#mid-trial

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#023 | File #0▇▇-2▇▇▇

From her behavior in the prison Friendly and talkative. Tries to get along with everyone in the prison. Enjoys teasing. Is used to being idealized and praised. Seems to get envious when someone else is being held in high esteem. Attentive. Has been making her own notes on the prisoners to help me. Although she's very sociable, she’s tired of keeping attention to everyone's feelings. Doesn't know what to do for university. She also seems to not know some things that are taught in high school, despite her age stated to be 17. From interrogation and memory reports Verdict:

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“You always do that…! You’d do anything to hurt me, yet say it's for my sake!” 

A piece of art with cut-off strings Entangled in the web of human emotions The burning feeling of bubbles popping in your lungs is becoming even comforting — a thought that might be way too sharp flashes in your mind, “anything but not to deal with that person, no longer.” The waves embracing you are cozy and soft; although you could be confusing it with the warmth of another’s body — I won't let you go, even now.  Would you return the hug? The dream ends here.

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Memory: …Are you okay? You seem fatigued. Heart: Hm? I'm fine, I'm fine~ Though I do feel a bit weird, to be honest. It's like I've been awake for a long time. Or, how to put it… It's like when you constantly wake up through the night and fail to have a proper sleep in the end, you know? Memory: I see. Maybe we could ask the Warden if there's any medicine to improve your sleep. Heart: Ehh~? There's no need to worry that much about me. After all, we just met. Memory: …I guess that's right. …Sorry. I think you remind me of someone. So I was getting a bit sentimental. Heart: Oh, I know the feeling. As much as everyone wants to hold onto their uniqueness, it's a fact that people tend to be similar, and no one is truly special. Well, could you remind me of your name? I'd like to be friends while we're here~

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Record no.1

So, where's the truth? Was I one of the many silhouettes in the ghosty crowd, with nothing to show, or the omnipotent and perfect, an idol, a saint, or a teenager who threw away all the expectations put on me as a form of rebellion? Did I hate being alive and couldn't wait for it to be over, or wanted to stay hopeful for as long as possible, or closed my eyes whenever problems got too loud and called it “happiness”? Have I left because I pitied you, unable to protect you from my harm in another way? Or because I wished to preserve myself, too scared to look into your face once more? Or I couldn't feel anything for that matter, so there's nothing to guess? When we meet again, I'll tell you, the words that have been long stuck in my throat: We could, let's try to, I want us to, we can't, it's too late to stay together. So, what kind of me will you remember? What side of me will you forget? Once you trim your memory, let's meet again.

Record no.2

Why don't you like me the way I am? “Because I love you” Well, it surely doesn't sound like love… Don't you know… It's cruel to see in others only what would benefit you? Why don't you like me when I just stand here? No matter how much I try to collect the faces of my choice, you put on the one you think suits the most… Don't you know a god is no human? We haven’t talked in quite a while, so that must be forgotten for sure. Surprisingly, I simply can't get it, the wish to be desired. On the other hand, being liked for merely existing, of course, that would be a lovely fate! Because I want you to understand, because I want you to look at me, because I'm weak, anyone would work, anyone! I'm getting nauseous, give me a break. Because I want you to protect me, because I want to keep control, and I was never taught to keep control of my life, so, don't you know? A child with temper tantrums is no human. Aren't you, out of all, supposed to know? You leave me with no choice. Don't you dare. How lovely, thank you so much!

Record no.3

The reason why I didn't oppose any of this… I saw it as an opportunity to throw away “my” life. The me who couldn't trust others, Yet hated being left alone; expressing nothing but a polite smile. All eyes on me! — with these words, I covered my burning-red face. The me who couldn't become a good friend. Refusing to become loyal to my love, But getting bitter when I wasn't the only one in someone's heart. The me who couldn't be accepted. Letting out the thoughts that my hollow mind never believed in,  I put myself on a pedestal to deceive my own loneliness. This time, I'll do it right — I won't get attached to the point it hurts me or the people involved; I'll laugh at the jokes of others, but not show off my stupid sense of humor — a distance just right to have fun only; taking on the role of a guiding light while knowing nothing, I'll rewrite my failed self!  Then, for sure, we'll stay together in this life.  And even if we don't, neither you nor me will dedicate our tears to it. I'll do it right this time. Please, grant me one more time. Just one more time!

A… chan… a… chan…

I need to sleep just a little bit more… The room is so dark, where am I; perhaps in a dream? Is this another false awakening? Ah, this soft voice is like a lullaby…

Huh? Stand up, we have to find an escape! I got rid of him, but the other one is still around, you know? Let's hurry!

Who… is she talking about? My childhood friend… Even in such darkness, I can make out the features of her face. I don't want to forget, not again, please let me engrave her in my mind. Just recently, we were having a picnic at the park filled with cherry blossom trees; how could we come to this so quickly? I want to go home…

Why are you awake? Eh?! …Ugh. It's you. The time hasn't come yet. As I thought, you're responsible for putting us to sleep, huh? You're the true owner of this place. Hm. Okay. Let's have a compromise. I can let go of one of you. What?

So noisy. My head hurts. What are they talking about? The other voice is low and harsh… Maybe I remember, loosely… Him announcing the rules with an upbeat tone… There were so many of us back then. Not a long time passed, but why does it feel so distant? She's holding both of my hands, digging her nails into my palms; I'm sure she doesn't notice, and I'm too sleepy to feel any pain. I’m quietly sitting in bed.

This try is a complete mess. I told her it's not going to work out… Ahh, anyway. I'll restart with one of you and let the other go back.

The darkness is strangely empty. Is there any furniture in this room? I can't see.

You should go.

She is not answering. I don't think we have much time.

…Do you want to get rid of me so much? Huh? Would you rather choose to stay with his corpse here? I want you to live a normal life. But I want to be with you.

Silence. Silence. Silence. The minutes and seconds don't exist here, how fun, a whole eternity is at our service! But the less boundaries there are, the less freedom matters. Besides, he's definitely not willing to provide us with an eternity.

I know… Each story has a beginning and an end. We can't choose where to start, but let's try to finish it in our own way.

Is this your final decision? We're staying.

She’s holding onto me. I'm looking at her downcast face. I need to remember… need to remember…

Then it's time to go back to sleep. Though you won't wake up together.

Lately, being left on my own, I've been reflecting on my past life a lot. Perhaps you just have nothing better to do — another part of me is saying, shutting down the emotions I could have experienced before they rise to the top. There's no point in the feelings that offer you no instant solutions and bring you no results, it's saying; unable to grasp anything in the chill and empty space within me, I sigh and continue on with my tasks.

I pick up one of the notebooks on my table and search for the bookmark inside of it.

When I was a child, I tried to create my own bookmarks, testing out different shapes, redrawing what I wanted to depict over and over, as it was never coming out perfectly. Come to think of it, what exactly was I drawing on them? Huh, a lot of time has passed… Either way, those bookmarks are long lost. In the end, I just cut out rectangular pieces of patterned paper and use these to mark the page I stopped on.

After many years, I'm once again talking to my reflection.

Expressing myself is dangerous, see.

The tip of my pen has been staying on the paper’s surface for so long the ink has left a trace on the next several pages, almost causing a hole in the page I'm currently on.

I can't trust the world to listen to me. I'm not someone to talk to, not someone to understand; I don't know how to live in this body very well, I have no interest in food… The words that I say fall on others like some sort of holy sword, an execution from the heavens. I keep silent so as to not hurt them anymore, I have to learn to contain this power. Perhaps I'm no human. Perhaps I'm supposed to be a god.

I can't say whether I like myself or not. Carrying on with this existence is no more than having a roommate. Despite my achievements in class, the endless comparisons that my parents make between me and others — with me as the better one, of course — and the attention I receive for simply doing my hobbies, I'm not invited to contests; my classmates gather in groups and chat far away from me. I never got a chance to stand on stage; I'm rarely asked for help, only when there's no better option; when I’m praised in front of the whole class, faint giggles fill it. I would hear that I'm “smart” and “reasonable” quite often, though — my judgment is one to trust, that's for sure; I'm always in the right, that's for sure, and I know any answer as long as I'm asked.

I must have got trapped in this small body by my own will — perhaps to be closer to humans who don't want to keep me company, to know what it's like to be one; now that I speak your language, are you able to understand my feelings? Or maybe it was a punishment for betraying others, swaying from the sacred path… Maybe I was too interested in humanity, behavior unacceptable for a proper god, the same as people consider weird those who research insects. In my native land, nothing is tangible… I can't be perceived, although I'm loved and feared— I must be the most powerful god. I'm no human so I'm avoided; but my power is so noticeably strong that my kin don't want to get near either.

That would explain it.

The reason everyone hates me while showering me with words of praise.

I look at the self-made bookmark that I put aside before starting to write. I remember making it; I cut out a piece of patterned paper, the pattern depicting hearts drawn in watercolor; working with my thin pale fingers, I did my best to make this piece rectangular. I made a small hole in it in the shape of another heart, then put a pink ribbon through, and tied it, finishing my gentle work. I've been using this bookmark for quite a while. Even though it's simple, I'm really proud of it. Huh… Once again, I can't bring myself to draw the images from my mind… This notebook has been sitting empty for almost a year, so I’m wondering why I bought it in the first place.

Expressing myself even in my own presence is dangerous, see. I write in illegible handwriting so I would never be able to re-read my entries. Noticing that I'm too awkward, I get hit with the realization that I'm not omnipotent; it's something I'm not ready for yet, as it would mean there's no explanation for what I'm going through at all.

Thump!

I close the notebook and lock it with a tiny, tiny key.

Do not read; you wouldn't understand what a god feels, you never tried to.

They're gathered around a window in the school corridor, like a bunch of birds; even though it's spring, today is not sunny. It's raining again… What an annoyance.

— Hello.

A slim girl with long dark hair, neatly dressed in the full school uniform — shirt, bow, skirt, jacket, with a little shining emblem in the corner; she is looking at them from above, clearly displeased.

— You're not allowed to bring cards to school. Everyone gets frozen in place, unsure what to reply and exchanging lost glances. After a way too many seconds of silence, they begin to tidy up the scattered cards with hesitant, guilty gestures. A person with red hair, dressed in a lazy semblance of a school uniform — merely a shirt and plaid pants, — is staring at the intruder with a bored face expression; when they meet eyes, she speaks again. — Do you think I don't know you? ▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆ ▆▆▆▆▆. — Why are you picking on me? They're not mine, nor am I playing them. Only from her tiredly sounding high voice you can guess it's also a girl — quite surprising given her messy appearance, but all who are here already know that. She clicks her tongue and looks over at others. — Whose cards are these? — Didn't ▆▆▆▆▆▆-kun bring them? — Y-yeah. — I'm confiscating them. The dark-haired student reaches out for the box of cards as one of the boys finishes stacking its contents; the other girl quickly grabs it and moves her clenched palm away, closer to the window. They silently stare at each other again, frowning.

It's raining outside. It's strange for such a strong rain to occur at this time of the year.

— We're already done with them. — Do you want the teachers involved? — It's a month before school ends, - she suddenly smiles. — Let's enjoy this time and not cause a ruckus. The dark-haired student slowly straightens up and stays still as the company passes the box from hand to hand, until it disappears into a pocket of one of the jackets. — Don't break the rules then. She's taking another look at everyone's appearances. — Who let you inside dressed up like this? “I think I already told you to stop causing a ruckus”. Still, she says: — Will not happen again.

…

This break is longer than usual.

— Take them out. — Yeah, yeah. — I don't even know what you were playing. The red-haired girl snatches one of the random cards that get spilled on the windowsill and looks at it. Ace of Clubs. — It's because you're always on your phone. — By the way, talking about the school ending… — Huh? — What university are you going to? — I'm going to move to ▆▆▆▆▆. — What?! The sound of shuffled cards, mixed with the raindrops hitting the window, is strangely calming; the voices flowing leisurely, fast steps here and there, it's all like a background noise, the one you'd listen to fall asleep in peace, you know? — Hey, can you return this one? She glances at the person talking— Someone who used to be a friend.

Now, she certainly doesn't remember the names, faces or places they've spent time together at; even though the whole high school was wasted on this. There was middle school before it, with all the same beginning and ending, and as for elementary… Let's not reminisce about it too much, nothing to reminisce about. It's ridiculous! Your whole life is trapped in the span of school years. The time you're supposed to spend becoming “yourself” goes in vain while you're sitting in place and memorizing a to-do list that goes through hundreds of people, the one that stops to matter once you graduate, change schools, go to another teacher.

— I'm moving too. Giving a proper look at someone who was once a friend, she's hiding a part of her face with the card. — Huh? — To ▆▆▆▆▆. My father was offered a good job there, so I'm going with him. Then, the Ace of Clubs gets hidden in her pocket. — I'll keep this card as a memento.

…

— Hey! — Since when were you so sentimental? — Wouldn't you like me to remember my friends? — You could use something else… — Stop whining. I already drew a new one. — Seriously? In a math notebook? — Hey, but we will still text each other, right? We can also hang out on holidays. — Ah, yeah…

A thin piece of white paper with a basic image on it, easily bent, torn, replaced with a card from another pack. Pay attention to the rules of the current game: the meaning it holds for the ones who use it is more important than its appearance — although, surely, a playing card can never become a banknote.

It was lost when moving cities.