everyone i loved died

chapter one

"please, just let me live." nagisa whimpered, "no more interviews, i beg- just... leave me alone." he trembled, words breaking up. his raspy voice choked as he gawked at the blanched hospital bedsheets.

"sorry, shiota" the interviewer bowed, prudently reversing out of the door, hairs standing on the edge, pricking in apprehension as his eyes locked with nagisa's.

there was something more behind the swollen puffiness which was caused by his repetitive cry: it wasn't intentional, yet it struck every person who walked within the room with trepidation.

"we apologise for the intrusion- and again- we are sincerely sorry for your loss, we understand. things will get better, we promise." he stammered. "have a good evening-"

"it will get better, i promise."

fuck off

nagisa had heard that phrase hundreds of times. if not, thousands. to the point where it became an irritating trigger that caused the tears brimming upon his eyelids to fall.

but recently, it was as if he'd forgotten how to cry. like the state of shock someone goes into before their face can register the impact. that constant state was burned into him permanently. no matter how much he tried- there were just no tears.

it wouldn't get better. people just needed to stop making promises they can't keep.

the satisfying click upon the door closing amplified around his hospital room, dulling out the rumble of chatter bouncing throughout the hallways.

that hallway had as much personality as the rest of the hospital: floors slate grey and walls smothered with dove paint. the ceiling was constructed from those polystyrene squares laid on a grid-like frame. commercial prints hung from the wall, tasteful- but in the dull kind of way. above every door nagisa had passed, a large plastic sign was coated with white lettering. nothing fancy, and merely bold and all caps.

he'd been down these hallways hundreds of times, in fact, it was a route traced with memories of his collapsing legs jittering as he relearned how to walk. he had stumbled through corridors assisted by nurses, police officers or friends. sometimes one, sometimes all. but it was always the unchanged repetitive bore of a  journey: over and over again, even the same conversation even seemed to arise before things got awkward-

"well. at least you've been doing better since- since she- you know."

they'd distract him through the view outside, as if he hadn't been caged within the walls of the hospital for the past couple months; or that he could actually remember the scent of fresh air.

the hospital hallways had became a lot more comforting to him- anyways. outside within normal society had become a stare down, and his own room had become revolting with nurses attempting to shove medication down his throat. at this point, he just wanted peace.

so his mind eased into inspecting every detail of those halls. in a way he was just throwing himself back to his old routes of the assassination classroom: through analysis. it was just that desperate grasp onto comfort from back when things were okay.

he could focus upon was the blue walls, deeply scored by the metal-framed trolleys, the drywall peeped through like white scars. the cheap prints on the walls attempted to cover the abuse, yet they only appeared to be etiolated within the windowless strip.

you'd never notice it, but there would always garish flowers, forgotten upon the bleach stained floor- after being trampled on by numerous patients on trolleys, some tended to by strained relatives, and some alone- but all of them lied on their back, strapped in- eyes towards the naked fluorescent tubes that flicker as though they are on their last legs.

the confined space magnified the groans and wails of dying patients to no avail. how one could cope in such an environment? but then again, the nurses have seen it all; they're all immune: hardened by repeat exposure.

however, the cardboard thin walls also meant they kept no success of concealing his wife's death.

he heard it all, yet emotion couldn't keep up. in fact, he never cried, showed sadness, or even whimpered a word.

perhaps it was as he'd already accepted her death as soon as she was announced as brain dead.

pathetic, he knows, he'd been shunned for not staying by her side until the end, clasping onto the small hope she would recover- as most partners would. yet as soon as he saw her defunct body: all hope deceased within him.

a part of him knew that if he kept fighting for her survival, he'd be snivelling, screaming, sobbing, at the top of his lungs, when the time came in which he was forced to tear himself away from the dead body.

might as well just lose that wish now.

there was no vitality left to even take another look at her, let alone watching her soul escape the universe.

he'd watched her die once. he never wanted to do it again. perhaps if he were a teacher like koro sensei- he could have saved her. but i guess he will never live up to his name.

he locked himself away within his hospital room: hands trembling against the paper thin wall, pressing his ear against it. he tried untangling himself from the iv machine.

he could hear shouting, footsteps, chatter. until the entire hospital seemed to silence: the beeping subsided into a gentle hum.

time of death: 9:20am. what a great way to start the morning.

it was somewhat just of an inconvenience... the amount of more wishes for things to get better will just amplify. people would just keep talking and talking and talking and at this point, he just wanted silence. the first moment knowing his wife was happily at peace, he was greeted with sorrow

do you really blame him from thinking this way though? exhaustion from losing his daughter already rotted his brain. those painful memories were now expected to increase; they were just the same as nightmares which haunted his every waking second. he just wanted it to go away.

her death was all his fault: and the universe was there to remind him of that.