Look Backward and Say Goodbye
Look Backward and Say Goodbye
Haruka looks out into the world, opening her almond eyes, irises so dark they are almost black. Dark as her flowing raven hair, dark as the night she finds herself in when our story begins. She blinks six times exactly, trying to get her eyes used to the darkness surrounding her, suffocating her. She is completely alone, and it feels increasingly harder to breathe with each beat of her heart.
She is not afraid to be alone; on the contrary, she hates other life forms, and likes to think she is comfortable within the confines of her own head. But her head is a dangerous place, for there she is never truly alone. A monster lurks within; it is a monster that thrives off of pain and thirsts for blood. This monster is no mythical creature, no werewolf, vampire or witch. It is just a twisted human, a human who is constantly fighting for freedom from its wrought-iron cage.
The monster in her head is not alone in there, and that is the only thing that scares her. If it were, she would unlock its cage door and set it free, allow it to consume her brain and swallow it whole. She would relish the murderous thoughts; she would allow herself to crave the suffering and tragedy that it longed to create. The monster is accompanied by the strangest of souls: a heavenly saint, an angel. The angel’s wings spread around Haruka’s mind, hiding it, shielding it from the savage thing that threatens to overtake it.
The angel’s loving eyes look at the monster, her heart pouring out with pity for its derangement. She sees it in that carefully crafted cage, crying out for the strength to break the lock. Like a mother she wishes to free it and let it fly, but she knows she can’t, because she must keep her hold on Haruka’s sanity. She must hold Haruka’s mind close to her tender angel heart.
Haruka is on her knees, in a position that resembles passionate prayer, and though a war rages on inside her head, she can hear nothing in the world around her. She looks around again, her eyes now able to pierce the overwhelming darkness and make something out of the shadows. She can make out that she is in her bedroom, in the middle of the floor, and she is naked. It is neither warm nor cold in this lonely room, but the air inside is stagnant and thick. She opens her mouth in an attempt to form words, but the air is too humid that her arid throat cannot take it. She quickly shuts her mouth, realizing that there is no one to talk to except herself.
Haruka manages to keep her mind, if only for a short while, if only long enough to stand up and put a kimono on to cover her ashen flesh. She looks to the east, where she can see a faint outline of the dawn appearing, though not enough to create light in her home. She bows venerably to her samurai swords hanging on the wall, the angel struggling harder than ever to hold on to her loved one. The angel struggles and her wings are trembling; the monster cries out to her to liberate it.
The monster is thrashing around, panting with frustration, its nails digging into its head, creating a thunderstorm in Haruka’s head. She clutches her forehead, too used to it to let tears spill, yet almost wishing she could. The thunder cracks, creating a monsoon of pain. It calls out to her, begging her to set it free. It whispers, “Just let me out; save yourself the trouble. You know you want to.”
The problem here is that Haruka is too weak. She feels that she can no longer defend herself; she feels that she is letting the frigid waves crash over her and the current is pulling her under, faster and faster. It is not long before not even the angel can help her. Without Haruka’s reassurance, the angel cannot help but let her pity for the monster overwhelm her and her wish to please everyone. Her confidence in her mission peels away, like skins from an onion, revealing a stronger desire for killing with each layer removed.
Suddenly, a majestic dragon flies in from the darkness, teeth bared, with the powerful roar of one thousand warriors. A fire begins to sear away at the angel’s feathers and she falls, her protection collapsing. Haruka is completely alone to fend for herself now, but she is not strong enough. She has no true part of herself to hold on to anymore; her whole self has fallen away with the angel’s burning wings. She feels the dragon burning the bars on the monster’s cage; they melt away like butter until it is like they were never there.
The monster, a sadistic grin covering its face, steps out into the world, taking Haruka’s brain and kicking the fallen angel aside like an unwanted toy. Haruka walks to the wall, and in the reflection of the sword, she can see her mirror image, but there is a fire in her eyes. The fire fills her with a lust for blood, burning up any inch of sanity she retained. The monster commands vengeance for all the time it has spent locked up in its cage, demanding release.
Under the monster’s complete control, Haruka reaches up, her arms slicing the air like a graceful ballerina, and clutches the hilt of the katana in which she saw her angel die. She pulls it out of the display on her bedroom wall and, like a jaguar, stalks through the hallway, stealth and silent. The blade almost rests on her shoulder, but not quite, for it is more than sharp enough to do the monster’s bidding. Her mouth opens and she can taste the life in the next room; she can smell the smoke from the angel’s wings and it causes her great pleasure, for she and the monster are one.
Raising the katana high above her head, her target in clear view, she drives it down directly into her mother’s heart. The blood spurts out, and within seconds she is dead, with not even enough time to open her eyes in fear. The smell of the blood flowing out heavily is enough to drive the monster wild. It is dancing with joy because this suffering and tragedy pleases it more than anything. It whispers to Haruka, “Lean down, get a closer whiff of it…taste it…take it all in.”
As Haruka leans over, obeying the monster’s order, she falls to the ground, sobbing uncontrollably. The angel lifts up, rising from the ashes like a phoenix, born anew and strong enough for the both of them. The katana falls to the floor with a sick, resounding clang, landing a foot from her face. The angel looks at the monster, utterly disappointed, disgusted and ashamed of what he has done, and with this one look, she has built up the cage from the molten puddle of iron, and it is inside, rocking back and forth in the fetal position, still in ecstasy from the smell of death.
Haruka’s father sits up in his bed, eyes stoic, showing that he was awake the entire time. She cannot look him in the eyes, for she knows what she must do. To him, she is a samurai solider, and she must pay the dues of punishment in her own blood. The angel knows this, so she hugs Haruka’s mind, holding it dearly, knowing that the time has already come for retribution.
She lifts herself up, knowing that she must go through with the appropriate punishment according to the bushido. Her father walks towards her, lifting her with one hand and the sword in the other, leading her to the bathroom. Tears still run down her face, but out of grief and grief only; she is clear-headed about her fate. She bathes quickly, wishing to hurry up the ceremony rather than drag it out. Every time her eyes close she is haunted by the monster, reliving the picture of her mother lying dead with a puncture directly in her heart.
Lifting herself out of the bathtub, her father brings white robes, holding them out for Haruka to put on. She feels like her angel in the ceremonial dress, just before the dragon came and set her aflame. Onigiri waits on her plate at the table, staring her down, looking at her with disgust. To cause her pain before the death, the filling of the onigiri is crimson red, and reminds her of nothing but her mother’s heart. She must eat the entire ball of rice before she is allowed to continue, and so the heart travels down her throat, clogging her mind with guilt that not even the angel could banish.
Her father’s stern and disappointed face looks down on her as she chokes down the last bite. He places a sharp knife on the plate where her once favorite meal was moments earlier, before tying her legs together tightly. She knows why he does this: being a woman, she needs to die in a dignified position, despite the grotesque convulsions the moments after the act may bring.
Looking from the tantō to her father with a stone face, she sees the angel on her knees, crying with grief, for she knows she will not be able to show the proper respects with Haruka gone. She reaches out, her long slender fingers extended, and wraps her hand around the handle of the small dagger, raising it in a toast. “I honor you mother, for it is your heart that beats within me, and yours that will live on in the spirit world.”
With a precise strike, she plunges the dagger into the left side of her abdomen, immediately feeling the pain. The monster is giddy, it tells her to keep going, for the angel can do nothing but cry. She slowly drags the blade from the left side to the right, moving in a zigzagging pattern, numb from the amount of agony that her physical state is enduring. She looks up into her father’s eyes, pleading for release from the self inflicted torture, pleading for anything but this. With one clean swipe her head falls. The last thing she hears are the tears of the angel, and the maniacal laughter of the monster within.
She is not afraid to be alone; on the contrary, she hates other life forms, and likes to think she is comfortable within the confines of her own head. But her head is a dangerous place, for there she is never truly alone. A monster lurks within; it is a monster that thrives off of pain and thirsts for blood. This monster is no mythical creature, no werewolf, vampire or witch. It is just a twisted human, a human who is constantly fighting for freedom from its wrought-iron cage.
The monster in her head is not alone in there, and that is the only thing that scares her. If it were, she would unlock its cage door and set it free, allow it to consume her brain and swallow it whole. She would relish the murderous thoughts; she would allow herself to crave the suffering and tragedy that it longed to create. The monster is accompanied by the strangest of souls: a heavenly saint, an angel. The angel’s wings spread around Haruka’s mind, hiding it, shielding it from the savage thing that threatens to overtake it.
The angel’s loving eyes look at the monster, her heart pouring out with pity for its derangement. She sees it in that carefully crafted cage, crying out for the strength to break the lock. Like a mother she wishes to free it and let it fly, but she knows she can’t, because she must keep her hold on Haruka’s sanity. She must hold Haruka’s mind close to her tender angel heart.
Haruka is on her knees, in a position that resembles passionate prayer, and though a war rages on inside her head, she can hear nothing in the world around her. She looks around again, her eyes now able to pierce the overwhelming darkness and make something out of the shadows. She can make out that she is in her bedroom, in the middle of the floor, and she is naked. It is neither warm nor cold in this lonely room, but the air inside is stagnant and thick. She opens her mouth in an attempt to form words, but the air is too humid that her arid throat cannot take it. She quickly shuts her mouth, realizing that there is no one to talk to except herself.
Haruka manages to keep her mind, if only for a short while, if only long enough to stand up and put a kimono on to cover her ashen flesh. She looks to the east, where she can see a faint outline of the dawn appearing, though not enough to create light in her home. She bows venerably to her samurai swords hanging on the wall, the angel struggling harder than ever to hold on to her loved one. The angel struggles and her wings are trembling; the monster cries out to her to liberate it.
The monster is thrashing around, panting with frustration, its nails digging into its head, creating a thunderstorm in Haruka’s head. She clutches her forehead, too used to it to let tears spill, yet almost wishing she could. The thunder cracks, creating a monsoon of pain. It calls out to her, begging her to set it free. It whispers, “Just let me out; save yourself the trouble. You know you want to.”
The problem here is that Haruka is too weak. She feels that she can no longer defend herself; she feels that she is letting the frigid waves crash over her and the current is pulling her under, faster and faster. It is not long before not even the angel can help her. Without Haruka’s reassurance, the angel cannot help but let her pity for the monster overwhelm her and her wish to please everyone. Her confidence in her mission peels away, like skins from an onion, revealing a stronger desire for killing with each layer removed.
Suddenly, a majestic dragon flies in from the darkness, teeth bared, with the powerful roar of one thousand warriors. A fire begins to sear away at the angel’s feathers and she falls, her protection collapsing. Haruka is completely alone to fend for herself now, but she is not strong enough. She has no true part of herself to hold on to anymore; her whole self has fallen away with the angel’s burning wings. She feels the dragon burning the bars on the monster’s cage; they melt away like butter until it is like they were never there.
The monster, a sadistic grin covering its face, steps out into the world, taking Haruka’s brain and kicking the fallen angel aside like an unwanted toy. Haruka walks to the wall, and in the reflection of the sword, she can see her mirror image, but there is a fire in her eyes. The fire fills her with a lust for blood, burning up any inch of sanity she retained. The monster commands vengeance for all the time it has spent locked up in its cage, demanding release.
Under the monster’s complete control, Haruka reaches up, her arms slicing the air like a graceful ballerina, and clutches the hilt of the katana in which she saw her angel die. She pulls it out of the display on her bedroom wall and, like a jaguar, stalks through the hallway, stealth and silent. The blade almost rests on her shoulder, but not quite, for it is more than sharp enough to do the monster’s bidding. Her mouth opens and she can taste the life in the next room; she can smell the smoke from the angel’s wings and it causes her great pleasure, for she and the monster are one.
Raising the katana high above her head, her target in clear view, she drives it down directly into her mother’s heart. The blood spurts out, and within seconds she is dead, with not even enough time to open her eyes in fear. The smell of the blood flowing out heavily is enough to drive the monster wild. It is dancing with joy because this suffering and tragedy pleases it more than anything. It whispers to Haruka, “Lean down, get a closer whiff of it…taste it…take it all in.”
As Haruka leans over, obeying the monster’s order, she falls to the ground, sobbing uncontrollably. The angel lifts up, rising from the ashes like a phoenix, born anew and strong enough for the both of them. The katana falls to the floor with a sick, resounding clang, landing a foot from her face. The angel looks at the monster, utterly disappointed, disgusted and ashamed of what he has done, and with this one look, she has built up the cage from the molten puddle of iron, and it is inside, rocking back and forth in the fetal position, still in ecstasy from the smell of death.
Haruka’s father sits up in his bed, eyes stoic, showing that he was awake the entire time. She cannot look him in the eyes, for she knows what she must do. To him, she is a samurai solider, and she must pay the dues of punishment in her own blood. The angel knows this, so she hugs Haruka’s mind, holding it dearly, knowing that the time has already come for retribution.
She lifts herself up, knowing that she must go through with the appropriate punishment according to the bushido. Her father walks towards her, lifting her with one hand and the sword in the other, leading her to the bathroom. Tears still run down her face, but out of grief and grief only; she is clear-headed about her fate. She bathes quickly, wishing to hurry up the ceremony rather than drag it out. Every time her eyes close she is haunted by the monster, reliving the picture of her mother lying dead with a puncture directly in her heart.
Lifting herself out of the bathtub, her father brings white robes, holding them out for Haruka to put on. She feels like her angel in the ceremonial dress, just before the dragon came and set her aflame. Onigiri waits on her plate at the table, staring her down, looking at her with disgust. To cause her pain before the death, the filling of the onigiri is crimson red, and reminds her of nothing but her mother’s heart. She must eat the entire ball of rice before she is allowed to continue, and so the heart travels down her throat, clogging her mind with guilt that not even the angel could banish.
Her father’s stern and disappointed face looks down on her as she chokes down the last bite. He places a sharp knife on the plate where her once favorite meal was moments earlier, before tying her legs together tightly. She knows why he does this: being a woman, she needs to die in a dignified position, despite the grotesque convulsions the moments after the act may bring.
Looking from the tantō to her father with a stone face, she sees the angel on her knees, crying with grief, for she knows she will not be able to show the proper respects with Haruka gone. She reaches out, her long slender fingers extended, and wraps her hand around the handle of the small dagger, raising it in a toast. “I honor you mother, for it is your heart that beats within me, and yours that will live on in the spirit world.”
With a precise strike, she plunges the dagger into the left side of her abdomen, immediately feeling the pain. The monster is giddy, it tells her to keep going, for the angel can do nothing but cry. She slowly drags the blade from the left side to the right, moving in a zigzagging pattern, numb from the amount of agony that her physical state is enduring. She looks up into her father’s eyes, pleading for release from the self inflicted torture, pleading for anything but this. With one clean swipe her head falls. The last thing she hears are the tears of the angel, and the maniacal laughter of the monster within.