/jp/ - Otaku Culture

>>45271143 (9/-)
—
After this last week, waking up to an empty house with nothing on the table feels jarring. I have no tears to spare—it was a long night…—, so I just sigh and make something to eat. The day outside was gray…

Mokou was just the first step and therefore the hardest. There are still Mr. Hieda and the students, who would then talk to their parents, and, hopefully, this lie dies by next daybreak. I stare at empty space, pondering just sending a letter saying I'm sick… Funny how I don't have the motivation to do even that.

I want my bed…

I touch my belly, gulping acrid smoke, and force myself to get ready for the day, hoping things go at least an ounce better than last night.

—

Shocked, I stare at Mr. Hieda—he's livid. Normally a man so calm and intrinsic; but now looking at me like I'm a trash pile, "What do you mean by that?" He spits.

"The rumors grew uncontrollably, and I couldn't—"

"No, you absolute fool! If you're not pregnant, Akyuu won't be able to come back to this realm!" I freeze, eyes wide. Akyuu…? W-What?! "I received dreams from beyond—by Yama herself—; livid dreams of my Akyuu’s pure soul awaiting on the shore of the Sanzu to be reincarnated—and it'd have been through you, one of her best friends! I was excited to receive you in my family and treat you like my own daughter! But you deceived me with lies, even using your students!"

… This cannot be real.

It's so outlandish that I can't help but laugh. Shouldn't have: his face twists in scorn. Mr. Hieda never got over Akyuu's death, trying to revert it, acting like it didn't happen… we all just played along to not sadden him—but this is ridiculous! "Mr. Hieda, please. I would never do something like that—"

He slams the table, and I shut up. "Your power over history is the perfect cover; don't try to make a fool out of me, Keine! You're laughing on the inside, aren’t you? Because that's who you are: a monster that plays with people's feelings!" There was a connotation in his words that made my heart skip a beat; Mokou told?! No, she wouldn't… would she? Maybe neighbors heard all, then saw her flying in the midnight, perhaps heard me crying— "To think you'd turn out to be like this…"

I sigh, massaging my temples. "Mr. Hied—"

"You're fired."

I pause. I look at him, frowning. His eyes have a cold fury behind them. "… Mr. Hieda—"

"Did I stutter, Keine? Go pick up your things and leave the temple at once. You're not welcome here anymore."

"You can't do this to me." I affirm, getting up, trembling, feeling an utter rage grow inside like a parasite. He doesn't bulge. "… Don't you know how much I sacrificed for this school?! Decades! You can't fire me over the assumption that I'd give birth to your dead daughter!" I point at his face, free hand slamming the table.

He stares through me. "You're fired, Keine."

I'm boiling with rage, an urge to explode his face corroding me from the inside… But outside the room, footsteps; shrill laughter, and I know whatever I do or say will be heard by the children outside…

… Children that talk a lot.

Mouth a line, eyes fire, I slowly walk away from the table, fists clenched and quaking… And turn, leaving the room with a quick pace—a hiccup, and I can feel the tears streaming, using my hair to cover my red face.

I make it to my classroom in record time, trying hard not to think as my quivering hands push everything I consider worthwhile—personal things, utensils… drawings of me with the students—into my bag, cursing under my breath: who let a man who never properly grieved decide things? Me, birthing Akyuu?! And because it was all a FUCKING LIE, I lost my job?!

I bite my lower lip, hand clinching my chest, trying not to hyperventilate—what can I do to reverse this? Can I talk to someone within Clan Hieda and make him change his mind? Why did things turn out like this?!—crushing a fistful of hair, I remember Anon's words, my heart withering…

Are these the consequences of living a lie? Losing those you love; what you love to do…?

I gulp a block of ice, weak, yet manage to get the full bag beneath my arm, glassy eyes as I open the window and fly back home, desperate to just sink my face in my pillow and, somehow, wake up in a world not as fucked up.

Subconsciously, my hand touches my belly, mind screaming when the only thing I can feel is blood circulation.

I get home—after wrecking myself on the front porch and breaking the fence—feeling absolutely spent, wild eyes and body shivering, biting cold against the enormous, itching, uncomfortable heat cooking me inside. Unsure how to react to the sheer amount of stress, I drop into my bed, still in my teacher's robes, and just… stare at the ceiling.

I don't yell, throw a temper tantrum; rather, my mind buzzes, eyes refuse to focus on anything, and I hug my flat belly… This is just too much…

… How much money do I have on me anyway? Not much. Never thought I'd be unemployed.

Can I buy food? Yes. Supplies for winter? Maybe…

I start to cry.