What is a name?
'Well… It's something to be written down, for someone else to use. Though, what if someone had no name? What would they be referred to as?'
I heaved in the crisp air of the night; I looked up at the stars, but I could only see the bugs flying around the streetlamps. My steps were slow and thought out, like every step I was contemplating the next.
'Do I need to make a name for myself…? But then again, what name would I make for myself? In this entire thing I've assumed the fucking role of a goddamn character within a script! How naïve!'
My thoughts were torn between my own confusion and the consequences of my actions. The air was light, but my chest was heavy. The knuckles on my fist were white from how hard I tightened my fists.
I came to a standstill underneath a streetlamp. On one hand I was confident that I knew what this world was, on the other hand I was infuriated at myself; however, I don't know why I was angry or confused. All these feelings muddled my thinking up.
'I am me. I am Friend B. That's who I have been since the start, and that's who I will be when this charade ultimately ends.'
But a part of me deep within was unsatisfied that I would stop at simply being an extra within a play. Though, now that everything has derailed so far off the script, could it still be considered a play?
Continuing the pathway underneath the streetlamps and the starless sky, I finally reach my house after what seemed to be an eternity even for me. Does it even matter? My interference or not? Has there been an attempt wherein I don't act? Fuck following the script. But… Will Sango understand?
Infront of my doorway I ponder for a second, before turning around and walking down the street again, past rows of houses that stretch to infinity, on a road that seems to lead to the abyss.
How should I tell her that I won't go to school tomorrow? Hesitant steps clicked and clopped against the pavement. I felt infinitesimally small against the world, the fitted blazer I wore millions of times somehow failed to fit. I keep going though. It wasn't long before I reached Sango's house. Different than the rest, I reached the door and prepared to buzz the intercom or knock, yet I couldn't.
Nothing physically blocked me, nor was I against the idea of talking personally; yet, it was as if my own body had turn coat against me. Was it a fear of rejection? Or a fear of consequences? The ramifications of telling another that you would disappoint them, I was befuddled.
'What if Sango didn't like that, or, or what if Sango had previous arrangements that accounted for me… What would I do if I lost my first real friend? My first comrade in this cosmic anomaly of a world…'
I was flummoxed at a standstill in front of Sango's front door.
I need to leave the script behind, so I wrote a letter for her. It said what I was going to do but I didn't mention for how long. It was informative and probably more than I could relay in talking. At least that was the rational excuse I used to avoid seeing Sango disappointed in me.
After returning home, I immediately went to bed. All my energy was sapped out of me as I lie on that bed. But I could not go to sleep, all I could think about were the possibilities and the 'what-ifs' between Sango and Mrs. Yuki.
So, I didn't sleep.
I watched the sun rise.
And then, I watched it go down again.
Pensively meditating on the concept of my own character.
Until I heard a knock on the door at night.