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I said a while ago that I was thinking about doing that, and I was serious. So today I had a lot of free time, and I said "hell, why not", and that was the result. A short... wordy-thingy from the bizzaro universe of Katawa Shoujo (see my "alternate disabilities" thread), starring an albino Lilly as the narrator and blind Hanako as a breathing prop. I thought about starting from the beginning and writing something about Hisao, but it didn't work out.

A Little White Lie

The air inside the dark room feels heavy, slow, and sleepy.
I find such places strangely comforting. It's a hard feeling to describe, like being embraced by the darkness and the air.
I know it sounds like the lyrics for one of those awful rock songs one hears once in a while, screamed by singers in ridiculous clothes who would like the entire world to know just how miserable they are, being rich and famous; but I mean it, I really do.
It's like a mother's hug. It makes you feel safe. It makes you feel loved.

The classroom is dark and warm because the shutters behind the windows are all closed, and so is the door at its far end. What little light there is comes from the few lamps that I decided to turn on a few hours ago; a pale, artificial light that melts right into the surrounding air.
The silence is unbroken, except for the rhythmic sounds of my heartbeat, my breath, and the ticking clock on the wall. Music that fills your entire being might as well not be there at all.

I am happy with this, though: it's how I like things to be. I like darkness. I like silence.
Does that make me a gloomy, brooding type of person, I wonder?
No matter what others may say, I don't think it does. Light and noise are overrated, both things I dislike. I like being able to see, of course, and I even like music.
But the bright light found in most rooms hurts my eyes, and sunlight is even worse. Noise… noise is just unpleasant, and the world is too full of it.
The darkness won't bother the person sitting before me. I'm not even sure if she is aware of it.

I put my now-empty teacup back on the table in front of me, a faint, hollow tink echoing in the heavy air. I straighten my back against the small chair, resting my palms as is proper. Even though I know it's all meaningless in this particular case, old habits die hard.
The bitter-sweet taste of the hot tea lingers in my mouth. I contemplate it for a short while, as if it was some sort of precious, vintage wine.
To say the truth, it wasn't very tasty; watery and thin, although it could be that I'm just being overly critical of it. Still, drinking it felt good.

It's been more than a year since we first met, and we sit here and drink tea almost every day. Yet this was only the fifth or maybe the sixth time that she asked me, ever so shyly, to try and make it on her own.
Usually I make the tea, because to be honest, I'm far better at it. But she's improving every time, and bad as it might be, I'm always happy to drink what she makes.
It makes her proud, it gives her confidence. It makes her feel appreciated. She could use some pride and some confidence, and appreciation.

Besides she has an excuse, more so than most people, even here.
I can't imagine being able to do even something as simple as that blindly. It isn't like my own vision is very good; but I can see, as long as I have my glasses. She can't.
Blindness, what a horrible condition. To be surrounded by complete darkness at all times… It must be like living in a nightmare.
I have met blind people before, of course. This school has three classes full of them, and many seemed as happy and well adjusted as any other person I have met. But I can't see myself - and I inwardly wince at using that word - in that situation at all.
Not being able to see where I am going, what I am touching, who is speaking to me. I wouldn't be able to read, or play any instrument. The most trivial things would be difficult.

I asked her, long ago, what she missed most about being able to see. She talked about all sorts of stuff, which was nice since she doesn't usually talk a lot, especially about things like that.
She missed the trees, and the sky, and playing chess. I felt bad about not being able to do much about the first two - I don't go outside very often, myself. But I thought I could help her with the last.
It took me a while, but in the end I managed to convince Misha to convince Shizune to let me borrow a chess set, in return for doing some chores for the student council. It was a bit tiring but I felt like it was worth it.
Then I needed to convince her to actually give it a try, since she gave up on the whole thing many months ago.
She really insisted that I play white. Was it anybody else, I might have felt a bit insulted, perhaps. Just a tiny pang as an old scar reopened for an instant, then closed again.
But that couldn't be the case with her. She'd have no reason to insult me, would she?
It seems that she just wanted me to have a slight advantage. We started playing, and I described to her every move I made with words, letters and numbers, and she would describe her own move, and I would move the pieces around on the board. I'm not a very good player, but it isn't like I was playing to win, anyway.
She managed to play that way, memorizing each piece's position at any given time, for about half an hour. But then she started messing things up and got extremely frustrated about it.
She almost cried, and I felt like crying myself, because I thought my attempt to help had just ended up pouring salt into her wounds. I didn't, of course. That would have been the worst thing to do in such a situation.

I calmed her down, in the end, and we haven't tried anything like that ever since. But I haven't lost hope, and would like to believe that neither did she. Not chess, perhaps, not the same things she missed about being able to see. What's done is done, and I don't think she'll ever be able to regain her sight. I won't say it to her face, of course, but I think that she knows it herself all too well. But there would be other games, other things for her to enjoy. Even if time may not heal all wounds, with time, people get used to their conditions. They learn to live with them, and to enjoy life.
This school has sick students, amputees, deaf student, and I have already mentioned the many blind ones.

They all get used to it, in the end, because they have to. They can read just fine, even though it seems so difficult. You can't help feeling inspired.
Except for this girl. She doesn't get used to it, not really. This is why I try to help her, perhaps.
Is it out of pity? Not unless a mother's love for her child stems out of pity. And even if it did, on some deeper level, I don't care. I don't pity her. I just help her, that's all. Merely by being her friend, by drinking tea with her in this dark room almost every day, I'm helping her.

How ideal.

It takes her a few more minutes to finish her tea. She drinks slowly, as if afraid, like she does everything else. She puts her own cup back on the table, and thanks me shyly, even though I didn't do anything this time.
I smile, even though I know she can't see it, and tell her that it was wonderful. She smiles just a little, and it makes my day.
She'd never believe you if you said that, but she has a beautiful smile. Overall, she's a beautiful girl. That smooth, dark hair, and the innocent face. Almost angelic, in a way, although most people have a mysteriously hard time imagining a black-haired angel.

When I was younger, people told me that spending time in the sun makes the skin darker. It's mostly genetic, of course, but the sun can change that.
I tried that a few times, but it never really worked. My sister said it technically did, red being darker than white. She was trying to cheer me up, of course, and she succeeded. She usually does.
My sister doesn't have any of my problems. Her skin is fine, her eyes are fine. Sometimes I think that maybe I should have been jealous, hateful, even if just a little bit, deep inside.
Even if I was, though, I never thought about it. She's a great sister, and a great person. Skin has nothing to do with it.

Anyway, I gave up on dark hair long ago. I gave up on trying to walk under the sun until my skin gets completely cooked. It's not good or bad; it's just how things are.
But I do remember that when I first met Hanako, her hair was one of the first things that caught my eye. Black hair isn't exactly rare around these parts, but beauty is, as it is anywhere. And this kind of beauty is truly unique.

I remember very well the first time I met her; it was right after she transferred to this school.
No matter what people may tell you, getting used to a new place is never easy. It takes time to make friends, to learn how to find your way around, maybe even to get used to the language. But some people have it harder than others.
I remember the beautiful girl with the dark hair standing by the wall in the corridor, twitching nervously, moving her head from side to side as people passed by her. Stiff, shaking, as if trying to just melt into the wall behind her. Gripping her cane with both hands close to her body, afraid that it might somehow escape from her and run away.
I stood there for a minute, looking at her. It's impolite to stare, especially around here. Naturally, she didn't notice it. She looked like she needed help, and it looked like nobody was going to offer any.
It's one of the disadvantages of going to a place like this. No matter how miserable you look, people are not going to ask you if something's wrong, as someone may find that insulting. People around here don't like it when you take pity on them.
But in this girl, I saw myself a few years back. It's this kind of memories that shape your behavior the most.

So for once, I decided to ignore what could have been proper etiquette. I approached her slowly and carefully, and the first few times I tried to speak to her, she looked so startled and afraid you could think I was carrying a bloody knife in my hands.
I asked her if she was lost. She didn't respond.
A smart person may have given up at that point, but not a good person. I'd rather be the second, so I didn't.
I asked her where she was going, and she answered in a voice so quiet it made me wonder whether I was actually hearing it. She said she didn't know where to go.
"I'm Lilly," I told her. Such a simple introduction, using my first name, like talking to a little child. But it felt right at the time, somehow. I tried to smile for a moment, to look friendly, before I realized that there was really no use.
She refused to tell me her own name. She just nodded and left, walking very slowly and carefully, at one point tripping, sometimes bumping into people or objects, even with the cane. I wondered if she was born blind, and if she wasn't, for how long she had been.
It was the end of the first among many conversations, similarly short and awkward.
It took me many weeks to get her comfortable enough speaking to me that I could offer something as outrageous as eating lunch together. I made tea for both of us. She seemed to enjoy it. We sat there for a long time, mostly silent.

I remember that one of the first things she asked was "How do you look?"
It was a very strange question, and not because you don't expect to hear it from someone who can see; it's the people who can't see that you don't expect to ask such questions. Most of them don't care. But she did, for some reason, so I described myself.
I remember that she looked surprised for a moment, and then giggled quietly.

"Like a vampire?"

I was pretty stunned by the response, in more than one way. For starters, it confirmed my suspicions that she wasn't born blind. I didn't think someone who was born blind would make such a connection so quickly and intuitively.
But even more than that, I was honestly amazed by the sheer tactlessness. It had been years since someone said something like that to my face.
I didn't know if I should have been amused or angry. I mumbled for an instant, thinking about an answer, and just laughed nervously. Then I kept laughing, only it wasn't out of nervousness anymore. It suddenly hit me.
I made her giggle. Not on purpose, but I made her smile. You couldn't possibly be angry at someone like Hanako after seeing her smile for the first time like that, no matter what she said a minute ago.

"Yes, I guess I look like a vampire."

It may sound stupid and clichéd to you that I would get so emotional over such a thing, but quite often clichés have a basis in the real world. And you might think that in real life, these days, kids no longer turn other kids into social outcasts over things as petty as skin color.
You might be right, in which case it seems I was a rather unlucky person. Because even if it doesn't happen anymore anywhere else, it happened to me. Kids can do amazing things when they really try. Including, among other, better things, acts of great cruelty.
I was called a "vampire" before. And a "demon", a "witch" and a "ghost". I was the entire cast of a cheap horror novel and then some.
Your mind may be now filling with images of young girls dressed in eighteenth-century peasant dresses, running to the village priest because that person by the bridge must be a witch. Fear not, even religious kids these days know better. I doubt that anyone of them was actually afraid of me, or disgusted by me.
They were just kids, and they needed someone to pick on. I just happened to be there. I used to be bitter about it, but it was a long time ago. I moved on. Mostly. We all need to, at some point.
This may be why I managed to laugh like that when she said those words.
The students here are naturally far less prejudiced and far more accepting than in other places, and nobody called Hanako names or pulled idiotic pranks on her.
But she was lonely, just like I was. She was hurting, probably a lot more.
She needed help.

I look at my watch. It's getting late already. It's hard to notice the time passing when the windows are closed. I wonder if it would be wise to tell her about it.
She wasn't very talkative today, overall, but I don't mind. She has her own pace. She'll talk when she feels like it.
It's tiny steps like wanting to make tea by yourself that are at the beginning of the great journey.
"Was it really good?" she asks me again, breaking the silence.
"Of course it was," I answer. "You should try things like that more often."
And she smiles, of course.

A little white lie.

...........................................................................

Many, many thank to Silentcook for the edit.
Suggestions for improvement, nonetheless, are still more than welcome.
Good night, for now.

Little less self-deprecation, little more writings, please

This short isn't as bad as you're making it out to be, IMO. I actually think you managed to capture Lilly's personality quite well. And, well, Hanako's still Hanako Also, the ending just fits. Don't change that ">_>

Interesting take. Lilly seems almost...Kenji-ish.

Good form. =w=

I don't think a story absolutely needs plot. If your goal was to convey feelings and emotions, that's okay, too.
I have to agree that there are a lot of things that could be done better. I think the main issue is something you said yourself: When writing a story, it isn't important to write a lot in a short time. I'm currently working on two stories and both are progressing at a crawl. No matter, there's no deadline to meet.
Some concrete issues:
- Some parts are very hard to read. I had to read the opening paragraph three times to get what you were trying to say. It's a staccato of short sentences, some of them not even complete: "It's a hard feeling to describe. Like being embraced by the darkness and the air." This is one single thought. It would be much easier to follow if it were just one sentence.
- Also, your tenses are all over the place. This makes the story even harder to read.
- A few typos (cloths -> clothes; burrow -> borrow)
- Some lines just aren't Lilly... Try as I may, I can't imagine her saying things like "She smiles just a little, and it makes my day."

Most of those issues could be fixed by simply reading the text again once finished or having someone proofread it.
I hope this counts as "constructive"

Mirage_GSM wrote:- Some lines just aren't Lilly... Try as I may, I can't imagine her saying things like "She smiles just a little, and it makes my day."

Keep in mind that this is "Not-Lilly". Life as an albino person might have had a different effect on her than life as a blind person, which may be cause for slight differences as the one you quoted. Course, we could discuss this into the ground, but MoG would have the final say

Of course, it is his story, but I think his intention was to keep the characters as close to the original as possible.
And for the most part it worked - Lilly is still recognizable as Lilly, but some lines just don't fit her.

Most of those issues could be fixed by simply reading the text again once finished or having someone proofread it.
I hope this counts as "constructive"

It does, and it's very helpful. Thank you.
About writing a lot in a short time, I know it isn't the point, and I actually tried to keep things short, it's just that I didn't succeed
About it being hard to read, well... I guess I'll have to work harder, then. I thought that of all things, at least I'll manage to get language right, but if you are saying that it was a real problem, then I'll try harder. Tenses all over the place... I was afraid that would happen. English has way too many tenses, you know?
It's a difficult language.
And about lines that aren't Lilly, that's a very interesting point. Can you elaborate a little more? Because I think that's even more important than the language right now. As you have said yourself, I am trying to keep characters close to the original. What is it about Lilly's lines that didn't fit?

Edit: Leotrak, about her life being different: they would be, and I tried to work with that a little (whether I succeeded or not, that's another question), e.g. the whole "she helped her in the first place because she used be lonely herself" thing (although, now that you think about it, we don't really know that much about canon-Lilly, do we?...), but I am still trying to keep things more or less recognizable, you know what I mean? Different but similar.

Minister of Gloom wrote: English has way too many tenses, you know?

I do. German has the same number of tenses. Japanese is SO easy in comparison

And about lines that aren't Lilly, that's a very interesting point. Can you elaborate a little more? Because I think that's even more important than the language right now. As you have said yourself, I am trying to keep characters close to the original. What is it about Lilly's lines that didn't fit?

It's not all her lines. As I said, her character is still distinctly recognizable. It's just one or two parts that are off somehow. Without rereading the whole thing I'l just elaborate on the example I gave: "She smiles just a little, and it makes my day."
This is a very colloquial figure of speech, not at all fitting Lilly's refined speech. It's a line I would expect from Clint Eastwood.

I do. German has the same number of tenses. Japanese is SO easy in comparison

I don't know anything about Japanese, I just know that Hebrew only has four tenses, and even that's kind of a stretch (past, present, future, and imperative). Way easier, at least in this one way. In other ways, Hebrew can be very complex. If you had to ask me, i'd say that the thing that hits most English speakers the hardest when they try to learn Hebrew is the fact that it has no vowels. I mean, letters like A, E, U, O, Y, I. We have four of those, actually, but they are not used nearly as often. Most of the times the only way to know how a word is pronounced is either to simply memorize each combination of letters (So "דלת"(door), is written like "dlth". Everybody knows it should be pronounced "deleth", but if you don't know that, you could also end up saying "daleth", or "delath", or "dalath", or "daloth", or something like that) or to make an educated guess. Fun language.

It's not all her lines. As I said, her character is still distinctly recognizable. It's just one or two parts that are off somehow. Without rereading the whole thing I'l just elaborate on the example I gave: "She smiles just a little, and it makes my day."
This is a very colloquial figure of speech, not at all fitting Lilly's refined speech. It's a line I would expect from Clint Eastwood.

Oh, I see what you mean here. I'll try to keep it mind the next time I write from her point of view.

Also, important notice: Silentcook, in his infinite grace, made an edited version of the story, which I have replaced the old one with. It is now far more coherent and easy on the eye. It also allowed me to delete the big self-deprecation part, which I understand annoyed many of you.
Many thanks, again.
The only part which is really new is the eighth paragraph. Silentcook said the transition from the seventh to the ninth was too abrupt, so I attempted to fix this. I hope it went well.

Mirage_GSM wrote:

Minister of Gloom wrote: English has way too many tenses, you know?

I do. German has the same number of tenses. Japanese is SO easy in comparison

Japanese annihilated my sense of grammar when I tried to learn it. To an English speaker, Japanese is nowhere near easy to learn. @_@

Minister of Gloom wrote:I don't know anything about Japanese,

Japanese has only two tenses: present and past.
[/quote]I just know that Hebrew only has four tenses, and even that's kind of a stretch (past, present, future, and imperative).[/quote]
Imperative is not a tense, it's a mood.

Most of the times the only way to know how a word is pronounced is either to simply memorize each combination of letters (So "דלת"(door), is written like "dlth". Everybody knows it should be pronounced "deleth", but if you don't know that, you could also end up saying "daleth", or "delath", or "dalath", or "daloth", or something like that) or to make an educated guess. Fun language.

Ah, so it's quite similar to arabic then. Arabic is the only language so far, I gave up on after just one week...

Japanese annihilated my sense of grammar when I tried to learn it. To an English speaker, Japanese is nowhere near easy to learn.

Japanese has a very different grammar, but compared to most languages it is actually very simple. It gets more difficult, once you learn the different forms of politeness, but just to get by, those are more or less optional A gaijin will be forgiven for using the normal forms.

Inspired by a dramatic and interesting occurrence during school a few days ago, I have started working (very superficially) on another short scene, which will hopefully be less horrible. I will post it here, of course, since there is no need to flood this forum with my shit just to get attention.
I am going to focus on alternate-Shizune this time, and as I have already mentioned somewhere (I think), I am going to give her lung-cancer, because a wheezing, bloody cough is always good for drama (and is arguably hilarious, in a very dark sort of way, when you get it in the middle of screaming orders at the people around you and are desperately trying to continue without interruption).
Unfortunately, lung cancer is a very complex and serious condition, and I am going to at least try to research it a bit more deeply before doing anything, if only in an attempt to avoid insulting people who actually suffer from it in the same way that I have undoubtedly insulted albinos and the blind in my last scene.
I will try to keep in mind your writing suggestions while working on it, and hopefully I'll do better this time. Feel free to make any comments or suggestions etc.

Sorry for the bump. I know it's considered bad form, and I hope you'll let that pass.
This story was written long ago, but I didn't put it here because I figured people just weren't interested. Which was fine by me, really. This forum is full of far better stories than mine.
A while back I decided, pretty much for the heck of it, to send it to Mirage_GSM for a spelling check and some useful suggestions. He helped a lot. (Thank you very much!)
The story was left to rot, basically, because I was mostly satisfied with it (I don't know if you can call it good, but it was better than the last one, in my opinion), but this is a new year and a new fortune.
So, after much deliberation, I decided to put it here after all, for you to see or not to see and to like or not to like. A short scene starring a Hisao with a mysterious disability (implied to be the same) and Shizune with narmcancer. Also mentioned are mysterious disability Kenji and deaf Misha.

That Fierce Red Smile

I can't go to PE classes, and I can't say I was surprised when they told me that. Sure, keeping fit is important to me as much as to anyone, if not more so, it's just that the normal fitness standards of people my age may kill me if I tried. I do some light exercise once in a while, so I won't completely atrophy, but where the rest of my class has "PE" written on their timetable, I just have a blank square. Not that I'm very sad about it, mind you, having two free hours a week while the rest of my class runs around in circles is awesome (except for the part where you know that if you did something like that, you'll die. That's not as awesome).

Now, a diligent, smart student would probably use two free hours a week to study, or do his homework, or do some sort of club activity. Unfortunately, I am not one. Which means I use my time to wander around aimlessly reading books. At least it's way more productive than using it for sleep. Even the shallowest, dullest novel teaches you something new, even if it's only how not to write dialogue. You can never know when this kind of knowledge might save your life.
Oh god, Kenji is rubbing off on me. It begins with thoughts like this one and before you know it you are building a secret fortress in your dorm room with emergency supplies of ammo and alcohol.

It was noon, the weather was wonderful, and as I have already said I didn't have anything better to do, so I sat down on a bench beneath a nice enough looking tree and started reading my book. Some kind of old mystery crap, with characters who are either ridiculously oblivious or supernaturally insightful. I could see the gym and the field from here. For obvious reasons I wasn't really in touch with everybody else's training schedules, but it seemed that this time it was boys inside, girls outside.
Stupid memories from the tenth grade, sitting with my friends like this while the girls were running, ogling and pointing at the more "well-developed" girls as their "developments" bounced around within their white, transparent-with-sweat PE shirts (must have been painful, now that I think about that).
It's the kind of thing boys do at that age, really.

But even if I still were that sort of guy, I was way too far away for anything like that. Besides, with the girls around here, you can never be quite sure if you are staring because she looks really good while running or because she is missing her left hand and it's kind of disturbing.

I raised my eyes just a little from my book, thinking about that. Seemed like they were already done. Some started walking towards the grandstand to get their water bottles or spare clothes or whatever it is normal folks do after they finish their not-deadly-at-all running routines.
I returned to my book for a short while, until I was disturbed by the sound of quick steps followed by what could be a girl crying. Gentleman that I am and not being able to keep reading with all the noise, I got up to check the situation more closely.

Leaning against a tree with shaking legs was a short girl with her dark hair in a neat ponytail, and I gasped a little with surprise when she finally turned her head my way.
Very slowly; ominously so, I might say.

Shizune Hakamichi was the second person I talked to when I came to this school, including my homeroom teacher, and I don't even know if you can count that. She had been sitting very straightly there in the class, next to that deaf friend of hers, and when I moved next to her, she greeted me formally and explained with a very soft, very calm voice what had to be done in a way that could have been inspiringly impressive if her hands hadn't been busy signing everything to the other girl. And when I say that she had a calm voice, I don't mean that it actually sounded like she was calm. It was more like… cold, firm, authoritative. Her voice, and the color of her eyes, intrigued me for a moment there. There was something so complex about it all. Like I could only see and hear the frozen surface of a very deep pond, not knowing what might be hiding in the darkness below.

She kept showing me around during that day, and a few times in the days that followed, but it didn't feel like we spoke much. She tried to convince me to join the student council. I refused, and she tried again. And again, and again, and I think that she'll keep trying even if she ends up having to tie me to a chair in a closet. We played Risk. That was fun, I guess. But it didn't really feel like we were talking. Communicating, maybe, but not talking.

I do remember wondering about many things, though. She always spoke a lot, in her distinctive, "silent-but-loud" voice, but she didn't actually tell much about herself during these times. She never said where she came from, what she liked or disliked, or what she thought about at any given moment. Short, if eloquent, sentences, informative and quick, never telling more or less than what needed to be told. I don't know how much she says when she "speaks" with Shiina, but there's no point fretting about that.

And I do remember when I first met her, wondering about what her problem was. It was my first day here and the "culture shock" was very powerful. Suddenly every person around me has some distinctive, obvious wrongness about them that gets to you, if only subconsciously. You start identifying people by their problems, recognize them and classify them into mental groups. "Shiina, weird hair, smiles a lot, deaf".
But there was nothing wrong with Shizune. I assumed there was something, of course, she wouldn't be here if there wasn't, but it must have been something hidden, like my problem.
And it's not the kind of thing you can just ask of someone, especially her. "So, Shizune, what's wrong with your body?" She'd probably slap you if you said something like that.
Of course, being the stupid new guy, I did just that. Surprisingly enough, she didn't destroy me. She just calmly said, without even changing her expression, "nothing", and returned to her food.

And all of this was probably the reason I was so shaken when I saw her face there, by the tree. She didn't look like she was crying. She was sweaty, and red, and there were tears in her eyes, but not the kind of tears people cry. On her face was an expression between pain, fear and anger, and the way she was looking at me sent a clear message of "go away or suffer the consequences, worm." Obviously I didn't, although I considered it. Angry as she might have been, she looked really bad. As in about to faint at any second. And I didn't want something like that on my conscience later.

She wasn't crying. She was coughing. Very messily and very loudly, too. A shrill, wheezing, sound, alternately rasping and moist. That's a lot of adjectives for a cough, but you really had to be there to understand. Anyway, it sounded rather horrible. She took in air in deep, desperate gulps, trying to get her breathing back into some sort of rhythm. She spit something on the grass beneath her, a mass of thick, bloody phlegm, and while I was watching, dazed, she stopped breathing for a second and coughed a short sentence my way "Please go, now".

She looked like she wanted to be left alone, but she also looked like she would choke on her own blood if nobody helped her now, so I came closer instead.
She coughed again, a longer sentence this time "I told you to go away, Hisao!" It was an order, and an angry order at that, but I ignored it.

I approached slowly and carefully, understandably afraid of her terrible fury now that I disobeyed her so blatantly, and asked "Are you okay there?" Stupid thing to ask in such a situation, but I wasn't trying to be witty or smart about it. Stupider yet, however, was the answer she gave me.
"Yes, I am okay!" It was very absurd, hearing her say that sentence while spitting larger and larger amounts of blood out. Stupid question, stupid answer.
"That wasn't very convincing. Should I call a nurse?" I might have sounded very apathetic there, saying something like that, but you have to understand that deep inside, I was positively terrified. She looked like she was dying.
There was even more fear and anger in her eyes now, an almost hateful look. "Don't you dare, Hisao."
"Are you serious?! Look at you, this is obviously not right", I said and started walking towards the school buildings. I was stopped by her vaguely panicked scream. "Please, don't tell anyone! Please!"
I stopped, grinding my teeth a little. This wasn't a situation you encounter every day. I had no idea what to do. For the moment, I stopped, and slowly turned back to her. She was sitting beneath the tree, looking exhausted, still breathing very noisily, although more slowly now. Her shirt, which looked from behind like it was only covered in sweat, was full of stains of various interesting colors from the front, including a lot of red. Her eyes were closed, so she must have heard that I stopped walking when she said a very quiet, hoarse "thank you", her body still heaving in an attempt to catch her breath. I stared at her silently, becoming very aware for a second of the warm wind and the bright sun. She looked terrible, but I couldn't look away.

I stood there for a minute, before taking a look at my watch (plenty of time, yet) and moving slowly towards her. She opened her eyes and followed me intently. I don't really know what made me think this was a good idea (maybe I just figured nothing could make the situation worse or more awkward than it already was), but I crouched slowly and sat on the grass next to her. She didn't seem to mind.

"Never tell anyone about this," she says again, more calmly now, wiping the sweat off her face casually.

"What is this?" I replied with a question, serious.

"Nothing, I already told you."

"Come on now. You are being ridiculous and you know that. I saw you vomiting your lungs out a minute ago. It's not something healthy people do."

She looked irritated, or maybe troubled. "I ran. It was taxing. You of all people should understand".

"I don't run", I replied. "If you have a condition that prevents you from running, you don't do that."

"I don't have any condition. I can do this. Better than the others, too", she says, looking at her feet angrily.

"Sure you don't." It wasn't like her to make this sort of smart-assed reply. Of course technically she didn't have. But whatever did, it looked like running makes it worse.
"Do you want to tell me what your problem is?" I tried to ask her with a soft voice, and was repelled violently by her answer.

"Don't you ever speak to me with that condescending tone, do you hear me?! I have no problem. I am fine. I am perfectly fine."
She pointed a blaming finger at me, sounding deadly serious and very angry.

"You have bloodstains on your shirt."

"I'll wash it. I'll wear another one. I'll wash myself. Nothing ever happened."

I laughed nervously, even though it wasn't funny at all. "Is that some kind of threat? Who are you trying to convince here?"

She stared at me, and neither of us said anything for a long time, until she decided to break the silence. "There is much to do. I don't have time for this conversation", she said while getting back up on her feet.

I didn't move. I figured that if she doesn't want to talk, she won't, and there's little I can do to change her mind. But I still tried, anyway. Not so sure why.

"You came third", I said, looking at her back.

She turned to me, and I had no idea what the expression on her face means. "I did," she said. "I didn't try hard enough." She said it completely seriously. She didn't try hard enough. The blood on her shirt was starting to dry up now.
"Of course you tried hard enough! You almost died!"

"Oh, shut up about things you don't understand and stop being so dramatic. I didn't almost die and you know that."

"If I told the nurse about this, he'll forbid you from going to PE, right? Is this what this is all about?"

She sat down again, this time before me. "Yes, this is what this is all about. Please don't tell anyone. I am warning you." She made threats but it was pretty obvious that she was desperate.

"You are sick", I replied simply.

"I told you already I am not sick! I am not crippled! There is nothing wrong with me or my health," she screamed at me, a rather pathetic scream, since it resulted in another fit of coughing. The universe has a truly unique sense of humor. She whispered now, perhaps because she couldn't speak any louder, but the pathos of it all was conveyed quite well. "I never wanted to come to this place. I don’t want or need to be here. This is so humiliating."
I didn't say anything, because this time, I could only perfectly empathize with her. I wasn't sure I was over this kind of denial myself. I couldn't really scold anyone else for being the same.

"Sick in the head, I meant," I said quietly, and she didn't reply.
Damaging yourself like this so that other people won't see that you are incapable of doing something. So that they won't suspect that there might be some imperfection to you. Just how insecure do you really have to be that you would be willing to do this to yourself for the sake of "Never Giving Up"?

"Do you… get treated? For whatever this is?" I asked hesitatingly, not wanting to invoke another outburst.

"I don't. I don't need treatments. I don't need medicines, and I don't need surgeries, because there is nothing wrong with me."

I stared at her, completely dumbfounded. I doubt that she really believed, deep inside, any of the things she was saying. She wasn't and isn't a stupid girl. Except when it comes to pride, it seemed.
It wasn't even about what others were thinking. Not really. It was about her. She didn't want to admit to herself that she was not omnipotent, or immortal, or that she didn't need anyone's help, ever.
To do that would be like admitting defeat, like surrender. She was above surrender.
Victory and defeat, a win and a loss. The same terms she must have used to think about everything else.
"You'll die. You'll kill yourself. Is this how you want to win? It doesn't sound like winning to me."

"It is if I die fighting," she answered coldly.

"Die fighting? What are you, some kind of Viking? This isn't fighting or winning. This is just being stupid and stubborn".

"Better psychologists than you tried those same tricks. It was hard enough to agree to come to this place, and I am not going to let them put me in a hospital, pump me full of all those chemicals and than cut me up. No matter what my parents say. This is my decision, not anybody else's."

"It's a stupid decision".

"Stop saying that! You don't know anything!"

"Tell me, then."

She breathed in deeply one more time, and I could hear this disgusting, bubbling sound once again. She was calmer. More like herself. I couldn't help but feel like she hated me inside, though. She looked like she made up her mind, and she sounded like that, too, speaking with a voice so cold that I had to wonder why her vocal cords aren't freezing.
"Small Cell Lung Carcinoma," she said. "It says lung, but in my case I am pretty sure it spread to other places by now."

"Yeah," I answer. "Cancers do that when you refuse to treat them. Getting treated for cancer isn't like cheating, you know? "
She gave me a little hit with the back of her hand, like an angry teacher.
"Just be grateful that I am telling you this much and shut up. You are the first person in years who hears that."

What a great honor on my part it was. This girl is unbelievable. Nevertheless, I said nothing.

"Before you ask, I don't smoke and I never did. My parents never did either. I am just an unlucky person, that's all. A slightly unlucky person. This isn't a disease, this isn't a disability. It's just a minor setback. It's another challenge."

"Yes, it is a disease, and you have to get treated for it."

"I don't have to do anything, least of all listen to you. Do you think I didn't give this enough thought?"

"You won't become any less perfect by going through with this one. Not for me or for anyone else, anyway."

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For saying that I am perfect."
Was that a tiny smile there?
"Still, you are a horrible human being."

"You too."

She laughed, first quietly and ironically and then honestly, a good, long laugher that would have been far stronger if she wasn't trying so hard to prevent another fit.

"This is just another game to you? Who are you competing with? Death?"

She thought for a moment and then got up. "With myself. Always with myself."

She looked like so many things at that moment. She looked fragile, and broken, and sad, and happy, and excited, and powerful. Like a distant storm, like a silent fire. Standing there like it, with the dirty shirt and the dirty face, full of pride and energy to put gods to shame. I stared at her, and I couldn't help but be awed. She radiated power, and majesty. Stupid majesty, mind you, but that never stopped anyone.
I don't think I managed to convince her of anything, to be honest. But this talk still felt good, somehow, despite the macabre subject. Very… enlightening, perhaps? I don't know.

"You are going to be late for class", she said, smiling at me, and starting to walk back towards the building. There was still some blood on her teeth. Must have washed them very well indeed.
Who'd believe a girl so smart could be so stupid and so crazy?
And so much like me, in a way?

I remember that fierce, red smile.

...........................................................................

The story, with the spelling errors Mirage pointed out corrected and some light editing here and there. I changed the tenses, too. Originally I tried to go for a sort of "stream of consciousness" feeling, but the result just looked like someone trying to tell you a story he heard from a friend about a flashback of a flashback of being high on medicinal marijuana.
It was very confusing. Hopefully this is a little better. (Notice the presence of actual things happening! a little.)
One thing that bothers me is the similarity, format-wise, to the first story. It's not deliberate, of course, but it's clearly there and it's annoying me.

Have a very nice day!

Powerful writing, indeed. Wonderful work.

Dude, seriously. I need your source of inspiration O.O