Distorted | Shimada Genji | g.s. / s.g.

act I: prologue.

prologue : not quite the beginning

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April, 2059

A feeling of uneasiness builds in her flat stomach and makes her feel abruptly on edge. It was, quite literally, ticking on a clock.

Neala sits on the modern green bench in the morning weather with her fingers gripping at the edges of the smooth metal beneath her thighs. Her shoulders are vaguely hunched forward as her head is tilted downwards. A breeze from the nearby trees gently swaying in the air causes her hair to flutter and spiral in multiple directions.

Yet, the ticking did not stop to let her catch a break. Her lips curled to the right as her teeth threatened to bite into the skin inside of her mouth. Chirps from a bird - or maybe a couple, she did not know nor care in the moment - ring in her ears as her breathing hitched from overstimulation. Her toes curl in her fuzzy slippers.

Then the feeling is similar to suspense in a horror movie scene where the mystery murderer is following the main character. It was almost there and edging at her nerves.

A switch is unexpectedly flipped.

Her mouth releases a scream of bloody murder and tears are rapidly spilling down her cheeks. Her hands ball into fists and launch at her ribcage then changes the course of direction to land on her cheeks. Her cries grow louder, not even noticing the looks of terror from the well acquaintanced girls that were previously minding their own business.

It wasn't just like they were relaxing at the park located near the mental hospital. No, it totally wasn't supposed to be a safe space for the young girls who are usually stuck in a secluded facility tucked away from society.

It wasn't long before a group of nurses rushed to the disturbed girl's side, seemingly prepared for some sort of disaster to occur in the area. Neala attempted to elbow at a nurse or maybe two, subconsciously balling her fists in case she gains the opportunity to throw a couple of punches.

"Let me go! Dammit, let me fucking go!" Neala squeals in humiliation through her threatening sobs. The nurses, calm and composed, manage to tie her wrist with her fists still balled as they comfort her with lies through their own teeth. Neala bites the tied rope on her wrists, though the result was unsatisfactory. As the four nurses were tying her wrists, Neala didn't comprehend she was already dragged back inside of the mental institution and into a room of confinement. A door slammed shut behind her sprawled figure on the floor that unfeelingly ogled at the white walls in her line of sight.

"That girl's got a nerve or two," A muffled feminine voice is heard through the secure door. The voices didn't stop and did not know if it was real or all in her head. She learns a piece of everyone's mind in the facility and thinks her mind, like it often did, is reminding her how awful every person believes she is. All she could see in that moment were vibrant white with the heavy lights in the spacey room.

"Yeah, it's not so hard to believe that sad excuse of a human murdered her parents. She is deemed crazy."

"Didn't she hurt somebody else?"

"If I'm not mistaken, that famous Japanese family that is known for stirring trouble... What was it? Shiba? Shimana? Shimada? The youngest son from that family was killed by her, and I am pretty sure this month is the anniversary." Neala didn't flinch nor did an emotion flicker in her heart. She didn't know how to feel after the past year of defending herself.

"She probably had a one sided love for him."

But I did not, she thought.

After a few moments of whispering, the voices - again, Neala couldn't decipher if it was an illusion or not - started again, "She had another emotional outburst not too long ago. Last time, she couldn't stop laughing as she admitted that she killed her parents. She said she hated them."

"Jeez... She is deemed a criminal. Why is she still here?"

"The judge deemed her mentally ill and began the process of her getting some mental stability by sending her here."

"She might hurt one of the other girls again," Neala's caramel eyes enlarge at the sudden accusation. She had no earthly idea she hurt somebody or had been blamed to hurt a girl in the institution with her. She sniffled then her nose scrunched as she felt the stains of dried tears on her flushed cheeks.

"I think we need to transfer her somewhere else since she admitted that she basically got a thrill out of murdering her parents. She shouldn't be our problem," This time, it was a male voice that echoed in her ears. Her mind ached as the sentence processed and briskly hopped to her feet to attempt opening the locked door. She pounds on the door diabolically with a quivering lip and trembling eyes.

"I didn't do it, I swear! I never laid a hand on them! I never hurt a girl! I would never hurt Genji!" The now black haired girl shakily pleaded through the white metal door. Her breathing began to grow heavy as well as her heartbeat could be heard through her ears.

Moments had passed and only one thing; Silence. Absolute silence soars through the air, and the only thing separating her from the humans who degraded her was a door. She thwacked at the door one last time with two balled fists before her knees buckled and gave in. Her shoulders wracked a sob as she landed on her knees gently. Her head shook as she leered aimlessly downwards with her hair even more messy than before. Tears began to spill from her eyelashes and onto the white tile.

"Why doesn't... anyone... believe me?" Neala whispers as she chokes on her hesitant sobs. Nothing could be heard on the other side of the door and screams with insanity laced. She knew that nobody could hear her from the other side as it was a confined room for a reason, she could only hear them. Her arms fell to her side as her heart rate began to slow down from the adrenaline rush.

She knew that nobody was there, and that the one person who was there, for sure, was gone.

Though for the loss of her parents, it tore her mind to an extent. There were no words to describe the shallow pain of the loss of her birth giver and ticket of income, though there was one person who was her closest thing to a parent. He turned on her and thought for sure the girl he had under his wing since her childhood was a cold blood murderer.

She lifted herself up to her weak feet and eyes glued into the silent light bulbs blasting deathly white for what seemed like infinity. Her hands gently brushed her hospital gown as her gaze never faltered from the light.

Why couldn't he have lived as long as that light? She thought to herself. Her hands, for the millionth time, balled into a fist. She thought she was done feeling this way, maybe even feeling at all, but she wasn't.

She convinced herself she killed him after being spat at, laughed at, yelled at, and cried at for the loss of Genji Shimada. There was nothing else to do other than believe she did it even if she never knew what actually happened the day of his murder.

"YOU MURDERED MY SON NEALA REIS!"

The other alternative is to forget that such an event happened. There are moments in her life where she convinces herself that a Shimada Genji never existed, as if none of it was real. It is all demolished when people begin to taunt her again and again for her apparent actions. Everyday, she is observing somebody or hearing somebody talk about her sins but rarely about her. They disregard her as a human being and treat her as a stray rat.

It's because she is a murderer, she reminds herself. Her lips curl into the distance at the lifeless wall in front of her as her eyes see stainless shapes. Tears welt into her vision but not tears of sadness, tears of strain from maintaining the battle of light.

Finally, she thought, some different kind of pain.