Floating Like a Lilo ── Itadori Yuuji (✓)

02 THE VOICE OF THE DEVIL

note: chapters 2 to 23 r unedited. this fic needs some serious editing(?) given how long ago i wrote but also the fact that i haven't actually seen jjk. pls be patient w me as i try to edit it :] i apologise for cringey writing, crude grammar mistakes etc.


NEED TO GET THIS SHIT OUT OF MY HEAD
BEFORE I FLIP THIS ON MYSELF INSTEAD

OK,
wallows

     There is a voice that does not use words.

     And it sits there, in your head, an echo within an echo. Left behind by a bad curse, magic that surpasses the words it is entombed in. It's spiraling across mauve skies outside your house, infecting clouds the same way a devil desecrates a temple. And how empty it does feel, like the space between the tongue and the top of one's mouth before they shriek. How silent. How painful, to agonise without solace because no one hears, no one understands. No one wants to.

     Stories of the supernatural are abundant in a society engulfed in moral terror and tragedy. You hear them all the time, tales of the ghosts caught on the verge of mania, stranded in the plane as they are trapped with humanity. Silhouetted murderers gasping for the light as they hollow themselves out behind closed caskets under dusk and dawn.

     It's been instilled into you about the wonders behind the figureheads of each folklore, why magic is so devilish as it dances on sinners' palms. You can't say you're an intensely devoted person when it comes to understanding the secrets of the occult but you've watched too many Buzzfeed Unsolved episodes to do your head in.

     Curses remind you of spellbound tortures of medieval times and more. It intrigues you how the aura of darkness can manifest itself so cunningly, with such poignant venom spitting between their teeth. Your mother reminds you of that, a tongue holding so many lies at once, you wonder where the truth starts and where the false promises end.

     She wasn't exactly a bad person, per se, maybe misunderstood.

     Then again, it's a bit too late to tell that straight to her face when she's buried six feet underground. You use that neologism too much to reiterate the position of your deceased parent, but you vividly remember watching Father bury her ashes on the top of a hill overlooking the town.

     You sigh, kicking your feet as you walk to school; your head is tilting slightly side to side as your lips open and close to outline the words of the song. It's a drowsily quiet morning but you're joining the Occult Club at your high school since the Anime Club disbanded the week before (All it took was one photo from the club president and you don't even want to say the rest).

     Upon entering the place known as 'Miyashiro Prefectural Sugisawa Third High School' (the biggest mouthful in the history of mouthfuls), the world unravels before your eyes.

     A glimmering brilliance eclipses the sky as you brush shoulders with other students while heading indoors. If you were correct - you had to ask a few people around - then the Occult Phenomenon Research Club had just started.

     To be honest, it just felt right to go there.

     Your dad would probably murder you on the spot if he found out you were planning to join; the two of you began to grow distant after your mother's passing. He never quite believed the demonic auras that somehow only you could see.

     Well, you see, a curse had murdered your mother.

     And somehow, no one cared. No one believed you. And the best thing? You're trapped with seeing all these terrifying things but not being terrified, just tired of being alive at this point.