Lost Memories

Starting Today, You Are a Host Pt.1

3rd P.O.V

     A girl in a bubblegum pink fairy princess dress screamed in horror. On the far right side of the stage laid another girl. Her vibrant brown hair was cut in a short, layered bob, revealing her pale ears. She was absolutely covered in sweat, and both of her legs stretched out like a dead victim's outline at a murder scene. Steamy, wet tears streamed down from her eyes. Along with that, her throat burned with every blood-curdling squawk of pain she released. The audience sitting in the crowd stared at the scenery dumbfoundedly, watching as the girl's parents demanded for help upon their cellular phones. Others videotaped the fatal incident with much enthusiasm, probably happy that they have something interesting to show to their friends. Coconut, the young one in the pink fairy dress, ran off the stage and fell to her knees in front of her injured friend. She attempted to sooth her. Rubbing her head gently and whispering very close by her ears words to calm her. As much as she wanted to believe it, Coconut just couldn't bring herself to say anything confidently. Her voice was so frail, with panic laced in every syllable, and remorse in every verse. The other girls rushed behind her, terror the most evident expression on their faces. "Nyomi!" They mewled in unison.

     The rather large theater echoed the desperate brawls of each of the eight girls. They all huddled around her, subconsciously forming a protective circle to stop the selfish predators begging for their five minutes of fame. One of the girls shouted for the people to back up and have a sense of dignity, while another girl was sobbing uncontrollably in the chest of a neighboring companion. All they could do was stand back and watch as their friend was hurried on a gurney. Everyone ran outside to the ambulance truck and watched as a pair of parents and a child climbed inside.

     Solid emotions punched the girls like iron paddles. Regret. Sadness. Anger. Salty tears kept on dripping down nonstop. They all kept wishing that what they were seeing in front of them was just a terrible nightmare. An illusion. But unfortunately, it was not.

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Naomi's P.O.V

     Ouran Academy. A school meant for the enounce rich or incomprehensible beauty. Only students of high social standards or from filthy rich families ever get a chance to enroll in this prestigious school located in Bunkyo, Tokyo. Yet, there is still a one percent chance that a so-called "not-such-a-beauty" gets an opportunity to apply themselves here. Scholarships. I'm not so sure on how the whole scholarship ordeal works due to the fact that today is my first day. And because I didn't come here with some astonishing resume. I was enrolled here because my eldest sister set a good reputation for the family. The fact that she is a mortal breathing Amaterasu was in her favor too. She was able to scramble up enough money to apply for her senior year from her summer jobs last year. She babysat, tutored, and even signed up for a Save Nature group. In short, she's a hippie. Her good nature and deeds followed her for her last and only year of highschool at Ouran. She signed up in student council, became active in following activities, and was even kind enough to help foreign exchange students and freshmen students find their ways around the school. With her actions and contentment, I got my very own chance to set my personal reputation.

     Of course, my reputation might be nothing but that one kid I have in that class, not NYOMI KIDA, DRAGONSLAYER! But that's that, I assume.

     I was roaming the school's halls on my way to the office to get my class schedule when I received aggressive glares from the surrounding students. Some had wide eyes, others were giggling softly, as for the rest were just plain pointing and letting out inaudible whispers. I kept myself distant from all of the students, however that didn't stop me from feeling a bit claustrophobic.