A Really Depressing Rin Fic

[themocaw]

This was requested by someone on /vg/
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It's getting harder to feel every day.

I need to keep feeling. It's what powers my art. My art is my livelihood. It's the purpose for my existence. Without my art, I'm nothing. Without me, my art is nothing. We're two living things bound together in one body.

Need to create. Need to feel. Need to keep feeling. Need to keep creating.

It's lonely here in Tokyo. It's bad enough being away from my friends. It's worse being here in Tokyo as the rising star. Everyone knows me. Rin Tezuka, the no-armed artist, the wonder of the Japanese art scene. Everyone wants to talk to me. No one wants to know me. No one knows me.

I'm tired.

Tired is bad. Tired means that I can't create. I need to keep creating. Need to keep proving my existence. Need to see if I can show myself to them.

The first time, it was a mistake. I was exhausted, too tired. I got a nosebleed. It bled all over my canvas. I was going to clean it up, but then I saw the way the dark red spots flowed over the texture of the paint. It was beautiful.

I let more of the red liquid flow over my canvas. My teachers loved it. They said it was incredible. How did I get that particular shade of dark red? My secret.

There's a piece of me on all my canvases since then. I found a simple method to it: a small knife which I taped to a block of wood. draw it against the instep of my foot, or against the stump of my arm. The stump of the arm is best: no one can see it under my sleeves. Sometimes, if I need a lot of inspiration, I hit my head against the wall sometimes, let myself bleed from the nose, watch it fall.

Drip drip drip. Like water. Like tears.

Like rain.

Rain is what happens when the sky cries.

Once I tried holding my breath until I passed out. It didn't work. My body decided to keep breathing. I saw interesting dark shapes, though. Put them into my next painting. The professors loved it. The students thought it was fantastic.

Another time, I tried to show them what it looks like when I stare into the light until it hurts to keep my eyes open. They loved that too.

Emi called me the other day. She's happy. She and her boyfriend are travelling up to Tokyo to visit me. They're enjoying themselves. She runs with him every day. She loves him.

I'm lonely.

I'm alone in a cage made of my own mind, trapped inside my canvases and my paints. I'm standing on the top of a tower screaming for help. My paints are my voice, but my voice is drowned out by the babbling gallery mob.

They call me brilliant, they call me incredible. They say my works are beautiful, then they ask me what they mean.

There's no meaning. There's only me.

Do I have a meaning?

Is there a meaning to my life?

I don't know.

I don't want to see Emi again. I don't want to hear her prattling voice fussing over me. I don't want to hear her laughter, or see her being happy. Happiness is bad, it keeps me from feeling. I need to keep feeling. It's what makes art.

I'm tired.

It took me a while to get the knife set up. There's a pillar in the center of my room. I've taped it there at about neck height. The canvas is on the ground. It's the biggest one I could find. I put a tarp under it. I don't want the next people in this studio apartment to find me in the floorboards.

The painting is ready. It only needs one more thing. If I do it right, I should stay conscious long enough to lie down on the canvas correctly. I hope I'll have enough time to see my last painting before I black out. It's the thing I'm giving my life to create. My last statement of myself to the world.

I hope that Emi's not the one to find me. I hope it's one of the other students, or the police, or someone like that. I hope someone from the school comes by and finds me before Emi does.

I hope that someone here in Tokyo misses me enough to come look for me.

-----
If you want to stay depressed, stop reading here. But for a slightly more uplifting epilogue:

I close my eyes as I feel the cold steel against my throat. The edge bites into my skin. A little more pressure, and a sudden jerk, and it'll be done. I'll be ready to paint my very last portrait.

One more motion and it's all over.

Then why have I been standing here for the past fifteen minutes, waiting?

Just one sudden jerk of the head, and I can begin my final work. My magnum opus. My literal life's work. . .

I am interrupted by the tinny sound of my cell phone playing "Brucia la Luna."

I should let it go.

I don't.

I step away from the pillar and go to my cell phone where it lies on the hardwood floor, turning on the speakerphone. "Hello?"

"Hi, is this Rin Tezuka?" a strange male voice asks.

"Yes, this is. Who is it?" I whisper, in a harsh voice.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I guess you've forgotten me. It's Hisao Nakai. I went to high school with you back in the day. I'm Emi's boyfriend?"

"Oh yes," I say, trying to keep a false note of happiness in my voice. "The one with the problem in the pants."

The voice laughs at me. "Yeah, that's me. I helped you out with your murals. Anyway, I was just reading the newspaper and found out about your new art exhibition. You must be incredibly proud."

"It's. . . all right," I say, fighting down the loneliness. "It's a great accomplishment for one so young."

"Yeah, I guess," Hisao says. "They had some of your paintings in the article. They look really good. But. . . I was just wondering something. Are you all right?"

". . . Of course I'm all right," I insist. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"It's just that. . . your paintings look different from the ones I remember back in high school," Hisao says. "There's a lot more. . . loneliness in them, I guess?"

Shock.

"What makes you think that?" I ask.

"Well. . . I don't know. There was that one that was all black, except for the white sunburst, and one lonely figure standing in the center. And you used to have a lot of body parts, but they used to be all spread out, not all pushing in towards the center, where there's one eye. . ." He laughs. "I guess I'm reading too much into it, huh? I'm not an art critic. I don't know the first thing about art, after all."

I sit down hard on the floor.

He knows.

He heard me.

Someone out there heard my cry.

"Anyway," Hisao says. "I was just thinking I'd give you a call. Sorry for being such a nosy guy. I guess I was reading too much into it. You sound happy."

"I do," I say. It's not a question or an affirmation. Just a flat statement.

"Well, I won't take up too much of your time. I guess you've got work to do. I suppose an artist's life is always busy. Looking forward to seeing you again soon. Emi and I have a surprise to share with you. She's really excited about it: she said that you're the first person we need to tell."

He sounds giddy. Happy. Alive.

More alive than me.

"All right," I say. "I'll see you then."

Hisao hangs up the phone. I sit there for a long time staring at it.

I lean my head back and look up at the knife taped to the pillar. It's still there. Still shining like a tooth of a wolf.

The wolf is stalking me. It will stalk me forever. It will always be there inside my skin, behind my eyes.

But sometimes, I guess, there are people who will help me keep the wolves away.

I take the knife down from the pillar. I hold it between my toes and slash it down the fatal canvas, going from corner to corner, slashing a giant X through the paint and the cloth.

I'm still lonely. I'm still tired. But I'm no longer a voice screaming into the darkness, waiting not to be heard.

Someone is listening.

For now, maybe that's enough.

[CarnivalNights]

Yup, definitely read everything in black.

Is there some kind of compendium of all your Katawa Shoujo fanfics including the <100 word shorts? I feel like marathoning through them.

[U.T. Raptor]

[Mirage_GSM]

Thanks for the Epilogue!
Doomish's fics are depressing enough; you don't have to start writing stuff like that as well...

[Demonhornz]

My only real issue with this fic is the title. You should probably let the reader decide if it's depressing or not...unless you're referring to the fact that Rin's depressed?

[Bagheera]

Hmmm. You got Rin's voice right, and that epilogue was just perfect -- people always oversell that sort of thing, but you made it work. Nice job!

[scott1and]

RINNY NAAAAAOOOOOOOO

Bit depressing, as people have said, but some people love these kinds of things. I'm more of a old young romantic myself, but I still thought this was good. One gripe I had was that the phone call seemed rather coincidental, but then again if it wasn't there I'd be all melancholic because Rin died, and it was all nicely written after all.

Plus, I'm starting to notice how wide a scope you can write.

[AnotherKatawaShoujo]

I enjoyed this. Writing first-person Rin is tough. You pulled it off quite well. Thank you for posting.

[GG Crono]

I almost didn't read this one because of the thread title. But I'm glad I did.

You're getting better at capturing Rin's tone. This is a very well-composed little piece.

[Demonhornz]

I almost didn't read this one because of the thread title. But I'm glad I did.

Me too. Aha.

[Mahorfeus]

I liked it. Rin never struck me as the suicidal type for some reason, but having her do it as an expression of art definitely seemed to be in character. Having Hisao call at just the right time was a somewhat predictable fix, but it had to happen.

I have to agree that the title could've been a little more two-sided, as I believe the vast majority of us went for the happy ending.

For some reason the second half reminded me of the last Dark Tower book, though Stephen King suggested that you not read it for the opposite reason you gave.

[Tezzeret]

Thank god you put in that epilogue.

[Robnonymous]

There should really be a Nobel Prize for "Writing in First Person as Rin Tezuka."

[MintySocks]

Ok, stuff that bothers me: I understand that Rin is supposed to come off as depressed, but it seems a tad heavy-handed at times. I'd have gone with a bit more subtlety, especially in relation to the self-mutilation and whatnot.

Negativity over! DAMN that was good. I know writing for Rin is tough, but doing it in first person to boot? I'd say you did an exceptional job for the most part, and I'm looking forward to more!

[lblf]

I have to agree with everyone here. I can't imagine how hard it must be to write Rin's dialogue let alone in first person. But you definitely nailed it, it was very Rin.