buds of mochi.

buds of mochi.

Rain was nothing better than dollops of salt. Air was fumes of toxin. Snow, just ash in practice. Sunlight was like a torch to cripple my skin. Dewy eyes that smiled like a battlefield, crusted lips, and that pale sandy skin. A scowling nose. Everything smelt bitter. Even when the skies were clearest, when the rain trickled soft, life smelt of sour, rotten lemons and dirt. That's life on a normal, domestic day. But life always finds a way to warp and squirm inside-out, as the air screams, the clouds scorch, the Earth vomits. Structures of life lay fractured and bruised. The world would cave. See, I can always go on a whole thing about how I picture our world to end, how we'll die and rot and whatnot. But why bother, when we could see it firsthand? I'm such an impatient person. I swear, that petulance's the death of me. In the end, we were being slowly killed.

I. When my dewy eyes met yours, nature squeezed the world for that moment. It was like the rest of the bitter world stopped, and sucked in a shallow breath. You couldn't tell where the snow started and my hair ended. It was my first time in weather like this. But it was also the first time I met you. On that cold swing you sat, pouted, and kicked. I found myself brushing off the swing beside and climbing on to do the same. Little legs alike, reaching for momentum. Scratches of giggles, hoarse wheezing. We tried forever, but never moved an inch.

"Gaaaah... This is so dumb!" I recall that you said this. You were making a pout, squinting. It made your little pink face mush up, and it made me smile. My head went full bloom.

I gasped, "I guess we're just too small." Your olive eyes glistened and crinkled. I miss it. I wish I could see your eyes again. I wish you'd smile for me again. In that moment and every day after, I would think; What a kind smile...

"I'm Hajime," a warm, extended hand. "Do you want to be friends?" My lips upturned then further -- probably the biggest smile of my life! -- and I gently caught your hand. "Sure. My name is Nagito."

How the world must've hated this. The universe, even. These two clashing kids, meeting to later spend their lives together. Still, nothing stopped my wobbly little feet from jumping off my swing and walking over to push yours. We met at the park every day.

II. You loved boats. I remember when you caught your first fish, we both felt so proud. Every week, you'd find some way to lead me out to the ships and we'd sail as your dad steered. (I wonder how he is now, your dad. You didn't talk about him much. I'm guilty of that too, though. I guess that makes us even. Your dad sucked anyway.) We probably looked at the same fish hundreds of times, but it never got boring. You never got boring. I never knew someone like you. To be fair, I spent most of my life alone, so you were the only person I honestly knew. Sometimes it made me feel invisible.

But I couldn't be invisible if someone sees me. And you saw me, every time. I wish we stayed so close, and you didn't sprain your neck doing work for hours on end. I wish your family gave you more time. I wish that even when we matured, we could go out to the water more often. GPAs, finals, and theses are important, but it made me miss your warm hand. Your hand had other things to do, things to write, temples to press, coffee to hold. You used to talk about sailing to America on a boat you'd make yourself. We used to origami little models. You stopped talking about travel too quickly. I still want to see the world with you. I've always wanted to try a taco.

III. A dumb mess of snowflake hair. Gross strands spew as a cloud would throw itself over the sky. So stormy and wrung out. The fluff bobbed with each step, flared and sprung when the air was humid, and, similar to a wild beast, was completely untamable. It was like marshmallows, cottage cheese, the brush of a mop, even shaving cream. As if every lock had a mind of its own, it replicates its wearer's every coil and droop. It was like bitter, strained cotton candy. So I hate my hair. Never was really complimented on looks, or on anything really. You never questioned my hair. You played with it and called it like mochi. Kusamochi was your favorite kind, I remember.

"You should try it sometime!" A lovely grin. You barely smiled then, but when you did it was to me. I could ogle at you all day. "It's not quite like your hair, but mochi nonetheless." God, how the sun glistened on your face, your rare smile. Hair still so nice and brown and spiked like a chestnut. But the pretty freckles under your eyes were gone, replaced with bags.

"I kind of think it looks like ash. Or salt." My voice went hoarse.

"So not mochi?" You pursed your lips. "Hm. Then clouds. Or sugar. Cheese- oh, or the moon! Or sea foam. Also snow. Oh, then you could be a fox! If it were mochi though, I'd just top some kinako on it and eat it. You'd be bald, Nagi." I shoved you, and said idiot toppled over. "Hey! Don't eat my hair!!" You got up cackling. "You're so selfish, 'nakomochiii!" We chased around with sand in our toes. You called me "kinako mochi'' but all I did was fight for my hair's life. (Well, retorting back "stupid sakura!" some. You hate Sakuramochi.) It was the first time in a while I had something to protect. It was fun.

The next day, you weren't let back out. You had to work. Your tanning skin paled.

IV. So when the sickly, vomiting Earth decided to smoke, my hair decided to snow. I was a fox, scouting a storm for cherry blossoms. Maybe I could offer the tree some mochi. All trees around me were wrecked, blooming lives cut down in a snap. Your lovely, stupid, blossoming tree wasn't anywhere to be found. What I found resembling the absolute branches were the remains and twigs of a worn-out, smashed cherry blossom tree, littered with rubble and clutter. Your stupid, stupid face was still so perfect. People always called it ugly and tan, but it was nothing like that. The roots of this blossom were strewn everywhere, much like my mochi hair. Rather than the tang of kinako, the bitter ash and dirt topped the strands. The world kept caving and caving.

I held your cold hand. I touched your chest. Cold hands were supposed to mean a warm heart, right? So why haven't you budged? You were so hopeful. Where's that hope, now?

"Get up, stupid. You stupid sakura. Don't die on me." The same couldn't be said for your buried family. Hah, like a burial in their own house. The house they wouldn't let you leave, they're now stuck in. I didn't bother to check them, since it's not worth it. They don't matter.

So wake up. Look at me. They're gone now. Your family can't hurt you. Don't you know what you are to me? What about my hair -- my mochi hair? You said it was nice. Get up, stupid, so you can eat it with kinako. Get up so we can go see the fish and America. I need you to get up, you don't have to sneak out for mochi anymore. I'll try Kusamochi, and we can share. We can also try tacos! Don't you want to? Stop it, look at me. Open your eyes, let me see them and your smile. Let's swing in the snow. I choked. The air was filthy. Maybe it was just me. All you've told me. All you did for me. Your house is by the sea, let's go now and see the waves. Get up. Hajime, please.

You never got up. I never left your spot. Even when the filth would suffocate my breath, I only sat. It all just hurt. No warm hands or warm words. Your body was bitter and dead. And I became the same. I'm sorry. I guess I really did become invisible. Let's be invisible together, Hajime.

End.