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[BlackWaltzTheThird]

The Purest Form of Love - Chapter 1: Friends
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[Hanako]

I knew this was a bad idea.

The hot sun bears down on me mercilessly, even in the shade of Lilly’s parasol, stuck on a slight angle in the sand between us. The heat is unbearable, and makes me sweat profusely on one side and swelter without relief on the other. Still, I refuse to remove the long-sleeved summer dress that covers most of my body.

They would see my scars. The form-fitting, dark purple, one-piece swimsuit underneath it does cover a fair amount of the affected area, but my exposed arm, neck and leg is too much to handle. People will stare. If not my fellow Yamaku students, then the other beachgoers will.

Why did I come on this stupid excursion? It’s not even related to any classes. 'Inter-class bonding', they called it. Yeah, as if anyone wants to 'bond' with the burned girl. I should have just stayed in my room and refused to leave. They’d have had to pry me out by my cold, dead fingertips.

I look over my shoulder towards Lilly, sleeping peacefully on a towel beside me. Of course, she can be much more daring with her choice of swimwear. Her black bikini set leaves very little to the imagination, even with the translucent dress thingy flowing from the top. I wonder what those are called? Apparently, Akira got it for her on a business trip. I'll have to ask her about it some time.

But oh, what I wouldn’t give to be able to look like that. Lilly draws attention like a magnet, and though I do as well, it’s not for the same reason. People look at Lilly and think she’s beautiful. Amazonian, even. They develop crushes on her. I know that Lilly has been the recipient of many a confession, both at Yamaku and elsewhere. How many confessions have I had? Zero, that’s how many.

The sound of someone approaching catches my attention. I open my eyes – which I hadn’t realised I had scrunched shut – and look over to the intruders. Ibarazaki and Tezuka appear to have come bounding out of a stint in the water and have taken up residence in the sand on my other side. It seems that it’s sandcastle-building time.

Ibarazaki notices my staring, and though I try to look away, I’ve already been caught. Ibarazaki waves and shuffles closer to me.

“Heya! Aren’t you hot, in that dress? I’m sweating like a pig just like this!”

“Ye-… um, n-no. It’s f-fine.”

“You sure? You look pretty flushed.”

I pull my legs even closer into my curled sitting position and look down at the sand in front of my feet.

“It’s n-nothing. I’m fine, r-really.”

Ibarazaki rests her chin in her hand, looking thoughtfully up at the sky for a few seconds before replying.

“Well, if you say so. The water’s great though, if you change your mind.”

“I’ll k-keep that in mind. Th-thanks.”

Ibarazaki smiles and nods, before returning to her previous place and giving a hand to Tezuka, who is struggling to adequately fill a bucket with sand. With Ibarazaki now filling the bucket in her stead, Tezuka looks over to me.

“Are you afraid of getting sunburnt? It’s not even that bad. I usually don’t bother applying sunscreen and I turn out alright. Can you even get burned? Not like you already are, I mean. You can't get that kind of burn out here. I mean the sun kind of burn.”

Even before Ibarazaki realises the trajectory of Tezuka’s ramblings and stifles any further comments, my eyes go wide and I turn away. Forget about it, Hanako. Think happy thoughts.

Ice cream. Ice. Cold drinks. Tea. Scald. Burn. Scars. No, no, no!

Christmas. Snow. Winter. Summer. Sun. Sunburn. Scars. Damnit!

I feel the tears begin to well in my eyes. One rolls down my cheek, to my chin, and drips unnoticeably onto the sand. Several more make the same journey, before a hand comes to rest on my shoulder. I flinch at the contact.

“Hey, I’m really sorry about that. Rin can be… inconsiderate at times. Are you okay?”

“N-no.”

“Just forget about it. Rin didn’t mean any harm by it.”

“It still h-hurts.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Not r-really.”

“C’mon… I’ll buy you an ice cream.”

Ibarazaki makes the offer in a sing-song voice, almost seductively. With the thought of a nice, cooling dessert paired with the puppy-dog expression on her face, I find it hard to turn her down.

“F-fine.”

“Great! C’mon, on your feet! There’s an ice cream bar just a short walk from here.”

With one last look at the sleeping Lilly, I stand and follow Ibarazaki. I notice her strides are quite long, possibly to make up for her short stature. In contrast, my own steps are short and rather frequent. Not frequent enough, though, as Ibarazaki beckons for me to pick up the pace.

Shortly afterward we arrive at the ice cream bar, and Ibarazaki buys an ice cream for each of the two of us. She takes a seat at a bench under the shade of a high curved wall, and motions for me to follow suit. I do, and we begin to enjoy our delicious frozen treats.

“So, you’ve got a complex about your scars.”

The directness with which she begins the conversation catches me off guard. I’m left unable to form a reply. After a few seconds, Ibarazaki continues speaking without a response.

“That’s not a big deal. I’ll bet damn near everyone here has a complex, to some extent. You think I like being short?”

To emphasise the point, she places her hand on her head and slides it across to me, where it meets my collarbone.

“See, sometimes shit happens. Sometimes it’s pretty bad, and it has a big effect on people. But you can’t let it define you, ya hear? I mean, look at me. You don’t hear people talking about 'Emi the double amputee', you hear about 'Emi the track star', right?”

“A-actually, I hear 'resident d-detention expert' p-pretty often.”

“Hey! Ah forget it; I guess I bring that on myself. But it just proves my point even more! You can’t just expect other people to decide who you are, you’ve gotta make ‘em see who you are for yourself. What’s something you like doing?”

I have no idea how to respond to that question. What do I like doing? I don’t usually do things outside of class. I delve deep into my subconscious to find something to say.

“Um… I like to c-cook, sometimes…”

“Really? Great! 'Ikezawa, the mighty Iron Chef of Yamaku Academy'! What else?”

“Well, I… no, n-never mind.”

“Aw, c'mon, you can tell me. Even if it’s something weird!”

“N-no! It’s not like th-that. Singing. I l-like to sing, t-too.”

“Singing, huh? Then how about 'Ikezawa, the Yamaku Pop Princess'? Or maybe you sing other stuff… I know! 'Ikezawa, the rough ‘n’ tough rockstar'! It totally suits you!”

I can’t help but giggle at the absurd nicknames. I would be lying if I said that I hated them. But I can’t help but find one major flaw in Ibarazaki’s logic.

“Y-yeah, but… you can’t even t-tell that you… that you… um… b-because your p-prosthetics…”

“Hmm? I don’t follow.”

“You can still w-walk just f-fine. I can’t not b-be… ugly.”

Ibarazaki does a double take, almost dropping her ice cream in the process. She stops swinging her legs under the seat, and she takes on a somewhat more serious face.

“Hey. Listen. You’re not ugly. Honestly, I think you’re really pretty. You’re tall, and you have really nice hair, and your eyes are all mysterious-like. And you’ve got a fair body on you too, if you don’t mind me saying.”

Even though my dress provides ample coverage, I still cover myself with my free hand out of habit. Is Ibarazaki… hitting on me? I feel a blush emerge on my cheeks. I look at my lap and continue eating my ice cream, but steal glances at Ibarazaki between mouthfuls. She wouldn’t be… would she? Nah, she’s just being nice.

The last bites of my ice cream disappear into my mouth, and for several seconds the only sounds are those of the other beachgoers. Ibarazaki breaks the silence.

“Hey, I wanna show you something. I don’t usually do this, so don’t get freaked out, okay?”

Wait, what? Is she going to do something weird? Is she… no, I already decided that she’s not that kind of person. I fear what I may see if I look over to her, but I look anyway, and find her bent forward and removing her prosthetic legs and the protective socks underneath. I gasp at what I see.

The flesh at the base of what remains of Ibarazaki’s legs is all warped and scarred. Oddly shaped curves of flesh crash awkwardly into each other, the seams marked by thick whitish scars in various directions, forming something resembling the bastard child of an “H” shape and a star.

The other leg is more or less the same, though somewhat less misshapen. Nevertheless, it’s still a grotesque sight to behold. I instinctively run my left hand over my right, feeling my own scars there. Satisfied that she’s shown enough, Ibarazaki replaces her prosthetics as they were.

“Pretty whack, huh? You’re not the only one with scars, you know. I know mine aren’t as… widespread as yours, but they’re still there. And I’m okay with that, because that’s a part of who I am now. It’s no use being ashamed of who you are. Ya with me?”

“Y-yeah… I think so…”

“Great! Now, there’s no good way for me to say this, so how about you get that stifling dress off and come back to the beach with me? The 'rough ‘n’ tough iron chef princess' looks like she could use a swim.”

In spite of Ibarazaki’s suggestive wording, I giggle and a smile comes to my face.

“S-sure, I’d like that.”

By the time we return to our previous place, my nerves begin to falter. Here I stand, dress folded over my arm, in full view of over a hundred people. Exposed. My breath catches in my throat, and I start to try and cover my scars with my arms, but it proves ineffective. I consider backing out of going in the water, but I find a courage within myself, dump my dress on my towel and stride towards the shoreline where Ibarazaki awaits.

The sheer cold of the water comes as a shock, in contrast to the burning heat of the sun and, consequently, the sand. Again, I almost chicken out, but Ibarazaki's beckoning spurs me further out. She leads me over to a group of boys throwing a ball around, about waist-deep in the water. I'm not familiar with them; they mustn't go to Yamaku. Nevertheless, they allow us to join in their game.

The ball starts off going mainly between the boys, though as time goes on, Ibarazaki and I are on the recieving end of increasingly more frequent throws. Several minutes in, I fumble one particularly short throw that skims off the water in front of me, and the ball ends up several metres out to sea. I cautiously half-walk-half-swim over to it, and make to throw it back, but a wave catches me off guard and I lose my footing. For a second, my entire body is underwater, tumbling with the motion of the wave passing over me. I begin to panic, and flail desperately to get back to the surface. Out of nowhere, a strong hand catches my arm, and pulls me up.

Wiping the water out of my face, I find myself looking eye to eye with one of the boys. He was standing to my left, before. He's quite handsome, despite his lopsided grin. For a second that seems like it lasts for much longer, the two of us stare into the other's eyes. Then, he speaks.

“You alright there?”

“Y-yeah… th-thanks.”

“No biggie. Who wouldn't wanna help out a pretty girl like you, eh? I'm Haru, by the way.”

“H-hanako.”

“Nice to meet you, Hanako. Now how 'bout we get back to the game, eh?”

I nod, and resume the ball game. Nearby, Ibarazaki gives me the thumbs up. Does Haru really think I'm pretty? Maybe Ibarazaki was right, after all. We make our own image of ourselves. I can be pretty if I want to be. I can be anything.

*****

I slowly make my way to the front of the bus and out of its confines, glad to be out of the hot, cramped space. I take a deep breath of the cool, hilltop, Yamaku air and head towards the dorms. My right arm is looped around Lilly's, leading her, while in my left is my discarded summer dress. From amidst the throng, a voice calls out to me.

“Hey, it looks like you can get sunburnt after all.”

“Rin! What’d I tell you before!”

I instinctively flinch at the comment, but I shrug it off. I can feel the stinging heat of UV overexposure on my skin. Tezuka’s right; I probably should have applied some sunscreen. Oh well.

“It’s fine. D-don’t worry about it.”

“Phew! Hey, listen; you ever wanna hang out again, you know where to find me, alright? We can go meet some more cute boys together!”

“Sure. Th-thanks, Ibarazaki.”

“Aw c’mon, we’re friends now. You can call me Emi.”

“O-okay… Emi.”

“Heh, that’s it! Seeya!”

And with that, Emi takes off, catching up to the meandering Tezuka in no time at all. Friends, huh? I resume walking myself, and a polite cough precedes some curious probing from the girl by my side.

“Well, it certainly sounds like you had an eventful day.”

“Y-yeah.”

I make to add onto my response, but stop myself. I consider the thought for most of the journey back to the dorms. Would she agree? I think she would. It’d be a good idea. I have to make my own name for myself. Alright, it’s settled. I’ll ask her.

“Um… do you w-want to have d-dinner with Ibara- uh… Emi, sometime? I want to take up c-cooking again.”

“That would be lovely, Hanako.”

“A-and we should go to a k-karaoke room, too. It'll be f-fun.”

“I'd be happy to. I must warn you though, my singing leaves a lot to be desired.”

“Great! Uh, I mean, th-thanks.”

Lilly giggles lightly, evidently taking note of my uncharacteristic enthusiasm.

“It sounds like Ibarazaki has rubbed off on you, just a little. In any case, you needn’t thank me. Any friends of yours are friends of mine.”

Friends. It’s been a long time since that was plural. Maybe going on the beach excursion wasn’t such a bad idea after all. It’s time for 'rough ‘n’ tough iron chef princess' Hanako Ikezawa to have friends once again.

First | Next

==========

So no one told you life was gonna be this way, *clap clap clap clap*

That's enough of that. I noticed Emi and Hanako seem to be a popular non-standard pairing for some reason. I figured "yeah, I can get behind that", but thought nothing else of it. Then I saw a picture of the two of them at the beach, and some ideas began to take shape. Also this was at 1 in the morning, just as I was about to go to bed. By 4:30, I was done, though I decided to wait til today to edit and upload it. Originally it was a bit more lewd, but it didn't really fit the theme of the piece. Doesn't matter, there's probably plenty of lewd Eminako stuff out there without my contributions.

Oh, and if I ever have to write Ibarazaki so often again, I'm gonna rage. Hope you liked it, folks!

[Brogurt]

I'm pretty sure that Hanako isn't pyrophobic, and I also think she hates that people would assume that of her because it means she appears weak. She had no reservations about the fireworks, and cooking usually does involve fire. Or by definition it at least involves heat transfer, which is something she was also okay with, since it was in that scene right before her PTSD acted up in class.

Also, what happened to them actually going swimming or whatever the deal was? I know it can't be easy to say "it was real fun" and it can't be easy to describe each movement of Hanako's arm as she does the breaststroke, but make just a little something about how she has or hasn't swam in a long time, and how she is or is not any good at it right off the bat. You could even make a little backstory up about the presence or lack thereof of pools at or near the orphanage

Also, you got some interesting characterization with how Hanako thinks, completely disregarding the pyrophobia.

"Who wants to be friends with the ugly freak" seems like a likely tone for her, but when she reminds herself to ask about Lilly's slutty outfit, it makes her seem like she wants to get involved in it, since she actually seems curious. I'd expect someone who is socially challenged to maybe hold onto that thought for the sole purpose of starting a conversation later, based on my own experiences, but to actually show interest in it is an action that shows Hanako in a different light.

Also, she seems kinda eager to think that Emi's coming on to her, but that might just be residue from the lewd things you mentioned. On a tangential note, Hanako also says that Emi "fits the stereotypes", presumably for being a lesbian/bisexual, but none of those are mentioned outright. The only thing I can think of is "she's a slut so she'll take it from anyone", which I guess would be really crude/crass to actually write out as an author, but it could also put a cynical twist on Hana-banana's view.

[BlackWaltzTheThird]

Hana-banana

Heh.

pyrophobic

Wait, what? I wasn't meaning to imply that. Perhaps a few changes in phrasing are in order.

On a tangential note, Hanako also says that Emi "fits the stereotypes", presumably for being a lesbian/bisexual, but none of those are mentioned outright.

Yeah, definitely some changes to make. EDIT: I've now made some changes, and added a little bit more content in there. Hopefully that clears up any misinterpretations.

"Who wants to be friends with the ugly freak" seems like a likely tone for her, but when she reminds herself to ask about Lilly's slutty outfit, it makes her seem like she wants to get involved in it, since she actually seems curious. I'd expect someone who is socially challenged to maybe hold onto that thought for the sole purpose of starting a conversation later, based on my own experiences, but to actually show interest in it is an action that shows Hanako in a different light.

That sort of different light was my intent. The way I see it, Hanako aspires to be that popular, attractive, normal girl, but the constant derision she experienced puts an mental ceiling on her aspiriations. That curiosity would be a part of that; Hanako might imagine a fantasy self going out in a nice bikini, but (mistakenly?) believes her real self to not be good enough to do so. I'm glad that got across.

[Carighan]

I really like that last one. It's a good one shot, provides a nice little positive emotion.

If I had to offer - hopefully constructive - criticism, the specific wording of Emi seems out of character at times. Her apostrophes and ya's, mostly. But even then I'm not sure it's that, it just somehow sounded more Miki than Emi.

[BlackWaltzTheThird]

The Master of Romance

To the tune of: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AVbQo3IOC_A

Now this is the story all about how
My life got flipped turned upside down.
And I'd like to take a minute so ears up, foo';
I'll tell you how I became the prince of a place called Yamaku.

In West Akihabara born and raised,
In the arcade is where I spent most of my days.
Chillin' out maxin' relaxin' all cool,
And kickin' some football outside of the school.

I was handed a note it said to meet outside,
A confession? Iwanako? I'm surprised.
I said just one little word and my heart stopped too.
Dad said "you're movin' to a boarding school, it's called Yamaku".

I begged and I pleaded with 'im day after day,
But he packed my suit case and sent me on my way.
He gave me my meds and when I got there I knew it,
I put my swaggervest on and said "I might as well do it".

First class, yo this is grouse,
Poppin' pills like Hugh Laurie as Doctor House.
Is this what the kids at Yamaku livin' like?
Hmm, this might be alright.

But wait I hear they're crippled, no legs and all that.
Is this the type of place that they should send this cool cat?
I don't think so, but I'll give it one chance,
The problem's in your pants, the Master of Romance!

Well I'm in the lobby and I didn't wait long.
There was a dude dressed like a timelord fuckin' sayin' my name wrong.
I ain't tryin' to get detention yet I just got here!
I sprang with the quickness like lightning disappeared.

I whistled for some bitches and when they came by
They had scars on their face and clouds in their eyes.
If anything I could say I was aloof,
But I thought "naw forget it, yo hoes, to the roof!"

We got up to the roof about quarter to six
I yelled to the cripples, "yo girls, suck mah dick!"
I looked to my kingdom and took a manly stance,
To sit on my throne as Master of Romance.

==========

I'm not even sorry. Not one bit.

[Ranger296]

I'm disappointed that I enjoyed this so much.

[Archangel Gabriel]

Fresh Prince of Yamaku

[LegyPlegy]

I'm disappointed that I enjoyed this so much.

This practically sums up a ton of people's feelings (including mine :C), lmao

[CptSalsa]

Leave it to BlackWaltz to make everyone love Hisao.

[BlackWaltzTheThird]

The Girl Who Cried "Wolf" (TRIGGER WARNING; GORE, SEXUAL VIOLENCE, SELF-HARM)

I know that he’s still here. I know that he knows that I’m still here. I know he won’t leave until he finds me. I know that when he does, he’ll do to me what he did to Shizune. Maybe even more.

I can still hear his maniacal laughter echoing though my mind. I didn’t think it was possible for someone to be so mirthful whilst committing such atrocities. Great, now I can hear Shizune’s screams again. Having been hidden in here this whole time, I can’t say for certain what actually transpired, but based on what I could hear, I can make a reasonable guess.

He entered our apartment alone. He wasn’t particularly subtle about it, but evidently no one in the other apartments was awake to hear him. We were awake though. Shizune, obviously, couldn’t hear the intrusion, but she was quickly informed. She told me to call the police and hide, while she went to investigate.
She never came back.

I couldn’t call the cops. We were having one of our altogether-too-frequent “bad signal days”. Shizune has been up to the apartment manager many times about it, but he insists there’s nothing wrong with the phone signals in the rest of the building. Shortly after, the power went out. Just another benefit of living in this shitty apartment.

It was then I heard her. It was muffled at first. I can’t say I’ve ever heard Shizune’s voice properly before, but I immediately knew it was her. She wasn’t far away; just on the other side of the wall, or thereabouts. I could hear her struggle. I could hear him utter his demented greeting in a low voice. I could hear everything as he forced Shizune to the ground and ravaged her. Violently. Mercilessly.

Though she had no way of conveying it to me properly, I knew that through her tears and whatever was covering her mouth, Shizune was screaming for me to run. To flee. To abandon her and save myself. I couldn’t. I could only sit here, huddled in the dark, crying and frozen with fear.

Shizune fought back. Something hurt him, and he growled in rage as he struck Shizune. Punches and kicks in cartoons always have those exaggerated sound effects. And yet, the sound of real violence isn’t too far removed from it. Twenty-seven times he struck Shizune. Or beat her with a weapon. Or smashed her skull into the ground. I’m not really sure which. But each blow landed with a sickening thud and, later, a crunch.

The screams stopped after that.

But it got worse. I heard the “schwing” of metal being drawn across stone. Or, in this case, a brand new kitchen knife being withdrawn from its sharpening block. Then I heard the squelches. The blade piercing Shizune’s body countless times; hacking… chopping… slicing… dismembering. I don’t know what he was doing with the pieces of my best friend, but whatever it was, it was endlessly amusing to him, causing him to chuckle with a low grunt at first, and building up to the maniacal laughter that rings though my consciousness now.

But you know what the scariest sound in the world is? Even worse than the sound of screams of torturous agony; of bones cracking; of flesh being rent in twain? It’s the silence that comes afterwards.

Hopefully he’s still where he was when he stopped laughing. The very thought that he could be moving around in silence, seeking me out at this very minute, all without my knowledge, terrifies me to the core. I have no idea how long it’s been since the apartment went silent. I dare not try to find out. I make each breath as shallow and as quiet as possible, remaining perfectly still so that he won’t find me.

It’s in vain. The door of the walk-in wardrobe opens impossibly slowly and I feel him approach my hiding place inside the washing hamper. Though there are several days of clothes covering me, he manages to reach in, grab the collar of my shirt, and heave me out with little effort. I feel weightless for a brief second before I land on the ground heavily, sprawled beside my bed. He grasps my shoulder roughly and rolls me over to face him, pinning me under his body. I open my eyes, and I gasp in shock.

“Hi-… Hicchan?”

His face lights up in a deranged grin. When he speaks, it’s in a terrifying mixture of a hoarse whisper and a menacing roar.

“Hello, Shiina! So nice to see you again, after all these years! How long has it been, Shiina? Nine years? Ten?”

Every use of my real name is emphasised; so much so that flecks of spit hit me when he says it. I look away in shame, unable to witness face of the boy I once knew contorted into this crazed maniac.

“…Eleven.”

“Eleven years, Shiina! Eleven years I’ve been stuck in that prison. Eleven years I’ve been tormented by the other prisoners, by the guards, by the judges. Why’d you do it, Shiina? Why’d you put me through that? Why’d you tell them I raped you?”

The repressed memory bubbles to the surface. It was night, and I went to Hisao’s room. I bore my soul to him. I asked him to comfort me. We had sex. Awkward, guilty, empty sex. We both felt incredibly remorseful afterwards. Shizune didn’t know what had happened at first, but she knew something was wrong. It tore their relationship apart.

They fought. A lot. On one particularly bad day, Hisao told her how he fucked me senseless in his room while they were still together. Naturally, Shizune was shocked. She looked to me for answers and I broke down in tears. She kicked Hisao out of her dorm in her fury, and came to comfort me. She held me for what seemed like hours, until the tears stopped. She asked me to tell her the truth. And I said he raped me.

“You destroyed my life, Shiina! You know what happens to guys who rape pretty schoolgirls in prison? They get raped, Shiina. Day in, day out. And no one ever does anything about it, because in prison there’s a perverted sense of justice. Not even my own parents believed what I said! Meanwhile, you and your slut friend live the high life on the compensation that came out of my inheritance!”

I choke back tears as what little remains of my resolve crumbles.

“H-Hisao, I’m sorry… I d-didn’t mean to… I p-panicked…”

Once again, he laughs maniacally. He laughs so hard it brings a tear to his eye. Quick as a flash, though, he’s back to wearing the demented grin from before.

“You’re sorry? Well, I guess that’s that then! You’re sorry! It’s all better now. I can just go right back to living my life again, all because you said sorry!”

As if it was even possible, he presses his face right up to mine. I can feel his hot breath on my face as he continues speaking.

“But don’t worry, Shiina, I know you’re not sorry. But you will be. Once I’m done with you, you’ll be sorry you were even born.”

He reaches over me to retrieve a roll of duct tape from my bed, which he must have placed there before grabbing me. He unrolls a strip and uses it to bind my mouth shut. I push his hand away, but he simply grabs my hands and binds them too. I try to fight him off, to no avail. He’s too strong for me. Forcefully, he tears open my blouse and begins to fondle my breasts. He squeezes and presses roughly, using so much force as to be painful.

He kisses me through the tape, and begins to move downward, kissing and fondling all the while. When he reaches my navel, he stops fondling my breasts and starts to remove my shorts. I kick and scream through the tape, but again his strength outweighs mine and he manages to remove the garment, leaving my lower body exposed.

He breathes in deeply, savouring the aroma, and kisses the inside of my thigh, moving up towards my crotch but ultimately passing by it to go down my other leg, before reversing the action. For several minutes – or hours, I don’t know – this continues, after which he applies his fingers to me; feeling around, prodding, pressing, stretching. His kisses become licks, only now targeting my clitoris, which involuntarily swells and becomes more sensitive.

Tears stream from my face and I arch my back to look as far behind me as possible, so as to avoid watching the non-consensual act as it is performed. In retaliation, he bites down on me and inserts his fingers, curling them upward to forcibly extract as much pleasure as possible. I wince and try to cross my legs to block him out, but he forces them open and continues to violate me digitally. I begin shifting my hips to counteract his ministrations, and to my surprise he withdraws his offensive.

But it’s only for a second. In place of his finger, he jams his erect penis deep into my vagina. Were it not for the tape binding my mouth shut, I would have gasped. He starts thrusting, slowly at first, then more quickly and forcefully. With no way of stopping him, I lie back and take it, tears continually flowing into the carpet. Against my will, my body tenses up and my hips thrust in time to his. I can feel the sensation build up inside me, and I hate myself for allowing it to occur, even though there is nothing I can do about it.

Then, release. My whole body spasms, causing my back to arch, my eyes to clench shut, my bound hands to ball into fists, and my vagina to squeeze tightly on the invading penis. In turn, his penis twitches uncontrollably, shooting wave after wave of hot semen deep into my body. For a second, neither of us moves, too busy basking in the carnal sensations of orgasm.

Feeling returns to my body, and I feel him withdraw from within me. I sigh with relief that the ordeal is over, only to see him tear the tape from my face and pull me into a sitting position. He orders me to clean him, voice seething with hate. I turn my face away, but he forces it back and holds a knife – stained with Shizune’s still-dripping blood – against my throat. I open my mouth and lick and suck every last drop of seminal fluid from his penis.

I collapse back onto the floor, chest heaving with exhaustion. The bitter taste of salt and coins fills my mouth and nose, and I can feel his semen dripping out of my vagina. No further tears flow from my eyes. I’m all cried out. Nearby, he stands up and examines the bloody knife.

“No one can know about this, Shiina,” he states flatly. “I’m not going back to prison. Not ever.”

My eyes widen in shock. Oh, God, I’m gonna die! I’m-gonna-die-I’m-gonna-die-I’m-gonna-die! He notices my alarm and smiles a grotesque smile.

“Oh no, no, no, Shiina, I’m not going to kill you. That would only put you out of your misery.”

What was, briefly, relief, now becomes fear. My blood runs cold as I imagine what horrible things he can possibly do to me now. He continues speaking in his strange, new, emotionless monotone.

“I have nothing left to live for, you know. My parents won’t speak to me. My former friends won’t have anything to do with me. I don’t even have prison buddies that I can look forward to seeing once the cops find out what I’ve done.”

He sighs and flops to the ground, staring at his reflection in the knife. Suddenly, he doesn’t look anywhere near as crazed as he did before. He looks… unbelievably broken. Despondent beyond repair.

“I’m really the worst kind of person. Wouldn’t it be better if I just died? After all, I’ve done something really terrible now. Unforgivably terrible.”

He lets his words sink in for several minutes. I have no response. What could I say to that? From somewhere deep in my subconscious, words come to me.

“Don’t be stupid. A long time ago, I did a stupid thing. That’s the reason you’re here right now. All these years, I’ve been trying to figure out if I could… make it right somehow. Do you feel that way now? You said it yourself, you’ve done a terrible thing. We can try fixing them. I just think that killing yourself is the biggest regret a person could end up with.”

My voice catches in my throat. Oh my God. Am I forgiving him? After what he did to Shizune? After what he did to me? What the hell is wrong with me? I feel sick to my stomach. Still looking at his reflection, he smiles. Not a demented, vengeful smile. A sad, lonely smile.

“You’re so dramatic, Shiina.”

I notice he doesn’t emphasise my name this time. He stands up, knife still in hand, and looks into my eyes. Like with his smile, the dark fires of rage and long since burned out; in its place exists only a hollow emptiness. I stand, myself, and step over to him. I place my hands on his, and gently try to pry the knife away from him.

Unexpectedly, he leans forward and kisses me on the lips, then whispers “I’m sorry” into my ear. Before I even register what is happening, I feel his hands tense, see the crimson blood spurt from the wound in his neck, and hear the gurgles as his lungs fill with blood. He collapses, blood pooling around him as the last of his life force flows out onto the carpet.

I can only stare helplessly as the lights leave his eyes.Unable to witness Hisao draw his dying breath, I run from the room, only to encounter Shizune's mangled corpse, the word "slut" cut into her torso with wounds several inches deep. I fall to my knees, despite the warm pool of blood at my feet. I sob and heave violently, tears flowing again. Here I am, in a pool of my friend’s blood, violated, humiliated, and alone. The light of the dawning sun peeks through the blinds of the window on the other side of the room, and, as if timed to match, the power comes back on.

I reach for the phone on the countertop, and dial a number I haven't dialled in eleven years. The phone rings for a long time, before a sleepy sounding female voice answers.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Mrs. Nakai. This is Mi – Shiina. I just wanted to say that I’m sorry.”

“Sorry, dear? Whatever for?”

“For lying about Hisao.”

Before I get a response, I hang up. I look at the knife still clutched in my other hand, now doused in two samples of blood.

I close my eyes and raise the knife to my neck.

And I slice.

==========

Don't say I didn't warn you. I guess reading Doomish's WAtHE had an effect on me after all. Hopefully this mood passes quickly so I can go back to writing that other thing with Emi in it. My sincerest apologies to anyone who was troubled by reading this. I am prepared to suffer the wrath of angry readers if I must. I can only pray that you'll forgive me.

[Mirage_GSM]

I was hoping there would be some kind of point to the story...
Oh, and if you wanted to warn people about the story, you should have used keywords like "Violence", "Gore" or "Rape". I'm still not sure what you mean by "Trigger".

I reach for the phone on my bedside unit, and dial. The phone rings for a long time,...

I thought the power lines were cut...

[BlackWaltzTheThird]

Oh, and if you wanted to warn people about the story, you should have used keywords like "Violence", "Gore" or "Rape". I'm still not sure what you mean by "Trigger".

trigger warning
Web definitions
A warning placed on websites, forums or e-mails to let the reader know that some content may cause great emotion, switching, fear, etc. due to particular traumatic experiences such as rape

But if you think it's really necessary I will add something like that up there as well.

I thought the power lines were cut...

Eh I said it was a possibility.

I was hoping there would be some kind of point to the story...

Such as...?

[Mirage_GSM]

Well, I don't start google everytime I don't know some slang term, so some univerally understandable warning might be practical. The intention of a warning is that your audience should understand it after all. If I don't want visitors to enter the room where I keep my pet anaconda I don't write the warning sign in Suaheli

I was hoping there would be some kind of point to the story...

Such as...?

I guess "point" was the wrong word.
I was expecting some kind of twist - like Misha misunderstood the situation and they were really preparing a surprise birthday party for her or something like that. You know, 'cause I didn't understand your warning (and also because Kosher's fics trained me to expect stuff like that

[ProfAllister]

Now, of course I feel the need to acknowledge that I'm biased here. It's probably pretty obvious to most people that I'd have such a bias, but it's better to have that out in the clear. Unsurprisingly, I didn't like this.

But I'm not going to complain about things like character derailment, the appropriateness of rape as a dramatic device, or any of several other possible objections. Those objections still exist, but I have a much bigger objection to something arguably more important - the tone.

This reads like a revenge fantasy. The "bad guy" is depicted as a monster as she hides. The graphic auditory description makes that clear. And of course he has all the superhuman features of the standard slasher movie villain. The actual rape felt like it was revelling in her helplessness. I'd go as far as to say if felt like the narrator was enjoying the description. And then an ironic callback, an attempt to humanize this figure who had been so clearly and irredeemably a monster for the first half of the story (completely forgetting about the other victim - where's the murderer's justification for that?).

And in the end, he wins. He breaks his victim, manages to achieve what seems to him to be a mistake, and she never recovers. There is no redemption, no sunlight, no hope. "The world's a shitty place. Just hope you don't get fucked too hard."

Now, I'm strongly against the idea of throwing one's work away, or hiding it where no one can see. That being said, I truly believe a work like this can be very dangerous. No need to hide it away somewhere (although a more significant warning may be merited). However, I would strongly recommend you get yourself FAR away from this subject matter (both in writing and consuming) for the time being. Indulging too much in this kind of thing can be very bad for one's health.

[BlackWaltzTheThird]

Now, I'm strongly against the idea of throwing one's work away, or hiding it where no one can see. That being said, I truly believe a work like this can be very dangerous. No need to hide it away somewhere (although a more significant warning may be merited). However, I would strongly recommend you get yourself FAR away from this subject matter (both in writing and consuming) for the time being. Indulging too much in this kind of thing can be very bad for one's health.

I appreciate the concern, but you needn't worry. I highly doubt something of that calibre will come to me for a long time now. In fact, I'm back to working on a much lighter piece as I mentioned in the spoiler. That said, I will place a more informative warning on the story. I thought the 'trigger' nomenclature was more widespread than it seems it is. I've certainly seen it around a fair bit. In any case, it should no longer be an issue. Now, back to writing Emific.