Soshite… Bokuwa… Rust has bitten a white constellation from the false sky. Old metal. Can’t be

Soshite… Bokuwa… Rust has bitten a white constellation from the false sky. Old metal. Can’t be much protection for the engines. She gasps. I turn, cement against my cheek, to watch. She is on her knees; one palm on the ground. Her other hand grips the pen. Wand. Doesn’t matter. It is done, then. I don’t want to watch anymore. The ceiling is high, corrugated iron, pierced in places to let the white sky inside. The longer you breathe, the more normal it becomes. I was in classes just a few hours ago. In the studio we were being lectured on the influence of the church on Italian Renaissance painting. The Virgin Mary was so good, was so beautiful on the inside, that it couldn’t help but be exhibited on the outside. Such a foolish belief. I longed for the Pre-Raphaelites. I am on my back like Ophelia drowning. I am pulled downstream like the lady of Shalot. I hear her breathing catch again. I have been Eve with a shiny object. I have been the Pandora of her mind. The blood from my arm is pooling on the floor. I expect it will appear as a rust stain in time. This sin will be hidden in plain sight. There are voices outside. She will have to catch herself. I cannot stay. I manage to stand. She doesn’t look over. But we will meet again. And down the river’s dim expanse Like some bold seer in a trance, Seeing all his own mischance With glassy countenance Did she look to Camelot. And at the closing of the day She loosed the chain, and down she lay; The broad stream bore her far away, The Lady of Shalott. The cluster as the gates is more abuzz than usual. I don’t enjoy passing through crowds like this. Their chatter and jostling and oblivious enthusiasm. Perhaps this is jealousy? Is jealousy a subset of isolation? “Yo!” A voice comes out across the rest. “Kaioh-san!” It is her. A head above the surrounding girls. “Good afternoon,” I nod, mindful of the querulous attention from my fellow students. A group of about eight. Girls. Moth-like. “Your school isn’t in this neighbourhood,” I watch her, “I think?” “Yeah. Not so much. I was just meeting your classmates. Did you know Yuki-chan made a whole extra lunch today?” “How generous of her.” I respond. Yukino Saito narrows her eyes a fraction. Tenoh pops a diminutive piece of hosomaki into her mouth and chews beatifically. “So good!” She enthuses “Oh cute! The tuna looks like little hearts. See?” She picks up another piece and inclines it in demonstration. “Want some.” “Thank you, no.” I notice the girls have several copies of a magazines between them. Tenoh’s photo is on the cover. Another from the crowd asks, it a little cautiously. “You’re a racing fan too, Kaioh-san?” “Oh?” Tenoh interjects. “You guys don’t know each other?” “I mean… kind of.” Yukino answers avoiding my eye. “Yukino-san and I share the same period for music,” I answer, “She is a very talented flautist.” “Get out!” Tenoh beams. “You’ll have to play for me sometime. Anyway,” She returns the mostly untouched bento to Yukino’s hands, “it’ll have to be later. I need to borrow your friend for a moment.” The “friend” is me. “Wait!” “What?” “Haru-kun!” “Are you going to the track? Can we come too?” Tenoh steps out to stand beside me, pulls an arm around my waist, and addresses her collection of “racing” fans. “Not the track.” She answers. “I’ve made her a promise.” And we leave. We walk along the summer sidewalk. Once the corner has been rounded her hand drops away. “Quite a show,” I say quietly, “I’m not sure I want to face them tomorrow.” “Eh? That’s nothing. They just think I’m a guy.” “You don’t set them straight.” “How would it help?” “I don’t know.” She keeps her pace, seems intent on a direction. The subway is my guess. “I didn’t sleep last night.” She says finally. “Nor did I.” “I couldn’t stop thinking about the boy.” “I understand.” “Yeah, you…” she begins brightly then looks into the middle distance. I see nothing. “How long have you been doing this on your own?” she asks. “This? Oh, thousands of years I suppose.” “…you’re not serious…?” “Not always.” I sigh. “I think my visions began , perhaps nine years ago? But the fighting, that has only been this year. For a while I thought I could manage it alone. I was almost relieved when those nightmares turned out to be real. Is that strange?” “A bit.” “I thought I might be losing my mind.” “So you never talked to anyone?” “You’re the first.” She nods to this and keeps quiet a while. As though it needed swallowing. It seems unbearable. “And for you, when did the visions begin?” “Me? I guess just this year? I must be a late bloomer.” “So you saw… the monsters?” “No. I saw the city, the people, crumbling. There was a crimson wind. And I saw you.” I am the monster. We wait at an intersection and are joined by a cluster of pedestrians; cyclists, businessmen, other students. Some flap at the heat with fans. Some are bowed, absorbed by their phone screens. “I’ve booked us on a school tour.” Tenoh speaks nodding in the direction of the subway. I’d take my car, but it’ll be faster this way. “I hope you have good grades.” On the train she hands me her phone as evidence of her “research” on the boy in the garage. I try not to react to the irksome message trail shared with a phone contact entitled “Sachi-chan 3 3” On a scale of 10 to 10, how good would I look in a green uniform? Like your eyes?heart eyes emoji Like plaid. With a tie ;) I know that one! student prospectus image So where should I enrol? You’ll come too, right? “Mugen Academy. It’s a new one. I’d never get in! You’d better study hard!” “I’ll do my best. So should you. Don’t leave me alone.” I hand back the phone and hunt out evidence of shame in her expression. None. “You may need to be more subtle in your research methods.” “Oh, I’m great at secrets.” She declares loudly. Two fellow commuters look up. “Are your grades OK?” “Impeccable.” I murmur. “Really?” She laughs. “All of them? Even math?” “Naturally.” “Science.” “Ranked in the top 10.” “…Phys ed?” “Yes. I have been invited to compete in the regionals for the 100m freestyle.” “Get out.” “I declined the invitation.” The entrance hall is dramatic. One might expect an opera to be hosted onsite. There are large posters of Waterhouse paintings. The school has ambitions to send a delegation of the top fine arts students to Europe. A nice thought. “Who’s she?” Tenoh nods to the Lady of Shallot. “You’ve been staring a while.” “A tragic figure,” I answer, “she was cursed to fall in love with love with a knight who was perfectly unaware. Lancelot.” “Ah, that guy! The lady’s man, right?” “Mm.” “Welcome, guests.” The guide bows deeply. “We hope you will enjoy our institution. I am aware we have some rising stars in attendance today. That is precisely the calibre Mugen intends to attract. You are very welcome indeed.” As if on cue a shaft of light falls through a window to the sky to dramatic effect. -- source link

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