Mice on a Wheel

Obligatory Tragic Backstory

After sneaking into the teacher's lounge and snagging a soda from the vending machine, Shizuka signed herself out at the main office; citing a variety of woeful aches-and-pains as a reason for leaving the grey doldrums of the hallowed institution. No one batted an eye at the girl with scorched skin subtly taking advantage of the education system; they only viewed her as an object of pity to whisper about amongst themselves in hushed, patronizing, tones; never stopping their dialogue long enough to acknowledge her as a person and not merely the subject of a pseudo-inspirational poster badgering onlookers to never let your disabilities hold you back because you're strong. Quite frankly, both diet soda and the saccharine smiles of her classmates were beneath Shizuka. She ambled down the concrete steps, tattered bag slung over her shoulder, and headed in the direction of her apartment on the wrong side of the tracks.

Shizuka's childhood home; a traditional cinnabar-brick, two-story house, complete with a meticulously painted white picket-fence and a Labrador retriever happily frolicking about; had mysteriously been reduced to smoldering ruins on the eve of her sixth birthday; claiming both of her parents and her childlike sense of wonder and curiosity, leaving her in the care of her eccentric aunt who chainsmoked, indulged in an unhealthy amount of bad day-time television, and had numerous stray cats running rampant all over her apartment. In all the years of living with her aunt, Shizuka could only recall a handful of conversations with the smog-scented, shriveled old woman, and she preferred to keep it that way. She much preferred the company of her HP Lovecraft novels and videogames to listening to a one-sided conversation about her aunt's escapades as a flowerchild who shagged anyone with Aquarian-age ideals and a bong during the social unrest of the Vietnam war. After fishing around in her coat pockets for a key, Shizuka unlocked the door, preparing to slip quietly into her room as to avoid insistent questions about why she was home early from school yet again.

Instead, Shizuka was met with eerie silence instead. The blaring analog television was switched off, and even the constant mewling sound of cats persistently questing for food was nowhere to be heard. Bemused, but also content to be wrapped in the elusive embrace of solitude, Shizuka carelessly dumped her bag on the counter, brushing off kibble in the process, and escaped to her room where she could rot in mediocrity for hours without interruption. A niggling part of her brain told her to be worried, as no one suddenly breaks routine and disappears unless there's something wrong, but Shizuka brushed aside these thoughts as soon as she booted up her computer. If she could lay on a private island all day, with a sign reading KEEP OUT in bold, ominous, letters, then she would. After gazing at her screen for a long time, however, her eyes began to blur and droop. Before she could acknowledge her need for rest, Shizuka's head was already planted on the keyboard; keys leaving indents on her skin, and her arms sprawled out on her desk; twitching occasionally from hynagogic imagery.

She was six years old, scribbling unicorns and robots on a piece of cardstock with a lavender crayon nestled between her stubby fingers; eager to stick them in her birthday cake later and lick the frosting off of them. Her parents had bought her a puppy the year before, who was now laying by her side; tail thumping rhythmically from the sheer happiness of being a dog. This year though, Shizuka had big plans! She wanted a jetpack covered in glitter, and a mouse wearing a bowtie that she could slip in her backpack and take to school when no one was watching. Gazing wide-eyed at the shiny, cellophane-wrapped present in front of her, Shizuka could almost hear the squeaking mouse beneath it, scurrying dutifully on its wheel; chasing after an unseen goal with pure dedication.

Then, Shizuka was outside under a sky illuminated with constellations; sitting at a table filled with sparklers and melodic laughter. Her parents smile, setting out a small cake with buttercream frosting; gently imploring her to make a wish and blow out the candles. Sitting next to her was her best friend, an older child who lived down the street. She turned to offer them a toothy grin.

Why did her friend have no face?

A silhouette with vague, featureless flesh leaned back in their chair as if waiting for something to happen. Amidst the now-discordant chanting for Shizuka to blow out her candles, the smile faded from her face, and she leaned over, lips puckered. As she blew out the candles, the house in front of her burst into a raging inferno, and Shizuka was coughing; choking on ash and dust from the swiftly decaying remnants of her childhood. Everything faded to white as the flickering flames rose higher, eclipsing everything in sight.

With a gasp, Shizuka sprang up from her slumber; banging her throbbing head on the computer screen in the process; swallowing the bile which had risen in her throat. Groaning, and rubbing her watering eyes, Shizuka glanced at the digital clock on her desk. It was late, and although nothing seemed out of the ordinary, the atmosphere felt more dense and dreary than usual. Perhaps it was the lack of meowing and the sound of cats knocking things off shelves, but Shizuka was beginning to feel unnerved with each passing second. Logging off, Shizuka stood up and padded to the kitchen; hoping another round of soda would settle her misfiring nerves. But when she reached the refrigerator, there was a note pinned to it that had not been there before; a letter from her aunt. In garish neon ink, it explained that Shizuka's aunt had left to reconnect with long-lost friends; relics from her days of using peace-signs to protest the government; and that she had hired someone to look after her. Pinching the bridge of her nose in exasperation, Shizuka tore off the note; crumpling it up and tossing it in the wastebin. She had been looking after herself for years now, a babysitter was completely unnecessary. What happened to the unspoken agreement between her and her aunt where they both vowed not to be a minor inconvience in each other's lives?

Turning around in fury, her mouth dropped in surprise as she realized there was a person lounging on the couch. Kabuto Yakushi, deeply engrossed in one of his anatomy books; his dirty socks flung off to the side, and his glasses smudged. "Hello there, Shizuka. I hope I didn't scare you too much." He muttered neutrally before flipping a page in his textbook.

"Why the fuck are you here?" Asked Shizuka with a hint of vitriol in her voice, and her arms crossed in front of her.

"Didn't you read the note, Shizuka? Also, I brought Chinese food if you're interested." Kabuto replied calmly, pointing at the bag of greasy food on the kitchen table behind her. Glaring at the carton of chow-mein with an intense look of disdain, Shizuka pulled out a chair and plopped down on it; watching Kabuto thumb through his book until he suddenly closed it and looked at her intently. His inky eyes boring holes into Shizuka's skull; hints of amusement swirling within. Shizuka's eyes locked with his; offering an equally piercing stare.

"I'd like for us to become friends, y'know." Kabuto stated with a grin; adjusting his glasses, sitting up, and patting at the empty space on the lumpy couch.

"I think I'd rather you bite my ass instead." Shizuka replied apathetically before grabbing five sodas and returning to the sanctuary of her room; Kabuto's hollow laughter echoing behind her. Things could always get worse, and they usually do.