Katawa Shoujo Forums

Before Kaori finishes her sentence, a flying kick comes to greet her in the head, but she miraculously dodges! The genderbent-Haruhi misses Kaori completely and lands a distance away with sparks and smoke grating out from under his shoes, he yells at me to get his name right, but the writer didn't look it up, so I apologise and simply address him as Haruhiko Suzumiya.

“That'll suffice!” Haruhiko exclaims, his ribboned ponytail whipping wildly as he dashes towards Kaori with a bright yellow Psi-blade somehow procured.

“Hah!” Kaori shouts and pulls out a lightsabre from her a-- back-pocket (LEFT CHEEK x3 bonus), and promptly ignites it, casting an orange shadow over her sinister grin. “Bring it on! You gender-bent Mary Sue!”

Huh, ignoring the fact that Kaori wielding a Psi-blade would be more appropriate, and the fact that she herself is also a genderbender of a relatively unstable character, the two genki warriors mightily clash their fantasy swords and devastatingly fracture all manner of normality this interim had going for it.

“So that's your universe's Haruhi-clone, huh?” Kyonko asks me light-heartedly with a pat on my back, surprising me a little.

“E-e-err! --Yes, ..yes. I suppose Kaori is a little similar to Haruhi, except..”

Whoa, Kaori is running up along the wall to deliver a diagonal 'Falling Leaf' attack, while Haruhiko's Energy Shield barely holds. The Covenant Plasma Rifle is still overheated, Haruhiko should really employ small rapid bursts instead of using it for prolonged suppression fire.

“Except what?” Kyonko asks, as she sips coffee from my pink mug. --Hey!

“Well... Kaori is a little more-- caring.” I say that, while Kaori tries to use her favourite brand of attack, with Haruhiko narrowly stopping her from calling down a 'Planet Cracker'.

“Hmm, an attack that would incinerate us all. I can tell she cares.” Kyonko remarks, and takes another sip of my coffee.

“Hey Kyonko! Up for some StarCraft RPG?” Rai asks over the din of plasma shots and other assorted sci-fi sound effects roaring hard and fast, culminating in the blinding flash of a Kaio-ken x100 Optic Blast going off.

“Sure! Can I play as Valerian?” Kyonko asks ever eagerly. --Why would she want to play as him?

“I'll be Gabriel Tosh this time!” Sasha adds.

'A suitable role for him,' I think to myself, and imagine Sasha speaking like Tosh; 'Arrr! We'll make a pirate out of you yet, Raynor-san, Eh Heh Heh Heh Heh~!'

I remember Sasha mentioning that he only played as Arcturus Mengsk to “protect” Nova, and that taking on old-age gives extra wisdom points.

“You in? Iwanako?” Sasha asks charmingly, while Rai and Shizuo look at me expectantly. Kyonko is polite enough to give me a cursory gaze.

“Yeah, okay. I'm in.”

Kaori and Haruhiko engage in an earth-shattering mecha-armour energy-beam tug-of-war behind me, as I join Rai again in the Zerg Swarm, and hopefully, this time we could all peacefully board a Protoss Mothership together, and wander among the brilliant stars. Discovering strange new worlds hidden in the twinkling horizons, exploring the infinite ends of the final frontier, and boldly go where no one has gone before!

Dunn! Dun DUN-dun! Dun DUN-dun!

I hear the sharp clicks, chirping from his echolocation device, softly muffled by the door on which he knocks.

“Come in.”

The door opens soundless and graceful, revealing the noisy clicks and his young handsome face, weathered with a measure of sorrow hidden behind cloudy blue eyes.

He listens intently, trying to place me by the unnoticeable brushes and rustles I make, then facing me proper, he greets me warmly, “Good Afternoon Principal.”

Bowing politely, he closes the door and navigates himself to the chair. I still returned the bow, and gestured for him to have a seat, subtly he must perceive my motions and perhaps appreciates the discretion.

He thanks me with another bow, as I pour him a cup of tea. My lips curve up slightly in amusement, thinking how Satou is rarely this well-mannered.

“What did you want with me, Principal?”

My small smile fades slightly, it seems Satou's refinement only lasts for as long as he remembers to keep it up.

“I wish to spend some time with you, Mr. Satou.” I try to speak casually, as Satou does, “We haven't shared a meeting since-”

“Don't address me as 'Mr. Satou', please.” Satou exclaims, unexpectedly and rather animatedly. “For a moment there it makes it sound like you were talking to my Pa. I don't.. like that. ...Sorry.”

Quite agitated..., much more than his usual demeanor would excuse.

“I apologize, Satou.”

He falls silent, wishing he hadn't spoken up so rudely. I think quietly for a moment, attempting to continue the conversation.

“'Satou' isn't an alias, it's your mother's family name.” I gently say but firmly assert, “I had assumed you would be comfortable adopting it, well into adulthood.”

“Yeah, but, ..I haven't even graduated yet. Calling me that reminds me of how-- small, I am, in the world.”

'How small we are... in the world.' Those words echo in my mind.

“I-I am sorry, Principal, I shouldn't have-- I don't know why I'm so angry lately.”

I look hard into Satou's eyes, and I see fear, resentment, confusion, the same emotions that haunted me, that clouded my thoughts and plagued my mind, when I made the same decisions, when I faced the same choices, ..that forever defined me.

For a moment, for an eternity in a minute, time turns back to the very moments I regret, and I'm lost in forgotten thoughts, buried memories drowning out the walls of my office. And I see her... my love. --My soulmate.

“.....Principal?”

“P-Pardon?”

Reality confines me again, within the walls of my office. The heavy guilt never left me, still affirming me of its unbearable weight over my heart. Satou is still waiting for my reply.

I quickly hide my sorrows with a smile, and assure him nothing is wrong. I was just.. remembering someone.

A sighted person would have been persuaded, but Satou can't see my convincing smile, and his own concerns have helped him identify with the worrisome tone in my words.

I surrender my facade with a sigh, I don't wish to lie to Satou.

“Satou..”

“Forget the formality, please, call me Lionel, ..if that is alright by you.”

I ponder, for a long while in deep consideration. Then I nod, and finally speak again.

“You are brash, and very honest.”

“Heh, Ikezawa only sees the 'brash' part as worth mentioning.”

“But being too honest with your emotions has its own drawbacks.”

Satou seems stunned by what I said. He stays quiet, and seconds pass by.

“Satou.., Lionel. --Can I tell you a story?”

Furious running wheels jolted for me to awake, rudely and industriously clacking on the tracks, drawing attention to the roaring symphony of sharp hissing friction and loud harsh metal, while the undercarriage shimmied against the train's brutal unceasing rush over gravel.

I put aside the '1001 Arabian Nights' in my hands, adjusted my can-can hat, and drew the curtains in my dark wooden cabin, letting the marvelous reach of the view outside come to light my day.

From the white seagulls and lively ports of sunny seas, to sparrow flocks calling over wild open prairies, the awing peaks blue and white through the fog of distance, high and grand in watching over me as I welcomed a land of wondrous beauty into my heart.

The land of hope that proudly heard my dreams, the home of the brave that had embraced weary travelers, the eden of freedom that forged a pure spirit in all. The mythical world of bristling forests, of majestic mountains powerful with rugged beauty, of great vastness that challenged us to be strong, and we would find proud solace in the calm serenity of its unending wind-swept plains.

The conquered frontier..... of America.



[OP: O, America! by Celtic Woman]

K-Shounen!

One More Act: Graduation (part 4)



A clinking stir of tea was softly ringing me with memory, the slow days of the long journey had impressed a lonely solace upon me.

“So what brings you to Brown University? Aiwana-san?”

With the chinaware trembling in her grip, she confidently brought me my cup of tea, her proud smile earned her my warm gratitude.

“My name is not 'Aiwana', Ms. O'Connell.”

But I didn't mind the awkward nickname, her voice was sweet as honey, whatever misinterpreted name or misunderstood words that she so happily spoke with all her heart, it felt heavenly for me just to hear.

“But.. I've been calling you Aiwana-san since the day we met, won't it be kind of strange if I suddenly called you another name? I mean, you always call me 'Ms. O'Connell', like I'm a teacher here, even though I was the one who thought you came here to teach economy, and not study economy. I mean, my friends all call me 'Sally', but everyone calls me 'Sally' really, even if they're not really my friends. But I don't have a lot of friends, but I like to think I have a lot of friends anyway, so that works too. …..Right?”

Her logic was.. curious.

“Shall I-- address you as just 'Sally', then?”

“....., Does that mean you'd be my friend?”

I had to blink a few times before I responded, “I'm already your friend.”

“Yeah but, it's like you'd be closer to me, if you call me 'Sally', I mean, it's like-- we'll be best friends. And I've never had a best friend before. All my other friends are just, classmates and people who know me and I know them, and-”

“You seem rather excited whenever I talk to you, ...Sally.”

She was rather open and talkative to other students and members of faculty, but because we were both Japanese students in an American University, she became quite nervous and perhaps fascinated with me, as if I were an exotic creature from our native homeland.

“Well I-I-I'm a little, surprised, a-and a little happy, that you're from Japan.”

“And I am pleasantly surprised myself, Sally. On the subject of which; may I ask which region and prefecture you are from?”

“Chinatown. Los Angeles.”

I had to blink for a few moments again, before formulating a response, “Come again?”

“I.. I come from Chinatown.”

“You've said that.”

“I know.”

Silent and still, it was uncharacteristic of her, almost eerie to have seen her so... quiet.

“I'm from the mainland island, the former capital of Kyoto. I was-- born in Hiroshima.” I said with measured grace. I noticed my own reluctance to speak about my own area of origin. “My father moved us to Kyoto, after..”

Sally looked at me, with.. sadness? Or perhaps pity? ...Maybe even guilt?

“I was born in an internment camp. Heart Mountain. --I don't remember it.” She spoke without looking at me, her eyes shadowed by the past. “I was raised in an orphanage. In Chinatown. Went to school there, ..grew up there.”

Mentioning her childhood, Sally gripped her cane strongly, as much as her poor grasp allowed, before easing her grip, and letting go of painful thoughts in her mind.

I did not anticipate that I would meet a fellow Japanese student, much less be her hallmate in the dormitory, and even less that our pasts were similarly wrought by the recent war. Though I really shouldn't be surprised.

“It makes sense.”

“Huh?” Sally asks me, catching me speaking aloud.

“Ahh.. P-Pardon, I didn't mean to speak aloud. I was-- thinking, that we are both Japanese, and they must have placed our living quarters so close to each other as part of an 'unofficial' segregation, from the Anglo-Saxon majority. Immigration to America is heavily restricted as well, ..so it would be far less likely if you weren't at least Nisei, and if you weren't also incarcerated in a concentration camp.”

“I wasn't.. incarcerated, not long anyway. I was born....., and they took me away. Out of that place, ..'special treatment', ..because of my condition.”

I look to the cane, she always had it with her, I assumed it was perhaps a spinal injury, I didn't think she was..

“I was born with a muscle disease.” She spoke with a tear trickling over her dazzling smile, “I lose muscle control every now and again, eventually I'll lose my ability to walk, talk, ..eat, breathe, …..everything.”

I was blinking and lost for words, not even sure how to respond.

“Sally.. I trust you with this, since you've told me about your own.”

“H-Hmm?” She questioned quietly, softly wiping away her tears.

“I have a weak heart. It's not as serious as your condition, but.. it is fatal. The clinic said my heart was --“malformed”. Careless impact or uncontrolled emotions can stop my heart, entirely.”

“Wha.. what? Did you-- did you tell the staff people?”

“No one knows. If they did, the immigration officials would have arrested me I suspect, and I would lose the scholarship to study here.”

“But that.. you could die! Right? If you're not careful?”

“My parents told me to never disclose of my affliction. Even if it is now a fraud to keep quiet.”

“Why?!”

“I don't know. Probably because it would bring more shame to them. My father lost.. the war. Both of his legs were amputated to save his life. If I were to reveal that I was 'unfit' to society as well, our family's honor would be completely tattered.”

“What does that matter when your life is cut short?”

She didn't realize how loud she was, I'm sure if someone heard, I would be immediately brought to the Office of Residential Life in Wayland House, and severely questioned about what was being yelled.

I looked to the door, visually confirming that it is closed. And reminded myself that the other rooms in our dormitory hall are unoccupied.

Turning back to her, but without looking at her, I replied “'Dishonor is worse than death', my father said to me.”

“Are you nuts? Look at me! Look at the 'dishonor' I'm going to be! I'll... Lying on a bed! Trapped by my own ugly body, depending on someone to feed me, I can't even go the bathroom with any dignity! And.. and...”

“I.. I did not mean to... Sally, I apologize.”

“That's not what I'm talking about! Don't you care about your life? What if some mean kid pushed you really hard? What if you slipped in the bath and no one was there to help you? And you had to force yourself up to the doctor to treat the bruises that were bleeding inside? No, that's.. this isn't about me! What if.. what if I wasn't there when we first met? …..Would you have died?”

I thought hard on her valid question. And quietly answered. “Yes. ...Yes, I would have died, Sally. If you weren't there for me, I would never have been able to be your friend.”

Perhaps it was an exaggeration, but I did not think it was, as I spoke with honesty.

I was trudging through the soft blankets of snow and braving sharp whispers of winter wind, following directions and instructions given, finding my path alone on the day I arrived.

Andrews Hall building, my designated dormitory accommodation. It had elevators, a dining hall. Large rooms, complete with sink and medicine chest. Just like the ship I had endured for almost a month of seafaring.

I was amusing myself with economical predictions and projections, randomly thinking of Nostradamus, and muttering my room number 'one-one-seven', when my luggage slipped from my grip, landing on soft pillows of snow as I collapsed on my knees. My vision flashing brightly amidst glimpses of cold empty darkness.

I didn't realize my heart was stopping, perhaps I was tired from the long journey, perhaps American winter was more than I was used to in Southern Japan, ..but it was beautiful. I thought of the shadowy ashes falling like snow in the dark burning of Hiroshima, and thought how poetic and peaceful it was that I should come to rest in the pure whiteness of New England's snowfall.

Then out of the blue sky disappearing above me, came the white shelter of a traditional Chinese parasol. I didn't know her name, or could hear what she was saying, but with the strength of her heart she helped me to my feet, and comforted me with her dazzling smile. Listening to the honey in her voice, I believed in her and her wobbly steps, leaning on her sturdy shoulders as she leaned on her trusty cane, and I walked back into living reality from the black-and-white memory of snow and Hiroshima. I let my shadows slip away in her warm embrace.

Her name was Sally O'Connell.

'A beautiful name', I must have thought. 'American-Irish? Perhaps?' I sat on a bench in the hall, staring at the entrance doors that glowed bright white from snow and light. My dropped luggage was still outside. It took my fainting mind long enough to recognize that her facial features were Japanese, --or at least Asian.

She suddenly came back to me, carefully holding a steaming mug in her shaking hands. It was almost magical to have beheld her emerging from hollow shadows and hurrying eagerly into winter's light; her brown-blonde hair was incredibly distinct, her red apple-earrings were quaint. Her cuffs hiding her palms, ..her beautiful palms, she always wore a frilly white blouse and long blue skirt, and had rather adorable little red shoes. She was the most beautiful person I have ever seen.

As I recovered, drinking the warm mug of heavenly cocoa she brought me, I was shocked when she suddenly took off my can-can hat, it was the only one of my grandfather's many favorite hats, forgotten long ago and left hanging for years on a crowded coat hanger, surprisingly found again on the same summer day and passed down to me from a family friend, long after we had lost grandfather and grandmother in Hiroshima.

I didn't move or say anything, as she dusted the snow off my hat, and remarked how cute it was. She really liked the red ribbon and velvet band encircling the beige-white straw, she commented how it matched my red belt, noticeable from my entirely white, sophisticated European-style clothing. But she added that it was far from being Straw Hat Day.

“I like my hat.” I uttered rudely. And took it from her, almost snatching it out of her frail hold, and adjusted it properly as I wore it back on my head, making sure the ribbon faced to the left, like how grandfather wore it proudly in a photograph.

“Huh..” she muttered not unlike a sad puppy, “I wish I had a cute hat.”

She was positively endearing.

I think her funny personality and childlike wonder with me was what drew me to like her so much, we would have been good friends already, given the trusting circumstances in which we met, and that we were each other's only hallmates. Both of us were also displaced Japanese, despite her being raised by Chinese culture.

Her study of art was.. odd, for want of a proper description. Her physical condition should prohibit her from accomplishing any fine endeavor on canvas, but failing motor skills never stopped her from succeeding in her mind, and she accurately reproduced a few artworks from Picasso's 'Blue Period', albeit they were all really tiny-sized reproductions, as she said full-scale recreations would have taken too long, and were not as “cute”.

A novelty market would suit her well, and I explained and expounded how she could sell her disability to mask her ethnicity, since racial prejudice was a discouragement to sales, and that her passionate personality despite her disability may earn her loyal patronage instead.

But she brushed aside my callous remarks and instead talked about her favorite things. Almost humming a song about some of her favorite things.

Cute fluffy kittens and raindrops and puddles, from Jorge Luis Borges to Auntie Won Ton's Noodles. The Aiwana fish that she thought was the Fugu, but that wasn't one of her favorite things. Cream colored ice-cream and her cherry apple earrings. Pretty white dresses and swans during winter, a warm turkey sandwich with free soup for a quarter. Those were just some of her favorite things.

I remarked that she had a lot of food items, listed as favorite things. And it's not 'Ai-wana', that meant something else entirely, something that would actually rhyme with Captain von Trapp. She must have been thinking of the common Japanese trout. Also, I was muttering 'I want to go home' when we first met, and she misheard my ramblings about apples falling up, and somehow thought it was my name.

“Awwww~” she whined, just to amuse me.

I also told her the Fugu fish was incredibly dangerous to eat, unless she knew someone who had experience preparing it.

“No... it's just, sometimes, when the mean kids made fun of me, and threw my old cane into a passing dumpster truck, or made me cry just to see hate burning in my eyes, I wished I could stick a blowfish into each of their throats, and watch them all suffer like I do. Paralyzed on the floor, looking back at me helpless.. ...umm, sorry, I never told anyone anything like that before, ever, I swear. ..I'm not a good person at all, am I?”

“You shouldn't think that, Sally. The paralysis is fatal. Some poor fisherman even use it to commit suicide to try and claim insurance for their family, or even murder to take over a rival's business.”

She smiled, she always smiled, no matter what poor choice of conversation I made.

Suddenly she perked her head up, and rushed to her radio, turning up the volume.

“Dance with me!” She exclaimed and pulled on my hands.

An Elvis Presley song... 'Jailhouse Rock', she pulled me up to my feet, I didn't even think to protest as she led me to imitate her groovy dance moves, enjoying ourselves with lively routines and silly gestures, restrained by our disabilities but still wild with joy, I caught myself smiling in my heart along with her.

It was the first time I ever danced with a girl, also the first time I felt free and alive to move as I pleased, happy enough that I laughed as she pretended to sing, even using her cane in place of a microphone. She held my hands, guided my steps, and pulled us together into an embrace. In excitement and elation, in a moment free of hesitation, we kissed each other.


It was my first kiss..

If our disabilities were our prisons, Sally had found the key to free us both, looking out into the distance, at the black iron gates opening into our freedom, we held each other tightly, hand-in-hand against the torture of our miserable pasts, and walked together towards a future shared in hope.

[Insert Song: In The Ghetto by Elvis Presley]

What did those around us think? What would my parents say? If I announced my love for Sally?

The dark thoughts dawned on me as I said goodnight, and let go of her hands, quietly walking through the shadows and returned to my room.

If I told anyone, they would hurl ugly things and throw me off their land, my own parents would do worse, I was sure of it. Sally may be ethnically Japanese, but she was born American, Chinese-raised, and a frail dying woman. My parents would see it as a shame, be disgusted, and hate me. My heart was doomed to break before it even had a chance to love her.

Maybe if Sally was.. no. It was impossible to lie, she was far more fluent in English and Chinese than Japanese. Logically; Little Tokyo was a ghost town when she was born, she had no one. And my parents would despise anyone who was raised in a concentration camp. Our family served proudly in the army, my parents were cruelly nationalistic to a fault, my father once said anyone with true Japanese blood should have killed themselves honorably, rather than have accepted the humiliation of incarceration, and tainted their future generations with the shame of having lived in a prison town.

It made no sense to me, but I obeyed anyway, I already knew what they would say. And forced myself to stay away from Sally. The woman I was happy to love with all my heart, the trembling girl who found love and strength in my arms. The frail dying woman with the dazzling smile, who spoke with honey in her voice and lived with a spirit so lively, despite being born in a ghetto founded on war and racism.

It hurt her far more than it did me. She blamed herself, thinking I couldn't bear it, that it was her disability that scared me, that I couldn't love a living flit of ash fading into dust, as each passing day was one less breath away, from her being bedridden until death. If I loved her, if I truly loved her, I would be forced to care for her, I would be forced to watch her dazzling smile slowly wither away.. to skin and bone before my very eyes, a sickly sight of her that would torture my soul, and I would live in agony with the beautiful pain of loving her.

If in weariness I were to let cruel honesty slip through my smile, she would see her ugly self, reflected in my own suffering eyes as I look after her in her frailty, her heart would break if mine was still beating, and we both would hope to die. I would wish she met someone else who was strong of heart, and perhaps she would want my heart to belong to a stronger person. ...At the distant looming end of our shared future, we already knew we never should have met.

I kept quiet, said nothing, as the distance grew cold to the heart, and our smiles became shadows in the dark.

[Insert Song: Silent Night by Elvis Presley]

Our first Christmas together... went by in white darkness of winter.

She boiled water.. she didn't add sugar, ..she quietly drank strong tea. 'It's bitter, Sally', I whispered to her, as I imagined her alone, facing the shadows of falling snow, lonely and cold by the window, listening to her radio. ...I listened. ...I listened from beyond her door, lying still in my bed.

In the cold emptiness between us, in the distance of our lost embrace, I tried to catch the tears in my heart, but through my weak grip, my hat fell on the floor. I didn't try to pick it up, I could only wonder if she heard, ..if she heard the sadness in my soul, from beyond the closed door of our hearts.

But we kept quiet, we said nothing. Our world was a black-and-white dream of frozen memory, our hearts couldn't awake in the ice.

Our pasts were black shadows of sorrow, our future so cold and white with eternal snow.

I waited for spring, for worldly warmth that would perhaps come to melt the winter in our souls.

I was half-awake, half-dreaming.. about the thin sea of snow, still veiling the bristling grass and blooming flowers. The scent of spring was on my mind, memories of it bringing a nostalgic smile to me, when I was rudely woken up by a furious knocking on my door. I was afraid something had happened to her, and I screamed her name in my mind as I unlocked the door, completely forgetting my relative undress.

Sally however, was in a striking red cheongsam, her brown-blonde hair was done up neatly in a bun with long traditional pins.

“Gong Xi Fa Cai!” She shouted eagerly, with a red packet thrust excitedly into my face.

[Insert Song: A Little Less Conversation by Elvis Presley]

I heard that she could get.. 'animated', when Chinese New Year came around, when everyone would “brace themselves” for her effusive greetings. It was another one of Sally's many extraordinary behaviors that I learned of, and I decided that the applied description of 'animated', was quite an understatement.

She would hand out a cultural 'Hong Bao' (a red packet filled with money) to anyone she happened to come across, not stopping for anything else under the sky, festively skipping on her way to liven up every door of every dorm within reach and reason. With “reach and reason” defined as “the students' patience and the faculty's tolerance”.

After quickly dressing myself proper, and from my window saw her excitedly running across the snow-covered grounds, I slowly opened the delicate, hand-painted Hong Bao she gave me; eight dollars was inside, with a red note goldenly saying 'Wo Ai Ni'.

By general estimation: if that year and the year before she gave the same amount to everyone whom was “happily visited”, Sally must have given out 'Two Thousand One Hundred Forty Two Dollars and Twenty Five Cents Only' (adjusted for inflation). All in cold hard cash, ..or rather, happy celebratory cash.

I was stunned daffy, 'where did she obtain so much money?!' I thought. Asking the other students calmed my fears; they all only received a note in their Hong Baos, saying 'Happy Chinese New Year! I Owe You For Not Getting Angry! And See You Again Next Year! P.S. You're not supposed to open this immediately, you have to wait a while. It's the thought that counts, not the amount.'

The amount was precisely zero, Sally, and while your thoughts were your own, and incomprehensibly so, I was afraid that your ends were not only none of your own, they were the annoyance of everyone whom you loudly greeted 'Happy New Year!' on campus. In the middle of February.

Walking into white brightness of winter tenderly embracing spring, I tried to catch and hold her in the snow, I ran a hundred different thoughts in my mind, trying to understand Sally's behavior, as she ran a hundred miles per hour and collided with me, knocking both of us over.

I closed my eyes, put my hands over my heart, and fell to rest on a bed of gentle snow and soft grass.

She crawled to me, shaking me wildly, screaming my silly nickname.

I slowly opened my eyes, and with a smile I said “Aishiteru.”

“Don't scare me like that!” She shouted and shoveled a spray of snow onto my face, a freezing wet splash that seared me to a startle with its burning cold.

I sat up and frantically brushed off the alarmingly cold crystal moistures from my reddened face, and apparently became an amusement to Sally, as she laughed at my shiverings. With a playful stare, I gave a swipe at the feathery whiteness, my bare hand brushing over icy grass to send her an electrifying dash of cold, a pillow of snow fully powdering her face.

“Hey!” She screamed and ducked instinctively, before tackling me back onto the grass, and kissed me deeply into the snow.

“Sally...” I whispered, breaking away from her lips. “What if someone sees us?”

“So what if they do? I love you.” She almost cried as she spoke. Her hair coming undone, long brown-blonde strands seemed to trace where her tears would fall.

“But..” I said and stop, a hundred different reasons seemed to blur away when she held me down in our white bed of snow, pressing her body warmly on mine in her red cheongsam, her legs and thighs brushing against me bare and beautiful, all of her was exciting me amorously.

“I...” I wanted to say 'I love you', but I couldn't. I explained it, all of it, my parents, our futures, how we are both 'Love Traps' to each other. Our disabilities already destroyed our happiness before we even had it.

Anger flashed darkly on her face, before it quickly faded, and gently returned to me the wistful softness in her eyes.

[Insert Song: Can't Help Falling In Love by Elvis Presley]

“Aiwana.., my love... Do what you feel in your heart to be right, for you'll be damned either way.”

“..., Eleanor Roosevelt.”

“Yes. She's an amazing woman, you know? She gave me hope, when hope was gone. She gave me strength, to journey on.”

“Sally.. what if..., what if I die? Before you? Who would look after you-- in your later days?”

“I'm not sure... certainly not my friends. And I don't want to burden Auntie Won Ton who's already seventy nine years old, ..hmm. But you know?”

She kissed me deeply, ..before softly saying.

“Yesterday is a history past changing. Tomorrow is a mystery beyond predicting. But 'Today', Today is special, Today is a choice, to either give in to misery, or share with others a fond memory. To make a gift, for yourself, and for another living being. To live your life, happily for yourself, and full of meaning for someone you love. I like to think it's for this reason, they call it 'the present'.”

Her words moved me, stirring deep inside me, the memories.. of falling into a well, as Hiroshima fell. Of grandfather scolding me to bow at a cursed rifle, of grandmother giving me another otoshidama-bukuro to buy a pet turtle.

I hated my father, for leaving me to go to war. I hated my mother, for leaving me to visit her sick sister. I cried for both of them, for grandfather and grandmother, as I climbed out of the well, and into a world of ash and light.

I took my father's rifle, I wanted to throw it into the well, and never see it again. But I heard the distant thunders of American planes. I only saw one. I steadied the rifle, and fixed my aim. I pulled the trigger as the first atomic bomb dropped. I was knocked back into the well, the sky became a shrinking hole in a howling void of quick darkness. I fell into a wet echoing abyss, as the world brightened and blinded me with a flash of white, as the clouds blackened into flames and frightened me.

But I climbed out of it. Days later, hungry and cold. I was crying, my heart was seizing, but I climbed out. Into the shadows, into flames, into light...

“Aiwana?” Sally's voice was spoken clear as snow.

“Sally, I treasure my life. I've forgotten how precious it is. I should have died, a long time ago, for a hundred different reasons. Yet I'm here. With you. What are the chances? It's beyond calculating. If my father had chosen to die honorably rather than live a cripple, I wouldn't have moved to Kyoto. I would have stayed with my mother and aunt. I would have died if I didn't wander to the outskirts, if the soldiers didn't spot me, and rescued me from trudging through the ashes. I shouldn't be here at all, for a hundred different reasons, starting when Hiroshima died. Yet I went to school in Kyoto, as if everything was normal.”

“I-I had no idea.. you could survive... you must have been blessed by God to-”

“I used to join the other kids, and threw rocks at the windows, harassing the American factories. They came to rebuild our industry. America's own companies didn't want to associate with their own military. Japan slowly improved, and we started making engines and inventing technologies we never could before. In school, as they taught numbers and nationalism, I learned that the world is only about money and psychology. Everything is predictable, calculate the resources and factor in human behavior. Nothing is extraordinary, nothing is worth living for. And I forgot how beautiful life is.”

I softly stroked her hair, before delicately continuing.

“But somehow.. you reminded me. You reminded me, that life is worth something, that living is worth everything, even if it can be taken away.”

Quietly, warmth of tears clouded my eyes, but she tenderly caught them, and I saw her beautiful face again.

“I regret my last moments with grandfather and grandmother, I was a bad child. I was stubborn. I made a mess of grandfather's favorite hats, and I let grandmother dote on me. I want one last chance to say I'm sorry, to put everything back neatly the way it was. To look after grandfather and grandmother, in their later days, because I know they loved me, no matter what. But with just a single atom being divided..... I lost them... I climbed out of the well on my own...”

She held me, we both stopped trying to hold back our tears.

“Life is unpredictable. Life is beautiful. Life is a miracle. And I love you, for reminding me so.”

She sobbed with me, sharing warm tears amidst cold snow, as my heart beat sharply in her weak hold.


“Wo Ai Ni! Wo Ai Ni!”


“..., Aishite imasu.”



In '爱'... and '哀'.

In Love and Suffering.

We would be together, forever. Forever and a day. No matter the odds. No matter what. There was only 'Today', and tomorrow was just another day.

“So you.. stayed with her?” Satou asks me kindly, pulling me back from losing myself in memories.

“Y-Yes... I let myself love her.” I try to say calmly, sipping my cup of tea, only to find that it's empty.

“What happened? After that?”

It's a simple question, from a student I am fond of, and have high hopes for. Yet I feel anger, hatred even, to have to answer it.

“That's a different story, Satou.”

“What? What do you mean? It's still the same story.”

“We all have to decide our own destinies. My choices were mine, and you have yours. And because you are so conflicted now, as I was then, I told you..... what I told you.”

“So... the story doesn't have a happy ending, does it?”

I rested my cup loudly on the plate, startling Satou with the sharp clattering of an answer.