I am Isamu Yamazaki, a mere six years of age, residing in the city of Nagasaki. Through these trembling hands, I endeavor to etch my experiences from the past years onto these pages. Unfortunately, my life has been filled with pain and suffering. Peace has long eluded the confines of this house, for within its walls resides a monstrous entity—an insatiable control freak, a tyrant who wields her authority without remorse. She is my mother.
Upon reaching the tender age of three, my mother's treatment of me grew increasingly harsh. She would strike me with unyielding force, the sting of her blows echoing through the chambers of my being. A belt served as an instrument of punishment, its leather striking against my flesh, leaving imprints of pain in its wake. And when my compliance faltered, she would resort to enclosing me within a suffocating sack, a cruel attempt to stifle my spirit until I succumbed to her demands.
She, the embodiment of a perfectionist, held me to impossible standards. However, my bitterness does not stem from her pursuit of excellence; rather, it lies in her ceaseless barrage of criticisms. Not once did she extend a helping hand, her presence reduced to naught but incessant nagging. At times, my consciousness would wane under the weight of her expectations. My legs, weary from arduous labor, would threaten to buckle beneath me. Yet, I was left with no recourse, for I could not bear the thought of sleeping upon the unforgiving streets. I dared not rebel against her, for my love for her endured. She, who cared for me despite the absence of my father.
The source of her income remains shrouded in mystery. I have never witnessed her departing from the confines of our house. It is a perplexing revelation, leading me to ponder if she had squirreled away funds from her involvement in the family business. The fate of said enterprise lingers as an unspoken question upon my lips, yet I dare not give voice to my curiosity, fearing the repercussions that might follow. And so, I bury my inquiries, allowing them to fade into the recesses of my thoughts.
These words find their way upon these pages due to my mother's relentless pursuit of molding me into a girl, a cruel erasure of my true self. The weight of her expectations, coupled with the venomous words that spew forth from her lips, have left an indelible mark upon my being—an amalgamation of menace and heartbreak. Though I have grown accustomed to the physical abuse, it is the verbal onslaught that rends my feeble heart. Yet, I shall swallow my pride, for the love I bear for my mother remains steadfast.
In the clutches of poverty, we reside within the decaying remnants of a house. Its structural integrity, a mere semblance of its former self, hangs precariously in the balance. Fortunate we are that the tempestuous storms of typhoons rarely grace our small house. Nonetheless, the tattered ceiling bears witness to a multitude of holes, its faulty defense against the onslaught of rainfall. Thus, I am compelled to collect five buckets, an effort to capture the elusive droplets, only to cast them away in futile repetition.
What ambitions lie within my mother's heart? Why does she subject me to such trials? I am bereft of answers. I harbor no desire to hold resentment within my soul, yet I beseech my future self, should such a time come to pass—resist the urge to inflict harm upon mother. Merely touch upon those heartless words and proceed forward, for our journey is one fraught with uncertainty and introspection.
My birthday was on this ordinary day, January 13, 1970, and there was no fanfare or celebration to honor the event. We were a poor family whose finances prevented us from celebrating even the most basic occasions. However, oddly, my mother had been able to get a ton of makeup for me. I was completely perplexed by the absurdity which completely confused me.
At the age of seven, the time had come for me to advance to the first grade. I had always excelled academically, but at what cost? Everything. My freedom, my sense of self, my very soul, all sacrificed at the altar of education. I had dedicated myself wholeheartedly to my studies, striving to erase the stains of our impoverished existence. Yet, despite my tireless efforts, I could never meet my mother's lofty expectations. Each day, I would delve into my studies, often finding myself awake until the early hours of the morning. Fatigue became a constant companion, which I fought off with the aid of caffeine.
This life, this existence, it resembled a living hell. But I was resolved to endure it. I never entertained the notion of acceptance; it was a concept foreign to me. Despite my attempts to forge friendships, I remained clueless about the intricacies of social interaction. How does one blend in? What prerequisites must be fulfilled in order to be deemed worthy of friendship? These questions plagued my thoughts, drowning me in a sea of insecurity. I was plagued by doubts about my appearance and my current social standing, terrified of rejection by the world. I feared that my attempts at conversation would inadvertently unleash hurtful words, so I chose silence as my shield.
Paranoia gripped me at times, a nagging sensation that I was the target of whispers and mockery. I couldn't discern the source of this unease, but the disdainful expressions and swift departures whenever I approached only served to exacerbate my fears. Some of the boys took it upon themselves to bully me, hurling hurtful words and subjecting me to ridicule. Yet, I remained undeterred, resolute in my pursuit of my goals. I yearned to accumulate wealth, to repay my mother's sacrifices, and to ultimately attain my freedom.
As I made my way towards the exit of the park, the boy I had encountered earlier approached me. Despite my initial apprehension, I decided to lend an ear and hear him out. His eyes shimmered with a hint of sadness, and something within me compelled me to extend my help, despite the impossibility of extending it to everyone in need.
"Can you help me? Please!" he implored, his voice carrying a touch of desperation. Though sympathy for everyone was far from attainable, I made the choice to assist him nonetheless.
"Sure, what is it?" I responded, my words carrying a tinge of hesitation.
"Do you mind taking me home?" he asked, his plea resonating with a sense of urgency.
Realizing that he lived nearby, I agreed to accompany him, realizing that I still had time before my curfew. "Thank you!" he expressed his gratitude, and I reassured him with a simple "Yeah, no problem."
"Oh yeah, forgot to tell ya. My name's Kaizaki," he offered, extending an introduction.
"Ahh... Isamu," I replied, reciprocating the gesture.
"Nice to meet you, Isamu," he responded warmly.
"Same here. I'll be going now," I said, preparing to take my leave.
"Yes, thanks once again. Take care!" he bid me farewell, his words laced with sincerity.
As I returned to my house, I faced the familiar process of being scolded and belittled for every mistake I had made. Questions and accusations were hurled at me with an unrelenting force. "Why did you go to the park?! Why are you not studying?! Why haven't you cleaned my room?! Look at your makeup, it's already ruined! I told you not to sweat! Were you attempting to play outside again?!"
It was the first time I had engaged in conversation with someone outside the confines of my home, and naturally, I had perspired during our interaction. Fear gripped me as I contemplated how to respond, cautious of the words I chose and the potential consequences they carried. I hoped to avoid any hurtful remarks, understanding the weight they could bear. However, how my mother came to know of my visit to the park remained a perplexing question. With no satisfactory answer at hand, and with a growing familiarity with such reprimands, I chose to simply ignore the query and continued enduring the tirade.
Meddling in someone's life was not something I typically did. In fact, it was the first time I had intervened in such a manner. The encounter with Kaizaki had stirred something within me, prompting me to break out of my isolated shell, if only for a brief moment. Little did I know that this chance encounter would set in motion a series of events that would shape the path of my life in unexpected ways.
The weight of loneliness and isolation hung heavy upon me as I grappled with the fear of forming relationships with others. I believed myself to be a burden, incapable of offering any help or speaking kind words. The mere thought of being unworthy of companionship plagued my mind, exacerbated by my appearance, which resembled a distorted version of Barbie.
The makeup and crossdressing imposed upon me by my mother were nothing more than frustrating impositions. No matter how she tried to mold me into something I wasn't, I knew deep down that I would always be a man. She was the source of my stress and pain, the reason I felt trapped and unable to disregard her demands. I dreaded the suffocating feeling of being confined or stuffed into a sack, and I loathed the verbal abuse and ridicule she subjected me to.
I vowed to endure it all until the day I could finally break free from her grasp. As the rain began to fall once again, I resigned myself to the task of collecting water in buckets, a familiar routine. It was during such moments that I noticed a sense of distress in my mother's demeanor, but I couldn't comprehend why. And then, her anger exploded like a thunderous storm, directed solely at me. "Fuck! Everything is all your fault!" she lashed out, the venom in her words cutting deep. I struggled to understand what I had done wrong, but before I could process it, her hands struck me with a force that left me bruised and scarred. The pain consumed me, leaving me numb and powerless. I wept, but I couldn't find the strength to defend myself. Despite everything, I still loved her, and I couldn't bear to hurt her in return.
I sought refuge outside, for my very presence had become a nuisance to her. It was a small relief, though I could endure the physical pain. I clung to my pen and notebook, the only companions that offered solace in this world of suffering. Yet, with each passing day, my weariness grew, and my resolve faltered. I was just a child, powerless and vulnerable. What could I possibly do to change my circumstances? I was weakened by the weight of my isolation, unable to confide in anyone. I was alone in this cruel world, left to bear my burdens in solitude.
Furthermore, I harbored a fear of people who only approached me when they needed something. The thought of their absence during my lowest moments frightened me. It solidified my resolve to distance myself from any potential friendships. Trust felt like an impossible feat, and I couldn't bring myself to believe that anyone would be there for me in times of need.
As the rain continued to pour, I huddled in my desolation, the pain and loneliness etching deeper into my young soul. Everything seemed far from being "alright," despite my repeated assurances. I yearned for an escape from this never-ending cycle of suffering, but the path forward remained obscured, and I remained trapped, a fragile existence in a world that offered no respite.
Despite the lack of sleep and the exhaustion weighing heavily on my young body, Monday arrived without mercy. I had only managed a mere three hours of sleep, having worked diligently on my tasks until the early hours of the morning. The consequences of not completing my assignments were severe—I wasn't allowed to rest until they were finished. Each subject demanded advanced studying, driven by my mother's aspirations. I hoped that this knowledge would one day lead us out of poverty, for I was weary of the destitute life we led.
Arriving at school on time, I averted my gaze and caught sight of the boy from before, Kaizaki, or so I vaguely recalled his name. He approached me without hesitation, addressing me as Isamu and mentioning the age difference between us. He seemed eager to assume the role of an older brother, but such distinctions held little significance to me. It was a simple equation: how he treated me determined how I would treat him. If others treated me as trash, then I would respond in kind. It was a survival mechanism I had adopted, a shield against the hurtful treatment I had grown accustomed to.
Yet, his words struck a different chord. "Don't be shy. Come play with me. Your outfit doesn't matter to me. Don't mind those who discriminate against you. There's nothing wrong with being different." His kindness took me aback, and I couldn't help but appreciate his understanding. If only I could find the courage to speak up, to explain my situation, but fear held my tongue. I lacked the bravery to confront the truth, so I remained silent, nodding in agreement to his words.
And so, we played. Every day, we met and engaged in joyful activities. At first, I feigned enjoyment, but gradually, genuine happiness seeped into my heart. It was a new and wondrous experience—an emotion I had rarely felt before. Kaizaki was my first friend, a companion who brought light into my life.
However, the joy was tinged with apprehension. I worried about the consequences of having friends. If my mother discovered that I was spending time playing instead of studying, her anger would be unrelenting. The thought of her rage sent chills down my spine, casting a shadow over the newfound friendship I cherished.
Nevertheless, I couldn't ignore the love that emanated from our relationship despite the oncoming dread. For the first time, I had someone to call a friend, someone who saw beyond the external and accepted me for who I was. In Kaizaki's presence, I found solace, a respite from the harsh reality that defined my everyday life. Even if it meant navigating the treacherous waters of my mother's wrath, I vowed to hold onto this friendship, cherishing every moment spent together.
As the cycle of life continued its relentless march, I couldn't help but notice the sameness of human nature. It was a realization that maturity wasn't solely determined by age but rather by the accumulation of experiences. And through my own journey, I had grown more mature than I could have imagined.
Negative thoughts once dominated my perception of the world, but with each passing year, I began to question my own harsh judgments. Perhaps giving the world a chance wasn't such a terrible idea after all. Three months had slipped by, marked by the widening of my eye bags and the deprivation of sleep. Mother had become stricter, piling on the demands of calculus, algebra, and trigonometry simultaneously. My brain felt on the verge of collapse, but I knew I had to complete the tasks, for failure meant enduring physical abuse once more. I laughed at the irony, considering that an aneurysm might have been a kinder fate.
Despite the difficulties, Kaizaki remained a constant in my life of suffering Our friendship had surpassed three months, and together we reveled in the joy of play. After class, we often embarked on explorations, venturing into uncharted territories of Nagasaki. Kaizaki was a wanderer, unafraid to tread where I, bound by my mother's restrictions, dared not go. Still, luck favored us, and my mother remained oblivious to our escapades.
It was during one of our adventures, as June loomed on the horizon, that an unsettling feeling gripped my heart. Something ominous awaited, a premonition that weighed heavily upon me. We had a ceremony at the hall—an occasion to receive an honor I wished to boast about to my mother. But as I made my way, a sense of impending doom cast a shadow over my steps.
True to my intuition, the principal summoned me to his office immediately after the ceremony. Five individuals occupied the room, emanating a palpable anger that sent shivers down my spine. I was taken aback, unfamiliar with fights or conflicts. Who were these people, and why did they glare at me with such hostility?
There was a knock on the door. It was Kaizaki who entered.
"Hey, Kaizaki," I called out, my voice filled with anticipation and warmth.
"Don't talk to me, you thief!" he spat, venom dripping from his words. I stood frozen, shocked and devastated. His accusation struck me like a fatal blow, piercing deep into my heart. How could he utter such cruel words? I had never stolen anything in my entire life.
The principal's rage erupted, his fist slamming down on the desk. "Do you have any idea why I called you here!?" he bellowed, his face contorted with anger.
"I... I don't know, sir," I stammered, my voice trembling.
"So, you won't confess, huh?" he seethed. "I thought you were a good kid, but it turns out you're nothing but a liar and a thief!"
Once again, those words tore through me, shattering my spirit. What had I done to deserve this? I was innocent, falsely accused. I had never stolen, never lied. My only deception lay in hiding my true feelings.
"Sir, I don't know what you're talking about," I managed to utter, my voice barely audible.
"Explain to me why you stole those pieces of jewelry and antiques, and how dare you bring Kaizaki with you? Aren't you ashamed?" the principal demanded, his eyes burning with accusation.
Ah, shame. It had already consumed me, wrapped tightly around my every breath. And now, to be confronted with such baseless accusations?
My mind raced, searching for an escape from this cruel reality. I had to divert the attention, to protect myself from this onslaught.
"Um... what about Kaizaki, sir?" I stammered, desperation creeping into my voice.
"Kaizaki said that when you were out with him, you stole all of the missing jewelry and antiques owned by these people. He confessed to me because he was already afraid of getting involved," the principal revealed, his voice dripping with disdain.
Taking a deep breath, I tried to steady myself. Though humiliation coursed through my veins, I refused to allow a scene to unfold. Not now, not here.
And then it came, the moment of betrayal. I had felt a flicker of doubt, a nagging unease, but I had brushed it aside. To think that I had given these wretched humans a second chance. What had come over me? Now, I knew. I knew the sting of betrayal, the agony of being deceived by a friend. In the middle of the gloom, I managed to hang on to a glimmer of rationality.
The world had cast me as the villain in this story. This was the judgment that had been thrust upon me, the consequence of placing too much trust in someone. I had sensed something was amiss back then, as Kaizaki would leave me alone, his face etched with frustration upon his return. I had wondered what he was up to, but now I knew. He had been stealing.
The greatest wisdom of humanity is in not questioning the universe, which it never will understand, but in asking itself how to find inner peace. When? Never I guess.
"Sir, that's a complete lie! Why would I ever do such a thing?" I pleaded, desperation lacing my words.
"Maybe because you're poor?" he sneered, delivering the final blow. The words pierced my heart, and I felt a surge of pain, threatening to unleash a flood of tears. But I held them back, mustering the strength to respond.
"Sir, I may be poor, but I would never steal anything that doesn't belong to me," I declared, my voice trembling with emotion.
"I know, I don't blame you. Perhaps you were driven to it out of desperation, with nothing to eat or survive on. No need to lie, Akemi," he remarked, his tone condescending.
"Sir, that's not my real name," I protested, frustration simmering within me.
"Well... you were registered here as Akemi," he retorted dismissively.
Curses! I despise everything about this situation. Humans, the world, everything! I long to disappear, to escape from this torment. Why must they resort to such deceit?
Yes, Kaizaki is poor. It's true. He used me, manipulated me into becoming his friend, and discarded me like a worthless toy. Is this all I'm worth? Am I nothing more than a plaything to him?
"Kaizaki is poor as well, Akemi. He may not be as intelligent as you, but at least he possesses a kind heart," the principal taunted, his words dripping with malice.
"...Sir, please, I'm innocent. I haven't stolen anything from these people," I pleaded, my voice cracking with desperation.
"Shut up, Isa—I mean, Akemi," he jeered, laughing as if mocking my very existence. I had placed too much trust in him, this manipulative creature from the upper class. His gaslighting persona had taken hold.
Even my name, he had deceived me about that too. It suited him, just like his deceptive facade. I would forever be branded a loser, an outcast in this cruel world.
"You... How could you lie? Why did you use me? You tarnished my name! You're the true monster here!" I exclaimed, my voice quivering with anger and betrayal.
In that moment, both the principal and Kaizaki smirked, as if reveling in their sinister plot.
"Um... June and Annie, can you bring in the evidence that was left behind?" the principal called out.
"Are these yours, Akemi?" they questioned, presenting the bracelet I had crafted and my handkerchief. The items I had painstakingly marked with my name.
And there it was, the undeniable proof. There was no escape. I had stitched my name onto those possessions, sealing my fate.
Both of them had set me up. Why was the principal smirking too? Damn it! If only I had never crossed paths with this monster named Kaizaki. What would my mother say about all this? What would she do to me? Where was the justice in this? The supposed blessings from the gods? Where were they when I needed them the most?
Hell must be empty, for we are already living in it. The devils reside right here where I stand.
I had placed too much faith in Kaizaki, hoping we would become the best of friends. If only I had expected nothing from anyone, then perhaps I wouldn't be so deeply disappointed in this moment.
These are the most terrifying enemies in the world. Bullies are nothing compared to those who pretend to be your friends, only to use and betray you in the end. It's a greater cruelty than I ever imagined.
No justice? HAHA! What a foolish world I live in.
Yes, Kaizaki was also poor like me. He had a sick mother in need of surgery. I had visited their house once, and it was just like ours. I secretly wished for his mother's demise. Let karma rain down upon him, just wait and see.
"Akemi, return the antiques and jewelry you stole. Or perhaps you've already sold them? Don't tell me you've squandered all the money?!" the principal sneered.
"Sir..." I began, my voice laced with disgrace. My name was now dirtied beyond repair.
The victims began to shout at me, demanding the return of their precious possessions. But what could I do? I didn't have them, nor the money to replace them.
Oh, fuck! What a hellish world I live in.
"Return my antiques, you kid! That was my most prized possession! My deceased son gave it to me!" a furious voice rang out.
My chest felt heavy, weighed down by a burden I never imagined I would bear. Without hesitation, I sprinted towards the door, desperate to escape.
I sought solace in the restroom, hiding within its confines as I racked my brain for a way to obtain those valuable antiques.
Suddenly, there was a pounding on the door, and it swung open.
"There you are, you little brat!" a voice snarled.
"Aren't you going to return the possessions you stole?!" another accused, their anger palpable.
"I'll take it from here. Honestly, Akemi, your lies have pushed me to my limits! Maybe you cheated to rise to the top of this school?" the principal accused, his voice dripping with disdain.
"Sir, I would never do that! I have worked so hard to achieve my success!" I protested, my voice trembling with indignation.
"Enough! Do you dare to continue tricking us? Shut up already! No one will believe a liar. Sorry for the inconvenience, folks," the principal declared.
They dragged me to the principal's office, and eventually, my mother was summoned.
It was an arduous exchange, a conversation that seemed to stretch endlessly. In the aftermath, Mother's grip on my arms tightened, pulling me towards the victims of our actions. Together, we knelt, seeking forgiveness. Tears streamed down her face, and I couldn't bear witness to her sorrow. Despite her harshness towards me, a love for her lingered within my heart.
Mother attempted to rationalize my wrongdoings. She spoke of a gradual restitution, as if time held the power to heal the wounds we had inflicted. The estimated cost of our transgressions loomed before us, a staggering sum of one million yen.
In a vice-like grip, she clutched my right arm, her fingers constricting, almost as if she desired to strangle me. As we made our way home, she unleashed a torrent of derogatory words, assaulting my ears with her poisonous tongue. Yet, I remained indifferent, deaf to her vitriol. I was overwhelmed and unsure of what to do next. That day, I was enveloped in a profound sense of shame.
Finally, we arrived at our humble abode. With a fierceness that made my jaw ache, she seized my face, her voice resonating through my ear with an unsettling intensity.
"I AM SICK OF YOU!!! Are you a mere reflection of your father's lineage? No, you are no exception! You are nothing but a thief! Tell me, what atrocity will you commit next? Murder, perhaps?"
Left utterly speechless, I recoiled from the weight of her words. I refused to acknowledge the reality she painted before me, desperate to deny the existence of such scenarios. I refused to accept the truth.
I longed to release the pent-up anger and resentment, to utter the words that simmered beneath the surface, but I dared not. I couldn't. The mere thought of voicing my true emotions burdened my chest with an oppressive weight. These so-called sentiments, these emotions, how tiresome they were.
Happiness in this world seemed forever beyond my grasp, an unattainable dream slipping through my fingers. Overwhelmed by despair, I succumbed to tears, offering a feeble apology to Mother.
"Sorry? Can your apologies return what you have stolen?" she retorted.
Mother's countenance appeared worn, as if the weight of the world rested upon her shoulders. A twisted grin danced across her face, a grotesque manifestation I failed to comprehend. Was this the toll of incessant strain? Was it madness that gripped her soul? I knew not, yet I braced myself for the impending torment she intended to inflict upon me.
My stomach churned with a sickening sensation, a familiar feeling that devoured me from within. We descended into the depths of a desolate basement, its murky atmosphere engulfing us both.
"Drink this pill!" Mother's command echoed through the dimly lit chamber, leaving me with no alternative but to comply. Uncertain of its contents, I reluctantly swallowed it, succumbing to the ensuing darkness as consciousness slipped away.
When I finally regained awareness, I found my hands shackled, confined by the unyielding grip of cold chains. I lay upon a bed, my gaze drawn to a solitary light bulb suspended above me. The purpose of this gruesome setting eluded me, leaving a foreboding sense of dread in its wake. An array of menacing tools littered the room, their sharp edges glinting ominously. Fear coursed through my veins, an indescribable terror that foretold of unspeakable torments. It was as if a malevolent demon awaited, prepared to unleash a horror far surpassing any previous anguish.
"Hold still, you wretched child! This will be over soon," Mother's voice, laced with madness, pierced the air.
She commenced her macabre work, slicing into my jaws with callous precision. The excruciating pain rendered me speechless, my screams stifled by the makeshift gag that stifled my pleas. What horrors was she inflicting upon me? The blood flowed freely, a crimson torrent that dripped unabated. I could no longer bear it. What was happening to my face? In my agony, I cried out for Mother, but my pleas fell upon deaf ears. She had descended into the depths of insanity, relentless in her assault upon my very being. The world darkened as blood loss overcame me, and I succumbed to unconsciousness.
Upon awakening, I found myself freed from the chains that had bound me. My hands instinctively reached for my face, only to encounter an assemblage of plasters and stitches. What had Mother done? The extent of her malevolence remained a mystery, shrouded in the fog of my battered consciousness. Why was this relentless suffering my fate? Life was meant to be a canvas of joy and serenity, untainted by such cruelty. This world, this treacherous existence, was a place where evil ran rampant, and indifference reigned supreme. Where was the justice I so desperately sought? Every inhabitant of this bleak realm, each person roaming this hollow sphere, was but a devil incarnate. Hell, it seemed, had long abandoned its infernal home, for we were already dwelling within its accursed depths.
There's no meaning to life, no grand purpose to it all. No matter what we do, it will all fall and one day people will forget that we ever even existed. At the base of all these lies and facades that we call morality. What defines "good" and "evil"? What even is good and evil?
I clutched at the shards of my shattered existence, my fingers grasping at nothingness. I was powerless, helpless to alter the course of events that had transpired. None of this would have befallen me had I not placed my trust in the fallible nature of humanity. If only I had heeded Mother's cautionary words. I deserve this. I deserve the torment that has been wrought upon me.
His insatiable desires had spiraled out of control, ensnared within the web of others' manipulations. His downfall, a culmination of deceit orchestrated by the very principal he had placed his faith in. Karma, it would come, he believed. Patience was all that was required.
Though my legs trembled with weakness, I managed to rise from my bed, a sign of my resistance to giving up. Each step I took was an act of defiance, a resolute refusal to succumb. Casting my gaze upon the mirror, I recoiled at the sight that stared back at me. Ah... Mother had indeed ravaged my visage, adorning it with the locks of a stranger, rendering me hideous. I resembled a beast, unrecognizable to my own eyes. Who was I? What had become of my recognition? The reflection before me offered no solace, no answers, only an endless abyss of uncertainty.
"Good morning, sunshine!" Mother's voice pierced through the air, jolting me from my thoughts.
"Mother," I uttered, my voice laden with weariness.
"I said good morning!" she insisted.
"...Ah, good morning," I reluctantly replied.
"Did you enjoy the little makeover I gave you?"
Her words stung, and I fought the urge to lash out. "Yes, Mother, I loved it," I lied, my silence masking the pain that gnawed at my soul. Her expression remained impassive, offering no hint of her true intentions. The weight of this suffering threatened to suffocate me.
But she was not yet finished with me. "I'm not done with you! Come here," she commanded. "When I said 'we pay,' it means you alone. You got us into this mess, so it's your responsibility. You're transferring to a new school!"
As the school year drew to a close, I found myself on the precipice of yet another transition. The years spent in that educational institution had been marred by shame, branded a liar and a thief. The whispers followed me like a haunting refrain, taunting me at every turn. "Look, it's the thief! Hide your belongings!" or "There goes the liar!"
I chose silence in the face of their barbs, accepting their accusations while shielding myself from the hurtful insults. And so, I bid farewell to that wretched place, leaving behind the echoes of their scorn.
Freedom is a powerful thing. It's a sense of being able to do whatever you want, to go wherever you want, without limits or constraints. It is a feeling of liberation, of being able to express yourself however you want. Freedom is the ability to live YOUR life without the interference or control of others. But I have no such thing. Freedom is an illusion, it is a mere construct that exists in our minds. Most of us are bound by societal and economic constraints that limit our choices and our options. True freedom is a myth, one that many clings to but few will ever truly experience.
Moving forward, I ventured into a new chapter of my life. Presently, I find employment within the confines of the circus, a profession ordained by Mother's whims. I will navigate this harsh world, resilient and determined. I will straddle the demands of work and education, steadfast in my resolve. As I venture into college, I will set foot in an esteemed institution, defying the odds stacked against me.
Graduation will come to pass, and with it, I will forge a path towards prosperity, accumulating wealth and success. And when that day arrives, I will revel in the triumph, basking in the satisfaction of proving Mother wrong.
Wait and see…
Isamu 07/25/1970
The years since that dreadful event have created their own thread. It is now the year 1981, and December 20 brings with it a blanket of snow. The thought of Christmas seems frivolous, an extravagance we cannot afford. Birthdays, too, have become distant dreams beyond our grasp. The weight of the debt still looms over me, a constant reminder of my obligations.
I find myself in the twelfth grade, now eighteen years old. This will be my final year in this new educational institution, my stepping stone towards a future that kindles of my mourning years. I yearn for the day when I can dedicate myself entirely to the pursuit of entrance exams, leaving behind the confines of school. After classes, I venture to the circus, where I am bound for seven arduous hours. The school day stretches on for six to seven hours, leaving me with precious time to study in the wake of the circus. Weekends are consumed by the relentless waves of laughter and humiliation, a world to which I have grown accustomed.
Despite the challenges, I continue to reign supreme at the top of my class. I must push myself further, studying with relentless determination. I am willing to break through my limits, even if it means sacrificing my very being. I care not for the consequences. In due time, I will prove them all wrong, basking in the glow of my success and affluence.
The snowy days mirror the coldness within, a chill that pervades my being. Sympathy for others eludes me; I cannot deceive myself into feeling what is not there. When I encounter beggars on the streets, time seems to stand still, and I question their plight. "Why do they not seek employment? I managed to find work. Why do they resort to begging when everyone in this world toils for their livelihood?" I am aware of their fragile bones, their malnourishment. I do not wish to discriminate, for I, too, am ensnared in the clutches of poverty. I surmise that they beg out of desperation—some grappling with frailty, others burdened by disease or subjected to discrimination and emotional turmoil. I acknowledge their struggles, and yet, my heart remains callous. Once, there was empathy within me, a twinge of compassion that would weigh heavily on my chest at the sight of a beggar's tears or suffering. But now...now, it is different. My emotions have grown cold, frozen into oblivion, transformed into mere ashes.
Imagine the trust I bestowed upon him, now shattered. A friend's betrayal has left me questioning the very essence of camaraderie. Where is the solidarity that should bind us? The human race, it seems, is eternally entangled in a web of exploitation and manipulation. Is it not ironic? What is lost cannot be reclaimed. Dignity, shame, and judgment have bartered away fragments of my soul. All is lost, and there can be no resurrection.
I stumble upon a poem I had penned long ago. Ah, yes, I remember it well. Mother, in her wisdom, imparted upon me the art of English and Japanese literature. This poem, composed when I was but twelve years old, was crafted at her behest, a reflection of her essence. I chose to imbue it with false and delusional emotions, unwilling to portray the negative aspects of her character. Instead, I sought to capture the profound love of a mother, encapsulating it within the realm of poetry.
I was tasked to make a free verse. I was certain she would love this. Next, I'll make a Haiku.
Titled: Mother
In the golden glow of yesteryears,
You cradled me, banishing my fears.
As an infant, I entered this world anew,
Basking in the sunshine, guided by you.
Oh, Mother dear, your radiance so bright,
You claimed dominion over darkness and night.
Through troubled times, you stood by my side,
I'll cling to you fiercely, till success I abide.
The ties that bound us may fray and sever,
Yet, a mother's love endures forever.
Like flowers in bloom, your love remains strong,
A soothing balm for my heart's every wrong.
As I grow older, connections may wane,
But your love, Mother, will forever reign.
In times of pain, like blossoms in spring,
Your unwavering care, a priceless offering.
I couldn't shape your mind or your soul,
Yet, my grateful hands have kept you whole.
Promises were made, with steadfast devotion,
Your love, a beacon through life's vast ocean.
I was tarnished, impure in my own eyes,
Yet, your warm touch made me feel pure, arise.
Oh, Mother, indebted I truly am,
I vow to return triumphant, a victor's grand slam.
My existence has been both marvelous and steeped in woe,
In times of need, you were there, my pillar, my hero.
The title of the greatest mother, rightfully you bear,
In your love and care, I find solace beyond compare.
The poem, so carefully crafted, lies in my hands. I had hoped to bestow it upon someone more deserving, someone who would appreciate its sentiment. But regrettably, it seems I have only managed to upset her. She disapproves of certain words, insisting they should be perfect, more creative. Yet, to me, it was an honest reflection of my feelings, an imitation of what a good mother would evoke. Once again, I am reminded to cease expecting anything from her.
Her gaze fixates ahead, and the name "Melisa" escapes her lips. Suddenly, she snaps at me, demanding to know why I am staring. I reply meekly, "No-nothing, mother..." Casting my eyes upon the mirror, I mutter, "Who is this hideous person?" Though, in truth, I have grown accustomed to my appearance. A life marred by shame has become my reality, and I have made peace with it. I have no desire for fame; the carnival is my realm of notoriety. I possess the ability to amuse people, and perhaps, if I were not adorned in makeup, the audience would recoil at the sight of my face. Desperation for financial stability consumed me, yet stealing from others would be a fate worse than death. Why should I deprive them? I yearn to become wealthy, to prove to those who deceived me that the man they labeled a freak, a thief, a fraud, and a burden has risen to the ranks of a billionaire. Just wait and see. It is not merely the wealth I seek; it is my pride. In due time, I will submit countless job applications, seizing every opportunity that presents itself. I must have faith in my ability to succeed.
There was a time when my life felt devoid of purpose, lacking anything to look forward to or strive for. Yet, what is the point? I find myself lacking motivation, though my adversaries have become my unwitting inspiration. So, why do I still contemplate surrendering? All interest has waned, leaving me bereft. I have succumbed to despair, to a degree that time itself stands still, and I must immerse myself in novels and manga to escape the clutches of suffering.
Every book I purchase is hidden away, a clandestine treasure, for I fear my mother may burn them. Academic books are all she deems suitable for my consumption. Novels are a rare indulgence, a lifeline that helps me endure the agony and transcend reality. Someday, I too hope to try my hand at writing, but for now, it remains a distant dream. Writing alone cannot bring me riches or fulfill my basic needs. Perhaps, when I am wealthy and retired, I shall begin penning my own stories.
I make my way to the carnival once more. The crowds gather, as numerous as ever. It is my time to practice mime and jest. Why is it that people revel in alluding to the sufferings of others? What perverse enjoyment do they derive from such actions? The world, it seems, will forever remain unchanged. They will laugh at your mistakes, your downfalls, and your sorrows. Even your so-called friends may find amusement in your misfortune, hidden behind their facade of camaraderie.
The following day arrived, bringing with it a sense of monotony and resignation. Being a laughing stock is how it feels to be a celebrity. I don't mind; the more amazed people are, the higher my pay is. I proceeded with my routine, attending school during the day and performing at the circus in the evenings. The world around me seemed filled with jealousy and disdain. These individuals harbored animosity towards me, snubbing me and speaking ill of me behind my back. I remember a close encounter with Kauchi, where he nearly struck me with a knife during a trick. It was clear to me that it was no accident; he had done it deliberately. There were other instances as well, such as when they tampered with my outfit and sprinkled pepper on it, causing my body to burn. Despite their devious actions, they barely managed to meet the minimum expectations set by our boss.
My boss, on the other hand, held a favorable opinion of me. I had surrendered my humanity to this circus, and he reaped the benefits of my performances. He occasionally suspected the others of trying to harm me, knowing that such actions would lead to their dismissal. I couldn't help but acknowledge the desperate need for money that motivated them to endure these circumstances. But as for me, I cared little for their struggles. Their lives may be challenging, but mine was even more wretched. It was their responsibility, not mine. If they couldn't handle the coping mechanism I had adopted, that was their problem. I was merely carrying out my duties, counting down the days until I could bid farewell to this carnival once my debt was fully paid.
On my way home, I heard the sound of a cat yowling. Curiosity compelled me to investigate. Was the boss involved in some act of cruelty, murdering the poor creature? I approached him cautiously, maintaining my composure to avoid creating a scene. I inquired, "Boss, why are you killing this creature?"
"Huh? Oh, it's you," he responded, surprised. "This cat... it stole my lunch! Now I have nothing to eat. Annoying pests. I hate it when something or someone tries to ruin my plans. I was planning to eat, and now it's all ruined. This cat got what he deserves."
The boss appeared disheveled, his eyes bloodshot, and his demeanor that of a broken man. It was evident that something was amiss, but I didn't want to get involved. I felt a twinge of pity for the cat. Animals, in their innocence, often displayed more kindness than humans. I am torn, I both hate and love humans at the same time. It's quite ironic isn't it? Yet, I was powerless to intervene. I lacked the strength to defend the cat, so I departed without uttering a word.
The following day dawned, like so many before it, ushering me into another cycle of the same dreary existence.
The specter of final exams loomed before me, a formidable challenge that demanded rigorous preparation. Its outcome would determine my entry into an esteemed institution, a coveted domain accessible only to those who conquered its entrance examination. The whispered rumors were merciless: a mere 40% of students managed to navigate the treacherous path to success. But such statistics held little sway over my resolute determination. I aimed for perfection, an unfaltering pursuit of the ideal, disregarding all obstacles that dared obstruct my path.
In the waning moments after the bell released us from the confines of the classroom, the weight of anticipation pressed upon my shoulders. This ephemeral respite, fleeting as it was, afforded me a precious opportunity to gather my wits and face the impending trials head-on. Undeterred by the demanding standards, I resolved to exceed the expected threshold of 97% and reach the zenith of a perfect score, unyielding in my ambition.
Yet, as daylight surrendered to the cloak of dusk, my reality metamorphosed into a stage of a different kind. Obligations beckoned, necessitating the shedding of my studious persona. The masquerade awaited me, its allure seductive and intoxicating. Donning elaborate costumes, I became a mere player, a performer who danced before an audience, their laughter serving as the applause that resounded in my ears.
But tonight, the stage held a clandestine secret, unbeknownst to me until that fateful hour. My tardiness, a consequence of dutifully tending to my mother's domestic demands, had deprived me of vital information. The enigmatic boss had orchestrated an unforeseen twist to today's spectacle, concealed behind the veil of my ignorance.
Transfixed by horror and disbelief, I moved closer to the veiled curtain, my steps faltering with trepidation. The boss, a puppet master of malevolent intentions, materialized in the dimly lit corner of the stage. What unfolded before my disbelieving eyes constricted the very beat of my heart. My once-vibrant comrades lay strewn across the ground, devoid of life's precious essence. Crimson stains adorned the floor, a gruesome illustration of the atrocities that had taken place. The audience, however, kept cheering and applauding despite the grisly scene; their enthusiasm was unaffected by the ominous spectacle taking place in front of them.
The boss, his voice resonating from the depths of his being, stood at the rear of the stage, dictating the next twisted act to be performed. My trembling gaze fell upon Yuki, the brave soul who had always volunteered to face the blade's kiss. But fate had snatched her away mere moments ago, leaving behind a void in her absence. I could scarcely comprehend the unimaginable truth—Akio, the master of precision, had faltered in his execution. The knives protruded from his form, a heartbreaking illustration of the mistakes he has made. Two blades had found solace in his eyes, one lodged within his stomach, and two more pierced his chest, seeking his very heart. And yet, in the wake of his tragic demise, his lifeless hand clutched onto a blade, betraying the desperate grasp he had maintained on his faltering sanity.
The acrobatic troupe, once nimble and agile, now lay sprawled across the ground, their bodies contorted in grotesque arrangements. Some bore broken necks, while others suffered bones shattered beyond recognition. How had they fallen? The very ropes they relied upon for safety, meticulously inspected by the staff before every performance, now dangled in fragmented remnants. They had been severed, severed by a malevolence veiled in darkness, a clandestine hand that sought to orchestrate a symphony of chaos.
Suddenly, the entrance door flung open, an ominous gust of wind propelling its swing. From the depths of the abyss emerged humanoid puppets, suspended from the ceiling by oversized garments. They rushed forth with alarming efficiency, mending the damage inflicted upon the stage as if it were but a trivial task. Their motions were devoid of emotion, detached from the horrors that had unfolded. Five of them, their hollow eyes devoid of life, engaged in a macabre dance of restoration. They gathered the lifeless bodies, each one a silent witness to the desolation that had transpired. I caught a glimpse of Hakino, the performer whose artistry manifested through mesmerizing displays of fire, reduced to a charred husk. His features were obscured, his face a canvas of agony and unrecognizability.
As they repaired the broken ropes and restored order to the chaos, my gaze fixated upon the colossal cloth that loomed before me. What secret lay concealed within its voluminous folds? The chill of foreboding coursed through my veins, for I sensed that this was to be the culmination of my own story. The exit, once freely accessible, now stood barred, its lock hidden from my view. But my gaze remained fixed upon the audience, their cheer and adulation reverberating through the theater, as well as the towering cloth that beckoned me, whispering of its hidden horrors.
"And now, ladies and gentlemen!" the boss's voice boomed through the tainted air, dripping with a perverse glee. "In honor of your unwavering loyalty to this circus, I extend my deepest gratitude to Mr. Isamu, our esteemed star, and the entire staff who have toiled alongside me. But now, it is time for the grand finale, the culmination of our twisted journey together! Prepare yourselves, for today, Mr. Isamu shall demonstrate his unparalleled bravery as he faces a formidable lion. Will he emerge triumphant, defying death's embrace? Or shall he succumb to the ferocious jaws that hunger for his flesh? Let the spectacle commence! Release the beast!"
In that harrowing moment, the realization struck me like a bolt of lightning—I had been ensnared in a cruel web of fate. The bleakness of my predicament offered no solace, for I had exhausted all means of escape. The laughter of the audience, echoing through the chamber, assaulted my senses, as if their minds had been tainted, their very souls indoctrinated by the hypnotic grip of this circus. Throughout the years, I had traversed its halls, beholding its wonders, but never before had I been confronted with such unspeakable horror. What had befallen my boss? What demons tormented his conscience, driving him to orchestrate this macabre performance? Perhaps the sinister allure of drugs had eroded his sanity, or perhaps there existed a more profound darkness that eluded comprehension.
Without a moment's hesitation, instinct propelled me into motion. Desperation gripped me as I sprinted, the specter of the impending lion propelling my every stride. I ascended, seeking refuge upon the perch where fearless jumpers once defied gravity's grasp. The clamor of the crowd reverberated, their voices a twisted symphony of delight, as if reveling in the impending bloodshed. I strained to comprehend their perverse enjoyment, their distorted perception of entertainment. What had corroded their humanity, transforming them into mere spectators of suffering?
Time dwindled mercilessly as the lion, sinewy and relentless, began its ascent from the opposing direction. My heart raced, beads of perspiration mingling with the ever-present fear that threatened to consume me whole.
I found a gleam of hope in my pocket—a small, simple knife—as the clamor of the crowd reached its climax and engulfed my thoughts in a sea of noise. "Perhaps," I pondered, "this will serve some purpose in this twisted labyrinth." With a leap of faith, I propelled myself from the edge, my descent softened by the fortuitous presence of a trampoline below. Seizing the moment, I grasped the rope that stretched across the divide, my fingers tightening around its coarse fibers. With a steady resolve, I embarked upon a perilous journey, traversing the realm between the jumper and the rope-balancer stations.
A fluttering white flag caught my attention, beckoning me forward. In a swift motion, I tore it from its moorings, clutching it tightly within my trembling grasp. Descending with fervor, my hands guided by the knife's steel, I severed the cloth that obscured the truth within. It was a race against time, fueled by the urgency that pulsed within my veins. My strides quickened as I sprinted towards the exit, the shredded fabric fluttering behind me, trailing remnants of my salvation.
A stroke of fortune smiled upon me, for I discovered a cache of spare gas and a lighter, remnants of my prior performances with the flame hoops. As the lion loomed closer, I ignited the improvised torch, brandishing it with determination. "Back!" I bellowed, my voice laced with a desperate command. With each fiery lunge, I pushed the beast away, maintaining a tenuous equilibrium between life and death. Keeping my focus steadfast, I steadily retreated, pouring the remaining gas onto the wooden door and setting it ablaze. The lion, momentarily seized by fear, hesitated, allowing me a fleeting respite. The melting plastic strings that bound the door succumbed to the flames, yielding their grasp on freedom. I surged through the newly created passage, propelled by adrenaline and a will to survive.
As I escaped the clutches of the beast, I stumbled upon a nearby room, hastily sealing its entrance and evading the jaws of certain demise. Beyond the door lay the entrance to the audience, their anguished screams piercing the veil of chaos. Panic and suffering engulfed them, their pleas for help rending the air with a desolate symphony.
Then, the boss emerged, fury etched upon his features, consumed by his own twisted desires. "You imbecile! You have laid waste to everything! How dare you set my circus ablaze!" he seethed with rage.
I retorted, my voice filled with a bitter defiance, "And what am I worth to you? Look around, you wretched fool! Look at the people who suffer under your malevolence!"
"My malevolence?" he sneered, his laughter resonating with a sinister edge. "Who, pray tell, allowed the lion to escape? MWAHAHAHA!"
He spoke the truth, for it was I who had inadvertently set the beast free. Yet, I refused to bear the weight of guilt alone. The haunting echoes of laughter still reverberated within me, the callous amusement of those who reveled in the face of impending doom. No, I felt no pity for those creatures. In this moment, I laughed, a bitter and triumphant laughter that echoed through the halls. "My sympathy for humanity has long withered away," I declared with furious resolve.
His sunken eyes darkened further, his visage twisted into something otherworldly, as if his spirit had abandoned its vessel. He produced a knife, and madness emanated from him like a palpable aura. Is this the culmination of his descent into lunacy?
He bellowed with fervor, "You are of no use to me! Vanish from my sight!" His voice dripped with venom, his intentions clear.
I had no choice but to prepare for the upcoming conflict. This corpulent figure, swollen with gluttony and greed, embodied a pitiful existence devoid of any true accomplishments. With nimble agility, I managed to evade his thrust towards my heart. A realization sparked within me, a glimmer of opportunity. On the right, a box brimming with volatile gas beckoned, its contents poised for transformation. Calculating my movements with precision, I maneuvered myself towards it, evading each strike he unleashed. Seizing a momentary respite, I delivered a forceful kick, granting myself a fleeting advantage. Though he regained his footing, I seized the opportunity, hastily unraveling the package and retrieving its contents. But before I could react, his knife found its mark, piercing my back. Agonizing pain coursed through my veins, yet my resolve remained unyielding. Ignoring the searing agony, I snatched the small bucket and flung it in his direction, despite the crimson stains that marked my flesh. His anguished cry filled the air, "Ahhhh! My eyes!" With the final moments drawing near, the boundary between life and death blurred, I retrieved the lighter.
His desperate screams echoed, a symphony of torment. Yet, I adorned myself with a poker-faced facade, a sardonic grin etched upon my lips. Satisfaction blossomed within me as his form became engulfed in merciless flames. Mother's words echoed in my mind, her prophetic declaration that my next act would involve taking a life. It was an act of self-preservation, I reassured myself. I would not shoulder the burden of this demise. The sheer abundance of deranged souls that populate this world is staggering.
Why did the laughter transform into screams? Is this the very embodiment of your desires? Pleasure, oh, the sweet pleasure that resonates in your ears.
I swung open the door, greeted by a macabre scene of bloodstains splattered across the floor. At the farthest corner, the lion feasted upon the lifeless head of an innocent child. Resolute, I retrieved another lighter from an adjacent box, its flames serving as my only salvation. Slowly, deliberately, I poured the gallon of gasoline onto a designated area.
"I shall incinerate this place, every fragment of this living nightmare!" I declared with grim determination. The flames would consume all, purging this torment from existence.
I ignited the lighter and hurled it towards the gasoline-soaked area. Hastily, I made my way to the exit, ensuring the door was securely closed. I repeated the action at the entrance, sealing off any chance of escape for those who remained. Let them perish, those wretched savages!
The inferno raged, devouring everything in its path. The circus collapsed in a cascade of flames, billowing smoke engulfing the air. The acrid scent of burning flesh filled my nostrils. I needed to flee before the authorities arrived. The wound inflicted by the knife still throbbed, a reminder of the danger that lurked within my veins. I couldn't afford to lose too much blood, lest I succumb to unconsciousness and face dire consequences.
Reluctantly, I made my way towards home, the proximity forcing my hand. I surmised that Mother was already asleep, unaware of the turmoil that had unfolded. I entered through the window, carefully avoiding detection. They would ignore the events that transpired, I convinced myself, as long as I played the role of the neutral observer. I couldn't afford to end up behind bars.
Gazing at my reflection in the mirror, I beheld the face of a murderer. How fitting, I thought, for the world to brand me a monster. In this visage, I understood the truth. The transplanted hair and the stitches, the handiwork of Mother, remained intact. I pondered the reasons behind my actions, contemplating the depths of my own existence.
Anxieties about the future gripped my thoughts, but I forced myself to remain calm. As I prepared to surrender to sleep, I heard the sound of Mother's arrival. It was a rarity to witness her venturing into the outside world. Where had she been at such an hour? The question lingered, yet I chose to maintain my silence, unwilling to invite unnecessary confrontation. I switched on my lamp, banishing the encroaching drowsiness. With the fatigue subsided, I turned my attention to studying for the impending final exams, as if the grim events of the night had never transpired.
They were deserving of their fate, those wretched beings. I refuse to be a mere pawn in this world, subject to its whims and machinations. I shall never allow such a thing to transpire again.
Death, the great equalizer, unites all of humanity. In the face of impermanence, we are reminded that we will all eventually succumb to its embrace. With the passage of time, memories of our existence fade away, lost to the records of time. It is ironic how, in death, people suddenly pay attention and express affection. This world is a bastion of injustice. However, sometimes I do and sometimes I don't. It's weird, my emotions are unstable. Sometimes I feel like living and sometimes I feel like dying. It all depends on my mood. My whole life, I never know what I really wanted but in the end, I know I'm just a passenger that is along for the ride.
Who would have thought that I would still draw breath at this very moment? I have defied death's clutches. Surviving is a victory, and I revel in this triumph. Death cannot quell the indomitable spirit that fuels my will to live. I am glad that I prevailed. I know not what the future holds, but I will deny any association with the events of the past.
Tomorrow, I shall rehearse my explanations, my alibis. I must be prepared for the questions that may arise.