Deconstruction
Posted: Mon Jan 07, 2013 2:03 am
Hello everyone,
Long time lurker, first time poster. Hoping to do something a little different with this fanfic series - sort of an anniversary gift to Katawa Shoujo, as well as a personal sendoff. So please, I hope you enjoy. Constructive criticism is expected and appreciated. Later episodes to come.
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TABLE OF CONTENTS:
Section I (Time): Found below
Section II (Impressionism)
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
SECTION I: TIME
-----------------------------------------
Takumi unceremoniously hacks through the padlock dangling from the gothic-style iron gate, whistling some familiar tune from an old movie. The sun shines high and bright, driving us into any shade we can find.
Most of today’s crew is kids looking to scrape together some quick cash on their summer break, doubtlessly to fund their ill-advised ventures into “adulthood”. They’re not a bright bunch. One of them is swinging around a sledgehammer like a baton twirler as his friends prod him on. It’s like having front row tickets to a seminar on the benefits of selective breeding. Others are older men, forming enclaves of maturity within the clamor.
The sound of a lock giving way interrupts my train of thought, as Takumi beams proudly. “What’d I tell you Hiraku? All it takes is a little elbow grease,” he brags, flexing his biceps. I ignore his painfully embarrassing display, turning to address my merry band of misfits.
“Okay, listen up. Some of you guys know the drill, but I’m gonna go over it one more time because I honestly doubt half of you can tie your own shoes, let alone listen to a set of directions the first time.” Some snickers rise from the group, but for the most part, silence reigns. “We’ve got a fat ol’ contract today. Multiple buildings, a lot of them are big, and some’ve got long walks between them. Everybody works with a buddy - that clear? Safety first. No heavy machinery or controlled explosives, locals are part of the hippie crowd, it seems. Now saddle up, and let’s get going.”
Filing through the old gates reminds me of my childhood high school - for a brief moment, I am as young as the freelancers around me. Like so many others, high school had not been kind to me - I had been the slightly chubby kid who had a better chance of being the kickball than playing it. Afternoons were spent in my room, listening to the laughs of my classmates while I sat and read. People in my books were always better than the people I met outside - they didn’t judge me, tell me I was fat, or that I was a loser. Solace in ink. I snap back to attention just as faded signs begin welcoming us to “Yamaku High School” in an overly florid font - the kind that you’d expect a middle schooler to use for a slideshow on Shakespeare. For a while we follow a paved walkway overgrown with weeds and wild vegetation, lined by what appears to have once been well-kept trees and mulch beds. An occasional rusted lamppost juts from the invasive growth, lightbulbs still intact, despite nature’s best efforts. Takumi examines the decrepit scene around him, feeling compelled to break the silence. “Kinda spooky, isn’t it?”
“Not any more than our other jobs, I guess.”
“Bet you it’s haunted.”
“What kind of a bet are we talking? A bet, bet, or a figurative bet?”
“How about a 1000 yen kind of bet?”
“The best kind.”
The workers are all notably quieter than they had been before, their eyes scanning the desolation. I hear one of them, a kid from the sound of it, say to nobody in particular, “My parents made me do some research on this place before they let me get this job. Apparently it was some sort of school for cripples.”
“You did research?” an incredulous voice fires back, spawning a gaggle of laughter.
“It’s just like cripple college!” yells another. More laughing.
What had been the school’s main building looms overhead. Back in its golden years, it must’ve been the pride of the school - but now kudzu scales the base of its once elegant facade, creeping ever closer to the shattered first story windows. However, the top stories of the building have gone unmolested by time, and, though a little worse for wear, could easily pass as part of a functional facility.
We come to a rest in the shadow of the sleeping giant. Takumi produces a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket, and begins calling out assignments to the mercenaries, who clutch eagerly at their weapons of war. Four fifths of the group are assigned to begin demolition of the gym, leaving myself, Takumi, and three of our new friends to begin gutting the main building.
Takumi saws through another padlock on the main doors of the facility. Walking inside, we find a veritable treasure trove of abandoned goods. The classrooms have been left completely full: encyclopedias, coffee cups, hell - even chalk, all sit frozen in time. The scene is more reminiscent of a post-apocalyptic hell than a high school. A curiously distracting characteristic of the place is its unusually wide hallways - you could practically drive a bus through there. “Lesson for you newer guys,” Takumi starts, peering through windows as he goes. “Always take big buildings with small groups.”
“Any reason why?” Poses a fresh-faced youngster.
“Your pick of the good stuff, of course!” Takumi howls with laughter, only half-kidding. It wasn’t totally unusual for demolition guys like us to take little... souvenirs... from the places we knock down. Most of the time it’s little stuff, like some copper wiring. Maybe a piece of jewelry every once in a blue moon. This one’s my first school, though - can’t imagine what I would find here that I couldn’t find at your neighborhood big box store. Also, it’s important to understand that taking these things doesn’t make us bad guys - if anything, it’s the opposite. We breathe new life into death, make something from nothing, bring light to darkness. Takumi once found a diamond ring from some big office block job - thing couldn’t’ve been much more than a speck in the rubble, an insignificant sparkle of light in the hazy aftermath - and proposed to his girlfriend with it. And what went up where that big office had been? A daycare.
So, really, we don’t destroy things - we repurpose them. We kill the old phoenix to make room for the young one. God’s misguided recyclers.
One of the new guys jokingly leans against the “up” button of an elevator at the base of the stairwell.
“The longer you hold it, the faster it comes!” he cracks, releasing the button. Takumi chortles before pushing into the stairwell. We step over puddles, rubble, and loose wiring all the way up the staircase until we reach the top floor.
Long time lurker, first time poster. Hoping to do something a little different with this fanfic series - sort of an anniversary gift to Katawa Shoujo, as well as a personal sendoff. So please, I hope you enjoy. Constructive criticism is expected and appreciated. Later episodes to come.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
TABLE OF CONTENTS:
Section I (Time): Found below
Section II (Impressionism)
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
SECTION I: TIME
-----------------------------------------
Takumi unceremoniously hacks through the padlock dangling from the gothic-style iron gate, whistling some familiar tune from an old movie. The sun shines high and bright, driving us into any shade we can find.
Most of today’s crew is kids looking to scrape together some quick cash on their summer break, doubtlessly to fund their ill-advised ventures into “adulthood”. They’re not a bright bunch. One of them is swinging around a sledgehammer like a baton twirler as his friends prod him on. It’s like having front row tickets to a seminar on the benefits of selective breeding. Others are older men, forming enclaves of maturity within the clamor.
The sound of a lock giving way interrupts my train of thought, as Takumi beams proudly. “What’d I tell you Hiraku? All it takes is a little elbow grease,” he brags, flexing his biceps. I ignore his painfully embarrassing display, turning to address my merry band of misfits.
“Okay, listen up. Some of you guys know the drill, but I’m gonna go over it one more time because I honestly doubt half of you can tie your own shoes, let alone listen to a set of directions the first time.” Some snickers rise from the group, but for the most part, silence reigns. “We’ve got a fat ol’ contract today. Multiple buildings, a lot of them are big, and some’ve got long walks between them. Everybody works with a buddy - that clear? Safety first. No heavy machinery or controlled explosives, locals are part of the hippie crowd, it seems. Now saddle up, and let’s get going.”
Filing through the old gates reminds me of my childhood high school - for a brief moment, I am as young as the freelancers around me. Like so many others, high school had not been kind to me - I had been the slightly chubby kid who had a better chance of being the kickball than playing it. Afternoons were spent in my room, listening to the laughs of my classmates while I sat and read. People in my books were always better than the people I met outside - they didn’t judge me, tell me I was fat, or that I was a loser. Solace in ink. I snap back to attention just as faded signs begin welcoming us to “Yamaku High School” in an overly florid font - the kind that you’d expect a middle schooler to use for a slideshow on Shakespeare. For a while we follow a paved walkway overgrown with weeds and wild vegetation, lined by what appears to have once been well-kept trees and mulch beds. An occasional rusted lamppost juts from the invasive growth, lightbulbs still intact, despite nature’s best efforts. Takumi examines the decrepit scene around him, feeling compelled to break the silence. “Kinda spooky, isn’t it?”
“Not any more than our other jobs, I guess.”
“Bet you it’s haunted.”
“What kind of a bet are we talking? A bet, bet, or a figurative bet?”
“How about a 1000 yen kind of bet?”
“The best kind.”
The workers are all notably quieter than they had been before, their eyes scanning the desolation. I hear one of them, a kid from the sound of it, say to nobody in particular, “My parents made me do some research on this place before they let me get this job. Apparently it was some sort of school for cripples.”
“You did research?” an incredulous voice fires back, spawning a gaggle of laughter.
“It’s just like cripple college!” yells another. More laughing.
What had been the school’s main building looms overhead. Back in its golden years, it must’ve been the pride of the school - but now kudzu scales the base of its once elegant facade, creeping ever closer to the shattered first story windows. However, the top stories of the building have gone unmolested by time, and, though a little worse for wear, could easily pass as part of a functional facility.
We come to a rest in the shadow of the sleeping giant. Takumi produces a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket, and begins calling out assignments to the mercenaries, who clutch eagerly at their weapons of war. Four fifths of the group are assigned to begin demolition of the gym, leaving myself, Takumi, and three of our new friends to begin gutting the main building.
Takumi saws through another padlock on the main doors of the facility. Walking inside, we find a veritable treasure trove of abandoned goods. The classrooms have been left completely full: encyclopedias, coffee cups, hell - even chalk, all sit frozen in time. The scene is more reminiscent of a post-apocalyptic hell than a high school. A curiously distracting characteristic of the place is its unusually wide hallways - you could practically drive a bus through there. “Lesson for you newer guys,” Takumi starts, peering through windows as he goes. “Always take big buildings with small groups.”
“Any reason why?” Poses a fresh-faced youngster.
“Your pick of the good stuff, of course!” Takumi howls with laughter, only half-kidding. It wasn’t totally unusual for demolition guys like us to take little... souvenirs... from the places we knock down. Most of the time it’s little stuff, like some copper wiring. Maybe a piece of jewelry every once in a blue moon. This one’s my first school, though - can’t imagine what I would find here that I couldn’t find at your neighborhood big box store. Also, it’s important to understand that taking these things doesn’t make us bad guys - if anything, it’s the opposite. We breathe new life into death, make something from nothing, bring light to darkness. Takumi once found a diamond ring from some big office block job - thing couldn’t’ve been much more than a speck in the rubble, an insignificant sparkle of light in the hazy aftermath - and proposed to his girlfriend with it. And what went up where that big office had been? A daycare.
So, really, we don’t destroy things - we repurpose them. We kill the old phoenix to make room for the young one. God’s misguided recyclers.
One of the new guys jokingly leans against the “up” button of an elevator at the base of the stairwell.
“The longer you hold it, the faster it comes!” he cracks, releasing the button. Takumi chortles before pushing into the stairwell. We step over puddles, rubble, and loose wiring all the way up the staircase until we reach the top floor.