Downward Spiral [Mutou] [Chapter 1: 8/14]
Posted: Sun Jul 01, 2012 1:24 am
This is going to be my first long-running fic (that isn't a total failure, hopefully). I was in Crispychat one night, and either I, or someone else was throwing out random ideas... a story involving Mutou and noir elements caught my imagination. Nobody else seemed to be stepping up to the plate to do something like that, so I figured I'd give it a whirl. Yes, the prologue ends kind of suddenly, but the first chapter will pick up literally right where I ended. So basically, deal w/ it.
Without further ado, here's Downward Spiral. Enjoy.
Prologue: [this post]
Chapter 1: [link]
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Prologue: The Fall
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I wasn't always a bitter man.
The happier days are long past. My time as a teacher at Yamaku Academy were some of the best years of my life; not only did I get to do what I loved, I felt I was giving those that had been walked on by life a second chance at it.
Then I met Nakai. Typical transfer student; he had spent some time in the hospital, and had difficulties adjusting to his new life. He seemed to be in a downward, depressing spiral from day one; refusing to introduce himself, work with others, or help in any way. I observed him from afar, but I never stepped in to guide him on his path, instead choosing to remain as aloof and detached. "He'll get over it," I would think to myself. That thought alone is perhaps my single biggest regret, thus far.
The fateful day dawned bright, sunny, and clear; I couldn't yet see what dark clouds laid upon the horizon. It was the day of the Yamaku's annual spring festival. As a teacher, I was compelled to attend; never been a fan of crowds though, too noisy, too much going on. Instead, I hung back around the school, occasionally fielding questions from curious parents and visitors. As night crept its tendrils through the sky, snuffing out the sun, I made my way outside to watch the yearly fireworks display. Over the years, I had discovered the perfect spot for it; not only could I watch the show in relative peace, leaning up against the school, I could also sneak in a smoke or two without anyone noticing. Yamaku was notoriously strict about such things, something I particularly detested.
I reached my spot and, with a deep sigh, leaned again the school. My head throbbed a constant, heavy beat; it reminded me just how addicted I was to these cancer sticks. "Nobody wants to live forever anyways," I whispered to nobody in particular. I chuckled at the thought as I pulled one out of the pack, stuck it between my lips, and lit. The first inhale brought on that familiar burning in my lungs, a burn I welcomed. With another few quick drags, the pounding in my head slowed to a dull throb. Relief. Yawning, I arched my back against the cool brick of the school's side wall, tilted my head up, and closed my aching eyes.
Closing my eyes was the best thing I did that night. Faintly, I heard the creaking of a fence. Before it had time to register in my throbbing, feverish mind, there was an earth-shattering crash. No, not even really a crash; more of a sickly combination of crunching and thumping. My eyes flew open in shock, and what I saw before me will forever be burned into my mind. Though it was fully dark, in the glow cast by the moon, I could see Nakai's face. He was dead; I could tell by the blank, accusing stare of his eyes into mine. A thin trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth. I stared at it for what seemed like an eternity, watching that trickle slowly run down his cheek, dripping and forming a small pool on the pavement. Shaking myself out of my reverie, I dropped to my knees and did the only thing I could think of; I cradled Nakai's dead, broken body in my arms. I felt broken bones jabbing at my arms and chest, blood soaking through my blazer, my shirt, seemingly my skin itself. His vacant eyes were now turned up to the heavens, as if questioning God, asking why such a misfortune had befallen him so soon after getting back on his feet.
The period after that is a blur. It's the faces I remember best. A screaming woman, a look of horror on her face, tears streaming from her eyes. Police officers, eyes averted, gingerly escorting me away from the body. Medical examiners, their faces impassive in the face of such a gruesome job.
An investigator later questioned me about my history with Nakai. It was, thankfully, short. Though I had been his teacher, I knew practically nothing about the boy; he always kept to himself, pushing away anyone that tried to get close. A few days after the accident, I learned he had been on the roof with another boy, Setou. Nakai's death was ruled to be an accident, but Setou's behavior disgusted me; he constantly spewed garbage about feminists, and how Nakai had simply been kidnapped and replaced with a body double. Even if he had played an active role in the boy's death, Setou would simply be declared insane, and therefore unable to stand trial.
After the dust settled, things changed. Any happiness or joy I felt had seemingly evaporated. Nakai invaded my dreams; in them, he would stare up at me from the ground with that dead, accusing stare, as if everything that had transpired was my fault alone. I couldn't focus on my work, my job; teaching became an impossible, fruitless task. There were some class periods where I would stand at the chalkboard for an entire class, arm raised, chalk hovering above the board, but no coherent thought formed. Others, I would simply become so irritable that I couldn't control the shaking of my hands.
As my work life deteriorated, so did my personal life; alcohol and cigarettes became my only way to cope with the world. Most days, I would go to work either drunk or extremely hung over; often, I would simply give a class a reading assignment, then sneak off to some secluded corner of the school to calm the relentless throbbing of my head. My family suffered the most; my wife slowly became distant and detached, and my son suddenly vanished one day, leaving behind nothing but a note telling me not to look for him. Not that I was in any state to, anyways. Eventually, my wife left as well; my distance, combined with the loss of our son, was too much for her to handle. For the first time in years, I was alone. Completely, utterly alone in the world.
That self-destructive cycle went on for nearly three months before I finally cracked. I was under a lot of pressure to shape up; the dean of Yamaku had already taken me aside and explained numerous times that my performance as a teacher was not up to par. He offered counseling, paid vacation, everything; I took none of it. Nakai's death had left a heavy weight on my shoulders, one that I felt could not simply be eliminated. One morning, after a particularly terrible night of drinking, I stumbled into the classroom. Turning to the board, I picked up my chalk and froze. An ear-splitting, soul-rending laugh suddenly emanated from behind me. Something inside me, some terrible beast, reared its ugly head. Whirling on the spot, I screamed profanities, insinuated mental disabilities, and openly wondered if anyone, even Hakamichi, liked her. The tears in her eyes… I wouldn't ever forget them, or forgive myself for what I had done.
Later that day, I handed in my resignation and left; that was the last I ever saw of Yamaku Academy.
Without further ado, here's Downward Spiral. Enjoy.
Prologue: [this post]
Chapter 1: [link]
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Prologue: The Fall
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I wasn't always a bitter man.
The happier days are long past. My time as a teacher at Yamaku Academy were some of the best years of my life; not only did I get to do what I loved, I felt I was giving those that had been walked on by life a second chance at it.
Then I met Nakai. Typical transfer student; he had spent some time in the hospital, and had difficulties adjusting to his new life. He seemed to be in a downward, depressing spiral from day one; refusing to introduce himself, work with others, or help in any way. I observed him from afar, but I never stepped in to guide him on his path, instead choosing to remain as aloof and detached. "He'll get over it," I would think to myself. That thought alone is perhaps my single biggest regret, thus far.
The fateful day dawned bright, sunny, and clear; I couldn't yet see what dark clouds laid upon the horizon. It was the day of the Yamaku's annual spring festival. As a teacher, I was compelled to attend; never been a fan of crowds though, too noisy, too much going on. Instead, I hung back around the school, occasionally fielding questions from curious parents and visitors. As night crept its tendrils through the sky, snuffing out the sun, I made my way outside to watch the yearly fireworks display. Over the years, I had discovered the perfect spot for it; not only could I watch the show in relative peace, leaning up against the school, I could also sneak in a smoke or two without anyone noticing. Yamaku was notoriously strict about such things, something I particularly detested.
I reached my spot and, with a deep sigh, leaned again the school. My head throbbed a constant, heavy beat; it reminded me just how addicted I was to these cancer sticks. "Nobody wants to live forever anyways," I whispered to nobody in particular. I chuckled at the thought as I pulled one out of the pack, stuck it between my lips, and lit. The first inhale brought on that familiar burning in my lungs, a burn I welcomed. With another few quick drags, the pounding in my head slowed to a dull throb. Relief. Yawning, I arched my back against the cool brick of the school's side wall, tilted my head up, and closed my aching eyes.
Closing my eyes was the best thing I did that night. Faintly, I heard the creaking of a fence. Before it had time to register in my throbbing, feverish mind, there was an earth-shattering crash. No, not even really a crash; more of a sickly combination of crunching and thumping. My eyes flew open in shock, and what I saw before me will forever be burned into my mind. Though it was fully dark, in the glow cast by the moon, I could see Nakai's face. He was dead; I could tell by the blank, accusing stare of his eyes into mine. A thin trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth. I stared at it for what seemed like an eternity, watching that trickle slowly run down his cheek, dripping and forming a small pool on the pavement. Shaking myself out of my reverie, I dropped to my knees and did the only thing I could think of; I cradled Nakai's dead, broken body in my arms. I felt broken bones jabbing at my arms and chest, blood soaking through my blazer, my shirt, seemingly my skin itself. His vacant eyes were now turned up to the heavens, as if questioning God, asking why such a misfortune had befallen him so soon after getting back on his feet.
The period after that is a blur. It's the faces I remember best. A screaming woman, a look of horror on her face, tears streaming from her eyes. Police officers, eyes averted, gingerly escorting me away from the body. Medical examiners, their faces impassive in the face of such a gruesome job.
An investigator later questioned me about my history with Nakai. It was, thankfully, short. Though I had been his teacher, I knew practically nothing about the boy; he always kept to himself, pushing away anyone that tried to get close. A few days after the accident, I learned he had been on the roof with another boy, Setou. Nakai's death was ruled to be an accident, but Setou's behavior disgusted me; he constantly spewed garbage about feminists, and how Nakai had simply been kidnapped and replaced with a body double. Even if he had played an active role in the boy's death, Setou would simply be declared insane, and therefore unable to stand trial.
After the dust settled, things changed. Any happiness or joy I felt had seemingly evaporated. Nakai invaded my dreams; in them, he would stare up at me from the ground with that dead, accusing stare, as if everything that had transpired was my fault alone. I couldn't focus on my work, my job; teaching became an impossible, fruitless task. There were some class periods where I would stand at the chalkboard for an entire class, arm raised, chalk hovering above the board, but no coherent thought formed. Others, I would simply become so irritable that I couldn't control the shaking of my hands.
As my work life deteriorated, so did my personal life; alcohol and cigarettes became my only way to cope with the world. Most days, I would go to work either drunk or extremely hung over; often, I would simply give a class a reading assignment, then sneak off to some secluded corner of the school to calm the relentless throbbing of my head. My family suffered the most; my wife slowly became distant and detached, and my son suddenly vanished one day, leaving behind nothing but a note telling me not to look for him. Not that I was in any state to, anyways. Eventually, my wife left as well; my distance, combined with the loss of our son, was too much for her to handle. For the first time in years, I was alone. Completely, utterly alone in the world.
That self-destructive cycle went on for nearly three months before I finally cracked. I was under a lot of pressure to shape up; the dean of Yamaku had already taken me aside and explained numerous times that my performance as a teacher was not up to par. He offered counseling, paid vacation, everything; I took none of it. Nakai's death had left a heavy weight on my shoulders, one that I felt could not simply be eliminated. One morning, after a particularly terrible night of drinking, I stumbled into the classroom. Turning to the board, I picked up my chalk and froze. An ear-splitting, soul-rending laugh suddenly emanated from behind me. Something inside me, some terrible beast, reared its ugly head. Whirling on the spot, I screamed profanities, insinuated mental disabilities, and openly wondered if anyone, even Hakamichi, liked her. The tears in her eyes… I wouldn't ever forget them, or forgive myself for what I had done.
Later that day, I handed in my resignation and left; that was the last I ever saw of Yamaku Academy.
