hisao, announces for the third time that she's bored.

If the braille Decameron was here, it isn't any more.

The Satous gather and go outside. Akira claps her hands together. “Well, that's …” She swallows back the lump in her throat. “ … that's a nuisance.”

“It's okay,” says Hisao. “We'll find something else.”

“I know,” says Akira. But I wanted to get her something special, not another idle checking-off-the-obligation-list gift.

That's life, she tries to remind herself. Things rarely turns out the way you want them. You know this. You can handle it. But this attempt at wisdom doesn't make her feel any better.

This is supposed the be the Christmas she gets everything right. The one where she's not a disappointment.

She remembers the last one: The early afternoon, rags of wrapping paper strewn across the floor. She slouched in her chair, empty glass by her feet and empty bottle beside that, not quite asleep and not quite awake. Skye tugged at her hand. “Look what I made!”

Akira tried to articulate in a child-friendly way that she wasn't really capable of standing up at that precise moment. The next moment, Hisao was there, leading Skye away. “Thank you,” Akira managed, or thought she managed.

Then, from down the hall, she heard Skye again – and this she certainly does remember – “I the it when Mommy's like this.”

In that overheard sentence was the summation of a couple years' worth of lectures from Lilly, of the momentary expressions she'd noticed on Hisao's face, of the aftertaste of vomit, of how hollow her loveably louche person had become after ten years.

Staring at the glass on the floor, reflecting the Christmas tree lights on its curved surface, she promised herself that the next time would be better.

So the Satous lug their bags bag to the crowded pedestrian streets, with a brief interlude to get stuck in a dead-end alley along the way. Akira sees Skye, glum and cold, and Hisao's set face.

Their arrival is announced by rain. They take refuge with the other shoppers under a glass canopy. Slick waterproof polymers squeak against each other; umbrellas take swipes. The rain grumbles against the canopy overhead and the pavement outside.

Akira tries to think of a replacement. There will be audiobooks, surely. In Italian, though, in Glasgow?

“Can we go on the orange train now?” asks Skye.

Akira inhales sharply. She stifles what she's about to say and lets out a ragged breath. By the look of it, Hisao was about to say something similar.

“Soon,” she tells Skye.

This invites a sulk. They look desultorily through a few shops, uncertain, hoping something will pop out at them. Skye drags her feet with enough vehemence to erode the soles of her shoes.

They stop near a cafe. Hisao's looking through a plate glass window behind which colourful cutouts hawk colourful tat, his shoulders slumped, when Akira sees him.

She comes up behind him and plonks her head down on his shoulder, then sticks out her tongue and blows a raspberry. He looks like he's ready to speak, but she keeps going until she's out of air.

“You know,” says Hisao, “I've always admired your ability to articulate your feelings.”

“Is that why you fell in love with me?”

“No, it was the sex that did that,” he whispers.

“I knew there was something I was forgetting,” she says. She smiles briefly and puts her hand on his chest. “How're you feeling?”

“I'm … fine.”

“Really, though. High stress situation.”

“Yeah, I know,” he says. Akira feels rather than sees his shrug.

“Do you want to find a cafe and sit down for a bit?” she asks. “I'll take Skye for a ride and figure out Lilly's present.”

“I couldn't do that …”

“Okay, let me put it another way. If you keel over out here, I'm not going to drag you to the hospital.”

Hisao thinks for a moment. “Okay,” he says. “Thank you.”

“Do you remember how to order?” she asks.

“My English isn't so bad that I'll end up with bleach instead of tea,” he says. “I hope.”

“You'd better not,” she warns.

They explain to Skye that he needs to sit down for a while, and he heads off to the cafe. Akira watches him go.

Now there, she thinks, is someone she never expected to come into her life. Not on their first encounter, when he was floating awkwardly around her sister. And certainly not on their return to Japan, when in a moment of mutual misery – she in the aftermath of an argument with her parents, and he in the aftermath of an ill-advised relationship with Hanako – they sought solace in sex.

He'd wanted to play the hero, and she'd wanted a distraction. That dynamic, obviously unsustainable, had ended in another argument. But from that, somehow, they had recovered. In in that recovery, she had seen a hint of nobility in him, a hidden reserve of strength, willing to claw his way out the pit they'd fallen into, and to haul her up too.

What he had seen in her, she still isn't sure.

For Akira, even getting married was a sort of rebellion. “Hey, dad, guess who I'm getting married to? One of Lilly's old schoolmates. Yeah, from Yamaku.” The reaction, sprayed around half the world through fibre optics and radio waves, had been every bit as gratifying as she'd hoped. She kept her maiden name, partly because she'd made that promise to herself when she was five and partly because it fit nicely with her wish to not be beholden to anything. Hisao was flexible enough to indulge her. With the contacts and knowledge she had, she fought and schmoozed her way back up the corporate ladder, for all the stress that brought. They were dragged into a life spread between Japan and Scotland. Hisao looked after her, and Skye too, when the moment came.

And then, suddenly finding herself burdened with gifts she never expected, Akira let things unravel.

Skye touches Akira's hand. “Can we go on the orange train now?”

That's her final bribe. Akira gives in. “Okay,” she says forcing a smile. “But only if you can tell me what it's called in English.”

“The Subway.” Enthused, Skye gives her the full sentence, “May I ride the Subway?”

“Yes, you may. Let's go.” Akira looks up the nearest station on her phone and takes Skye's hand.

Going down the steps, damp and tired, Akira thinks about what she can get Lilly. An audiobook. She'd have to find it online. Would it be delivered in time?

On the Subway, people sit scattered with bags and boxes at their feet. The carriage shudders, the wheels whine. Skye kneels on the bench seat and squishes her nose against the window, watching the shadowed grey walls and pipes scroll past with a fascination she never showed for landscapes. Akira tries to think of something acceptable she can get in Glasgow city centre within a week of Christmas.

After a couple of stops, the Skye sits normally. The novelty has worn off. Akira lures her off at Cowcaddens with the promise of a ride back.

The search resumes. Everything starts to run together. Fluorescent tubes behind reflective gratings in the ceiling, slippery linoleum floors jingles intercut with adverts played over the intercom, crowds pushing every which way, cold and wet outside, stifling and sweaty inside, shelf after shelf. Skye gets bored again. Give me something, Akira thinks. Please.

After half an hour, she collapses onto a bench under an awning and puts her head in her hands. She thinks of how stupid it was to rely on the braille Decameron. She stares at the puddles. With every raindrop, the reflected clouds quiver like bad special effects for a dream sequence.

Fuck it.

She takes Skye's hand and stands up. They head back towards the shopping complex, faster now, more purposeful

“Mom?” asks Skye.

“Not now,” says Akira.

In the supermarket, she crosses between the aisles, weaving between browsing consumers. She stops at the alcohol aisle, its rows of bottle, caramel and clear and blood red. She takes a small, pocketable bottle of whiskey without looking at the label.

“Mom?”

She has no plan. Now or later? Secretly or openly? All that can be worked out later.

Akira leads Skye to the checkout, picking up a bag of chocolate buttons at the entrance to placate her. “You can have these on the way back.”

“Mom?”

Waiting in line, there's no way to avoid answering. “What is it?”

“Can we get Dad's present?” Skye points outside. “I saw it out there.”

Akira stares at her.

This reaction goes unnoticed. Skye smiles up at her, boredom forgotten. Ambient light glints in her eyes. “You're not allowed to tell him. You have to promise.”

All sense of urgency drains out of her. She smiles faintly.

“You have to promise!”

“I promise.” Akira holds up the buttons. “Do you want to get these, or shall we go now?”

“I want to go now.”

Akira and Skye leave the line, return both items to the appropriate shelves, and then Skye leads her mother out of the supermarket and into the gadget shop next door. Inside, it's all soft, bluish lighting, iPhone-white highlights, chunky metallic 3D lettering, and flashing LEDs against crawling fingers of plasma.

“This,” Skye says, pointing to a glass globe with a quartet of little black and white squares inside.

It's visible from the window, but barely. Akira's impressed she managed to pick up on it.

“What is it?” she asks.

“A radiometer!” says Skye, overflowing with pride at being able to identify the mystery object. “It spins when there's enough light.”

“That definitely sounds like something Dad would like,” Akira says, peering at the display model.

Skye beams. “Can we buy it?”

Akita picks up one of the boxes and checks the price. “Absolutely.”

This journey to the checkout, with the box under one arm and Skye beside her, letting out a little skip of joy every now and then, is rather more enjoyable. Akira buys the Radiometer and, at Skye's behest, makes sure the bag is hidden from view.

As she's leaving, Hisao calls her. Wind burbles against the microphone. “How's the shopping going?”

“I'm not allowed to tell you,” says Akira. She winks at Skye. Skye grins.

“How mysterious!” Hisao laughs. Then, more serious, “What about something for Lilly?”

“No luck.”

“Well, don't go mad, but I got bored and had a bit of a walk.”

“Truly despicable.”

“I know. Anyway, I remember you telling me about how much Lilly liked the idea of Florence cathedral but struggled with the descriptions.”

“Yeah, yeah. Visual descriptions, even in braille …”

“Right. Well I found this place that does little ceramic models of famous buildings. They're detailed, and they look quite tactile. And I found one of Florence Cathedral. Should I get it?””

Akira is silent for a moment. Then she laughs, loud enough to attract the attention of a few people around her. “You are my saviour. I love you, and I want to have your – ah, well, you ninja'd me on that one, didn't you?”

“That's a yes, then?”

“Yes. Thank you. When you're done, go to Buchanan Street. I'll meet you there.”

They meet with an embrace. It's more than a greeting. Akira holds on for rather longer than is necessary, feeling the pressure through layers of insulation, and after a moment, Skye joins in too.

“Thank you,” Akira says. Then, to Skye, “Do you want to go on the subway again?”

Skye switches to English to say, “Yes, please.”

On the train, rocked by the oscillations, with Hisao beside her and Skye peering out the window, Akira examines the little ceramic cathedral. She closes her eyes and traces the pad of her index finger over it, feeling the ridges that outline the dome, the cupola at the top, indents for arches and windows.

“It's perfect,” she says, putting in back into a tissue-lined box.

He takes her hand. “I'm capable of good ideas, every now and then.”

“Every now and then.” Akira sees the ghostly reflection of her and Hisao in the opposite window. She leans into him. “You know, I nearly … gave up.”

“It's okay,” he says. “We're here with you.”

“I know.” She looks over at him, smiling softly. “Thank you, Mr. Satou.”

When they drive out of the car park, the grey overcast has split. Sunlight coming it an angle picks out the underside of the clouds in gold. A small, watery-white half-moon peers out from behind everything, silent and still. Akira looks up at it, and when the lights change, drives on.

[brythain]

That's a lovely story. So they went over the sea to Skye, eh?

[Hacksorus]

Thanks a lot for the kind words, guys! Made my day. This all turned out much better than I thought I could have reasonably hoped for.

Yes, I could have stated the prompt as "write a story about taking personal initiative." That would have meant almost exactly the same thing, and it would have made your job easier. Prof wanted to send you a briefing, but I specifically requested that she give you no help whatsoever unless you directly asked for it. Auftragstaktik, as a concept, is about trusting the initiative of those you have issued orders to. It means being minimal with specifics, and letting people read your intent and exercise their own creativity in how best to fulfill it.

You specifically asked that I not be given any unprompted help? That's hilarious I can get why you might have wanted to do that though, there's no easy answer for how you'd apply that concept to this context. I suppose seeing how I'd mediate that's all part of the fun. For my part, I might have leaned overly much into the whole military/chain of command thing, and Kenji's delusions seemed my best hope of making that work. I can see how the student council might have been the other obvious pick, especially if I took the prompt a little less literally. Shizune can be a bit pushy at times, but she already gets a bad rap. She's no military commander.

I'm glad you brought Shizune into the story, as that was exactly what I was hoping for. Shizune's agony is that she wears the face and attitude of an autocrat, but wishes for others to take initiative. She's always pushing, and always lonely. She's trying her damned hardest to get people to care about the council and for her own boyfriend to make love to her, but she has to berate people or tie them down to get them to do a thing. But the face of the seemingly uninterpretable, it is possible to choose love and service, and to generate the correct meaning from vague signals.

Admittedly it sounds like you have a much better understanding of her character than I do . I read through a bunch of scenes from her route in an attempt to represent her well, but you point out details here that I wasn't specifically trying to account for, yet make sense to me. If what research I did was enough to represent her well in this short scene, then I'm happy. I'll do my best to capture her true spirit in any future occasions I may write with her, as well.

He's a soldier who displays excessive initiative, without sane orders or guidance. Here, too, Hisao takes initiative and control over an dynamic situation, interpreting the needs of his command wisely. Kenji, I imagine, is a deeply lonely soul. I appreciate how Hisao appreciated his humanity.

I'm with you on that one. It is easy (and often fun) to treat him like a meme, but at the end of the day he's still human. Besides, I think humor usually goes over better when it's grounded in reality anyway.

If you don't mind me asking, how was the process of interpreting and researching the prompt? What was the timeline of events like?

Nothing too special, really. I was amused, surprised, and slightly panicked when I first got the prompt, but I had already decided I was doing this one on my own. Then, I pretty much just spent 20-30 minutes reading up on the internet until I felt comfortable I had a decent understanding of the basic concept. I already had a working idea of where I wanted to take the story and it was going to be a short one anyway, so that seemed sufficient. I spent more time than that on learning more about Kenji and Shizune (and how Hisao might have been influenced by a lot of time around Shizune) so I could do my best to represent them well.

Today I am proud to be a Canadian. Thank you for your representation of our great nation and our spirit to endure against all inanity. It is a long cultivated gift, brought by our geopolitical position. The world is a mad place, but it can be beautiful. You are truly wonderful, and I couldn't ask any more. God bless.

I shall never forget your words, honored fellow Canadian.

the Shizune part almost made me to like the character, and the Kenji part was so humane for Kenji it was almost uncanny. Really good job.

Thanks, happy to hear it! Admittedly I also find myself preferring the other girls a lot of the time, but I still love Shizune. None of the routes are perfect, but they're all special to me. As for Kenji, you might be surprised how much humanity is there if you look for it.

Auftragstaktik very good. Enjoyed. Especially Kenji.

Thanks! Happy to hear praise from someone whose works I've enjoyed over the years myself.

[Feurox]

That's a lovely story. So they went over the sea to Skye, eh?

Aye, where the Sea meets the Skye I think Bry old boy.

I can only echo Britain's sentiment, that is indeed a lovely story Scramblers. It reminds me why I reached out to you in the first place, your mastery is superb - one can feel every sentence inside themselves. I really mean it, your prose is jaw-droopingly beautiful. I in particular LOVED Akira's flashback to the office drones joking, it is as though you write the feeling I so desperately wish I could explain. Nostalgia doesn't do it justice.

I'm rambling, but I really adored that tale. Wonderful.

(Lap recommended I read it, and what a recommendation it was!)

[Mirage_GSM]

Reading your annual Secret Santa pieces really makes me wish they weren't the only fics you've written here in ages...

As I've said before the most problematic step for me is always coming up with an idea, and this helps me skip that step. If there are any stories left open - and so far there seem to be quite many - I can take up maybe one or two more, but personally I don't consider myself nearly as good a writer as many others here...

As for the other stories written so far:
Twain - Short and bittersweet.

Dear Hisao - I remember the beautiful picture from the "original" request, and I was wondering while reading the story whether it might have been the inspiration for this story. I'll see if I can still find Fink's email somewhere to point him to that story - if it even still works...

Simpathy for the Devil - This is one prompt I'm glad I didn't get, since I would have been at a total loss as to what to make of it... Well ewwritten, though.

To be Chilled and to be Warm - Nice bit of bromance

Auftragstaktik - Okay, I'm German, and I had to look that word up, because I never heard it before. Literal meaning would be a bit of tactics that someone has been ordered to come up with, so I guess it makes sense in a way. I also would have thought of Kenji first with that prompt, though once they got to the student council room I expected them to unpack the Risk game with Hisao selling it to Kenji as a secret feminist tactics training tool.

Still - Thank you for not going with Karla. That would have been weird. Fitting that the prompt came from Maosh. I think I spotted some nods to his Akira story in there - not sure if intentional or otherwise.

Let it Snow - Thanks for the diabetes warning. I always love it when some little-used characters get some... well love.

and of course Rising Steam
Thank you very much for this story! Of course I'm biased, because it was written for me, but it was all I hoped for and more*, and it's the one I liked most of all the submissions so far. It resonated a lot, probably because it picked up similar themes as Catharsis - and with a happy ending at that!

There are several reasons why I chose this prompt:
First, I gave out a similar prompt for a previous Secret Santa, but that one was never completely finished, so I wanted to give it another go in slightly more open version. I'm glad I did.
Second, I almost always specify non-main characters for Secret Santas to get more variation, since otherwise 80% of all stories will feature only main characters. The "three or more" was just a bit of an added challenge.
Third, I did specify "people" and "NPCs" instead of students because I wanted to leave open the option of using faculty members. I didn't want to specify faculty members and I didn't even really expect anyone to pick up on the distinction, so I was pleasantly surprised to find you had managed to put Yuuko into the story

Also I would be interested in what your first two rejected ideas were.

*I swear I only noticed your introductory post (and it's almost identical wording) after I wrote this. I took the liberty to change the link in the index to that post instead.

[Craftyatom]

Thank you very much for this story! Of course I'm biased, because it was written for me, but it was all I hoped for and more*, and it's the one I liked most of all the submissions so far.

I'm glad you enjoyed it! I got rather worried about it partway through writing, but it seems like overall, people thought it was good. In fact, I used the phrase "everything you wanted and more" specifically to allude to the fact that it felt like it might be going off the rails a bit, and so it might contain everything you wanted, and then more that you didn't! I do think your prompt was good, just that I probably had more trouble with it than the average writer here.

It resonated a lot, probably because it picked up similar themes as Catharsis - and with a happy ending at that!

I'll admit to never having read Catharsis, as far as I can remember - I'll have to give it a look. But yeah, it's rare that I write a story without a happy ending - Feurox and I are constantly at war with each other over it :P

I took the liberty to change the link in the index to that post instead.

Thanks! I'd never gotten around to using the "start" url format (despite having seen it used in Sisterhood), so you've helped me jumpstart that a bit.

Also I would be interested in what your first two rejected ideas were.

1. Akira drives her boyfriend out to the vacation house in Hokkaido, hoping to spend a week relaxing alone with him. Once they arrive, they realize that Hideaki was asleep in the back seat the whole time. (I ended up dropping this one because none of those characters are actually "from Yamaku".)
2. A silly NSFW idea. Basically, a similar setup to what I actually ended up writing, except that Rika and Saki consider their reduced lifespans to be excuses to embrace hedonism. It's not Saki's rich uncle who gets them those rooms - rather, a collection of internet sponsors rent out the place in order to meet up with the young women after dark. This promiscuity is poorly-hidden from Natsume and Naomi, who end up having a difficult conversation with them about it, and who themselves have different opinions on the matter. It would've been very ironically bad.

[Mirage_GSM]

I'll admit to never having read Catharsis, as far as I can remember - I'll have to give it a look. But yeah, it's rare that I write a story without a happy ending - Feurox and I are constantly at war with each other over it

I'm strongly on your side on this one
Almost all of my stories have a happy end of some sort - with one notable exception...

[Downix]

I know I'm late. Sorry I'm late. Was given too good of a prompt and wound up overwriting it. After I realized I was going overboard, I cut it down to size.

Victim: FrauPerchta (Insanna)

Prompt: Hisao wakes up the day of Iwanako's confession after experiencing the entirety of a route, if not longer (your choice), with full memory of what has or will happen. What does he do?



Running through an airport. Or in a field of dandelions. Was I in front of a bakery? Maybe in the afterglow of a night of passion? Falling off the roof? Celebrating graduation?
Damn, why is my head so fuzzy?
The beeping comes to me first. Did I mess up and land back in the nurses office? No, the smell is wrong. The old musty smell of a brick office is missing. Instead the old anesthetic of a hospital.
It takes several minutes for my eyes to start working, and even then it's too bright. The room feels familiar, like a memory I'd tried to forget.
I try and remember yesterday, and the answer I get back is almost multiple choice. A girl sitting on some steps, another girl yelling in my face, watching yet someone else walking away in the rain. Nothing makes sense.
Then the itchiness along my sternum draws my attention. Running my hand up, I find bandages under the hospital gown, rather than the scar tissue I'd grown accustomed to. Surgery, again?
An organic sound, barely audible over the machinery, finally pulls my eyes over, and the sight is absolutely impossible.
"I-iwanako?" I get out, my throat dry.
Silently, the girl sits there, her eyes never moving from some spot on the floor. If not for a slight flinch, I'd think she didn't hear me.
Letting my eyes wander, the room finally becomes familiar.
"Back… here?" I say quietly, recognizing the room as the one I was trapped in for months, before everything… which things?
Tea time with a blind girl, chess with a wallflower, running, working on art, sign language with…
For a moment, I try out some signs, remembering them in detail. But then again, was it just a dream?
"What day is it?" I finally ask.
"S-saturday. You had… I asked you… yesterday…" the timid girl next to me stammers out before bolting out of her seat. "I'll go get a nurse…"
Grabbing her hand, I stop her from leaving. "Yesterday? You, in the snow, that was yesterday?"
Not looking at me, she hangs her head and gives a slight nod.
"Wow," I get out, letting her go. "Um… Iwa… y-you can stay. I mean, I'd like you to stay."
She hesitates, clearly unsure, before sitting down again, returning to her previous state.
Yesterday?
Was… everything some kind of messed up dream?
A squeaky voiced kid hiding behind cokebottle glasses pops into my mind, with conspiracy and money owed.
The very thought made me break out laughing, causing the timid girl next to me to nearly jump out of her seat.
Finally looking at me, Iwanako's shocked expression only makes me laugh harder. After a few seconds, she stands back up again, saying, "Nurse, right…"
Grabbing her hand again, I stop her from leaving. "No no, I'm fine, it's just… I'm alive. It was a heart attack, wasn't it?"
Unable to speak, the girl just nods, her eyes wide as saucers as she tries to understand what she's looking at.
Then the memory of that room, the room I am now inside again, hits me. The months of solitude, of depression… and then recovery. The knowledge that my life isn't over sinks in, with those fragmented, contradicting memories.
"The nurse will be here soon anyways to check on me, so no need to rush off. I think I need to tell you something, and it's best I get it over with, so please?" I tell the girl whose been next to me for I don't know how long.
Not sitting down, she just turns to face me, clutching her hands awkwardly in front of her.
"What happened, happened. It changes things, okay? Whatever you were about to ask, I understand if this changes it. If this changes things, I understand. Feel free to walk out, no hard feeling, okay?"
Biting her lip, she considers, looking at the door, then at me. Calming herself down, she asks, "Is that what you want?"
"No, but I'm not going to guilt you either. This wasn't your fault," I try and convince her. "It happened, and we have to move forward, alright?"
A flash of red hair, sad eyes, standing there in the rain comes to mind.
"And if I don't want to walk out?"
Surprised, I am lost for words for a moment, before saying, "Then feel free to ask. I'm right here. I can guarantee I'm not going anywhere for awhile."
Memory of romance, heartbreak, and being an idiot, all surge forward.
Behind her eyes, a clear debate wages, before a decision is made. "Hisao, You see... ...I wanted to know... ...if you'd go out with me...”
I expected her to run away. To be mad at me, or be afraid. Instead, I see the resolution in those eyes. While my heart's all a mess, there is one point of certainty. She's waited for me. For her, a day. For me, a lifetime it feels like. A chance to start over, before… what I'm not certain.
"Sure, I'd like that," I tell her.
…
My memory of solitude is rapidly replaced as friends come to visit. Instead of lonely days by myself with a silent figure who eventually leaves, every day is occupied.
And always there, the girl at the beginning. It takes her a bit to relax, but she eventually does. By the end of the week, a major shift happens.
"Hisao," the doctor tells me. "Going forward we have a few options. Your heart attack exposed an underlying condition, called cardiomyopathy, and caused another issue, a long-qt arrhythmia. We have several options here, from medication to more surgery. Normally, this would be up to your parents, but your father has given me permission to discuss treatments with you."
"But, why?" I ask, confused. This didn't happen before.
The doctor shrugs. "He said something about you being energetic enough to be able to make the decision."
Stunned, I listen to the options. In the end, I elect for the surgery, to install a pacemaker. It will require regular checkups, but I will not need to undergo the pile of drugs I remember from that strange dream or vision after my heart attack.
I also tell Iwanako of it, leaving out the rather embarrassing details and the girls themselves. She checked and discovered that Yamaku is a real school. I guess I'd heard of it somewhere, and filled it into my dream.
By March, my parents arrive, telling me it is time to leave. The whole concept feels weird. No new school, no moving to Sendai, a triumphant return to my old classmates, a girl at my side. Yet, it all feels so surreal at the same time.
High school romances end as they ever do, due to immaturity and inexperience. In our case, Iwanako and I made it halfway through out first year at University before we drifted apart. I suppose it should be expected.
Graduating with a degree in science and my teaching certification, combined with sign language, job hunting was still tough. Few schools nearby needed anyone. On a whim I checked with my university advisor, and had a familiar name appear on my desk.
And so…
…
"Mr. Nakai, glad you could make it. I know it's unusual attending a Christmas party before you start working somewhere, but I figured this would be a good chance to meet your new co-workers," the principal tells me as he guides me into the meeting room it was being held in.
"I understand, Mr. Katayama," I tell him as he proceeds to glance around the room.
Oddly, only two teachers' faces from my dream ever were clear, and neither of them I see in the room. Well, it was just a dream, so what am I expecting.
Being introduced as the "new 1st year science teacher," is certainly exhausting. Within an hour I find myself outside in the hallway, catching my breath.
It takes a few moments to realize I'm not alone. When I glance over, I find myself lost in a pair of blue eyes behind sharp glasses. Without realizing it, I sign out, "[Hello.]"
The blue haired girl blinks in surprise, before a sharp smile sets in, signing back, "[And hello to you too. Are you new here?]"
"[I start next semester,]" I tell her, still in disbelief. "[And you?]"
She smirks a bit. "[Here for a friend, her plus one. We both went to school here, and she thought to drag me along.]"
"[It's good to have friends like that,]" I sign back. "[I'm Hiao Nakai.]"
My heartbeat starts to skyrocket as I read her reply.
"[Shizume Hakamichi.]"
In the corner of my eye, a vaguely familiar pair of golden eyes, framed by brown hair, appears in the doorway before vanishing moments later.
In a moment of clarity, the dream comes crashing down on me.
"[Are you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost,]" Shizune says, her features shifting to concern.
I shrug it off. "[Just, something familiar. Hey, want to go do something?]"
"[Oh, and what do you want to do?]" A flash of curiosity strikes her eyes as she looks at me over the rims of those oh so familiar glasses
I consider a moment, and an idea strikes.
"[Know where we could find a game of Risk?]"

[Mirage_GSM]

Wow, that was one heck of a prompt. I can definitely see how one could be tempted to "overwrite" it.
The final product is very concise. The story was short, but it didn't feel as if it was missing anything. You could even have left out the last part, but it fits in very well.
Just bad luck that the one he had to run into was Shizune...

[Chatty Wheeler]

At last, my Secret Santa submission is up!

It's been a long, difficult journey writing this piece. I've been actively working on this piece since early December of last year, and at times I just wished that I could be done and get it to my victim sooner. Despite that, the entire process has been a labor of love. I was given a great prompt, and although I took it in a direction that my victim may not have been expecting, I hope that I did it justice. At the very least, I had an absolute blast writing this piece.

There are a few things I'd like to mention. First off, I've opted to hold off on revealing my victim until the end of my story. I think it's more fun that way. Second, I've decided to post the story up in my own one-off collection. The story is a long five-parter totaling around 11,500 words, so I thought that posting the story over in my thread would prevent it from clogging up this one.

Finally, I'd like to apologize for how obviously late my submission is. When I outlined my story, I grossly underestimated the total word count and scope of the story that I was attempting. I ultimately decided that I would rather turn my story in late rather than half-baked. I hope you can understand (and forgive) my decision.

Without further ado, please enjoy Cats and Dogs, Snowflakes and Stars!

https://ks.renai.us/viewtopic.php?f=52& ... 23#p246719