"And then is heard no more. It is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing." — MACBETH, William Shakespeare
MOMENTUM
By Newton's First Law of Motion, it seemed like you were bound to stay constant in motion.
With the double-edged sword that was the [L/n] family name looming over your shoulders, you were just one of the many fragmented bodies entangled in the Sun's orbit, moving 'round and around in a never-ending cycle to appease your mother, who had always possessed that sort of effect — the sort that was akin to that of a giant burning star at the centre of the solar system, meticulous and unforgiving as she orchestrated her subordinates into spirals around her blood-stained fingertips and incinerated the mirrors of Icarus. There was no room for error in such a system as this, where flaws were to be captured like a fish on a hook and permanently embedded into the soil, never again to be spoken of.
As your mother's only child, it was inevitable that you were seen more as her replica than her offspring, expected to carry on the same legacy of prestige and discipline as those who lived before you. From the second you were born, you were outlined with a clear-cut purpose before your name was even thought of. If it was a mother's love that made the world go 'round, then your world was stuck at a standstill, bound by Newton's First Law to never spin as she endlessly spoon-fed you a web of diamond-encrusted lies and an epidemic ambition, one that seemed to grow increasingly venomous with each of your mother's reminiscences that became yours to carry on to the next generation, decades down the road. Not once did she cross the line separating successor and antecedent, as if to embrace you meant to soften you up and as if to say "I love you" meant to coddle you until you were old like dust with nothing to live for.
(Because you are sometimes too similar to your father in that way — a byproduct of living with him for the first half of your life, she warned you time and time again. You are malleable, not like metal that can be utilised but more like children's play-doh. That is no good.)
For however long she stood as the heart of your orbit, you would run. You were so sure of it. Until one evening on the rooftop of an old apartment complex brought everything crumbling down — the driving force that yanked you off course and catapulted you into the sphere of a social recluse by the name of Kozume Kenma. Yet, in spite of the havoc that spurred from the impact, the universe refused to stop for two adolescents, who were only a fragment of who they wanted to be by the time they found themselves on the threshold of the unknown; and what should naturally come after such a tumultuous collision ensued as quickly as it started: each of you fell apart.
When the dust settled, however, you found that you were not a reflection of your mother's youth, of her what-ifs and past missed opportunities turned into your reality. Neither were you a shitshow itching to reveal itself, where one failure would eventually lead to another and validate the Like-father, like-child mantra you'd heard far too often throughout your eighteen years of existence.
You were just you. And finally, it was no one else's decision but yours to make when the question of the age-old cycle made itself known.
The first option was simple: you could return to the hands of your mother, to her blood-stained fingertips.
Or you could be the first to kill the momentum of it all and live on to tell the tale.
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PLAYLIST
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THEMES/CONTENT
reader is referred to with they/them pronouns and gender neutral terms. reader has an established backstory.
the story will contain themes of toxic family dynamics and mentioned death of a parent. set in 2013-2014.
rewrite of my 2020 fic previously titled "Above Tokyo"
Kozume Kenma x Reader.
STARTED: OCTOBER 16, 2020 REVAMPED: JUNE 24, 2023 COMPLETED: N/A
