Genre -- Fiction
Rating -- PG13 For use of bodily fluids such as blood and taffy
Outline -- Itsuka is japaneese for 'eventually' or 'the fifth day' Which is why Karo Hito makes a pun of her name being her birthday. Its not keeping with anything japaneese besides the names. The interesting thing is that i pulled Itsuka out of my hat, and upon looking it up, it made perfect sense for a girl who deals with the fact that she has a terminal disease and is going slowly insane with a project she is grappling with completing before she poofs away in a light cloud of dust and blood. Rough beginnings. This need rework to get it running smoother between her flash-bit episodes of memory loss and the like. Whoops thats a spoiler which is an outline in the most general of senses. Enjoy.
"My name is Itsuka June." She said with a smile and a bow. Flesh of peaches, eyes of nothing, hair of chocolate, she stood before them, at their mercy within their compassion, and laughed. Crimson ribbons fluttered behind her as she chuckled nervously, their movements mocking those of her pigtails a moment ago. Few joined her in this room, oppressive heat for the mid-winter sweltered through the pale classroom. January was never so warm, and yet June was never so happy to be in the humidity. Most of the few who attended this school took it upon themselves to enjoy this luxurious reprieve from snow shovels and scarves, leaving school and her new addiction behind.
"An ironic name, Miss June." Glasses from beneath arched fingers glittered at her. The man behind the desk waved her off of the forest green black-board with a quick motion. "Take a seat where you wish. There are plenty to choose from." She nodded quickly, the satchel in her death-grip bowing with her once again. She settled down between a tall girl with cornrows, and a boy who's coat splayed on the ground behind him, and the top button of his shirt undone. His oppressively dull eyes took her in slowly as she sunk to the sticky composite desk. The girl's eyes were on June's face, her smile. The snapping of her bubble gum halting the stillness in the room, the way a bullet haults a life.
"The Fifth of June is a far stone's throw from now, Miss June. Would it be save to assume that that was when you were born." His eyes clouded by the old glaring glasses he wore, silently staring from beneath his reflecting sanctuary.
"Precisely. My folks were not one for creativity. Sometimes I think they planned my conception to fit my name." She chuckled, eyeing the other students who replied in turn with blank stares and subtle confusion. Her light chuckle was truncated by an unsure cough. The man at the desk finally picked him self up and stood where June had introduced herself. His eyes dark and sharp, his hair jagged and unkept, as was his face. His unnerving stare penetrated June, and though it was not directed at him, the boy next to her shifted his body, eyes down to his desktop uncomfortably.
"And you think you need to be in this writing class. " Karo Hito lulled his deep voice towards June. It was rich and rhythmic, flowing and hypnotic. Enough to lull you asleep, or float you along, atop its rolling waves.
"I would have liked to take a college course, but my parents could not afford such a thing." She began to notice the weight of two dozen eyes on her shoulders, and blushed a little. "I'm sure I will learn plenty in your class Mr. Hito." She finished meekly.
"No doubt we can find something to keep your interest Miss June. Though this is quite a different writing class from which you are no doubt familiar with. This..."
"...is a writing class for the cultured, the accelerated in this school. Where you will be composing your own works based on historical works of the past, critiquing each other's material, and improving upon your originals." June's face picked up from her crossed arms, the brief flash of light distracted her from the lecture. She rubbed her eyes slowly, ears picking up the lecture slowly as it drifted back into the foreground. Must have been those florescent lights. Always flashing like that when depleted. She sniffed back at that tiny feeling in her nose. The acrid pinch of a mosquito bite, the oppressive twinge of onion tears. She slowly took in air from her nose and exhaled through her mouth, the way she had found to deal with her common nose bleeds with out tissue. Face of peaches added cream.
"...stated, 'Brevity is the Soul of wit.'" Karo Hito began scrawling on the black-board, green. A forest of white lines partially obscured the latest writing he added. June idly scrawled down in hasty scratch atop notepad she up until this point didn't realize she had. It was equally as marked as the chalkboard she copied from. Scratching her head, she continued darkening the sheet she was on.
"Humor, descriptions, actions, and settings in which a story is told may have as much or as little detail as the author desires. However there is a point at which the length of description becomes unnecessary, and may even hinder the flow of the creation of the work, the flow of the plot-line, and the flow of the attention of those who read the work. What can be said in as few words as possible and still get the meaning across is the basis of this." Underlining crossed the board with a blur.
"Most things can be left up to the reader's interpretation and imagination. Most good books have a symbiotic relationship with those who hold the pages apart."
"...keep that in your minds, Brevity is the Soul of Wit, when creating and storming your characters." She sniffed away the coppery sting once again slowly, her head growing heavy and lilting with the excess oxygen and the blood. Something about the blood. The red. Red.
The harsh words rang through her head as she crossed the narrow passage in open space, in uncompromising lands, in the bright pale sunlight, in the middle of the Gorge. Words loud enough in her mind to rattle her steps with their accusations knocking small bits of stone and small clods of earth off the edge into the eager oblivion below. Loud enough for The Others to hear. Why were those words not echoing throughout the void below the stone bridge that teetered precariously in open space. How could the roaring torrent in her mind be silent to all others? She turned to Jazon with a pained and questioning mask, her lips mouthing words that no-one knew the meaning towards. He kicked up a cloud of dust stopping abruptly, nearly teetering off the edge. Angrily he balanced himself and motioned for Awake to continue on wards down the narrow path.
"Today will have us at the culmination of our many brainstorming sessions, our characters should be completed to the point of beginning an outline. Don't be concerned if another addition into your menagerie crops up in development. This is a floating worksheet of your story, not a marble engraving."
Her eyes darted from the face to the face of her other students in reckless haste. She started up, perking up at the realization that things went underway very quickly in Mr. Hito's class. Sudden concern washed through her, a wave of warmth and blush yet faded away in the winds of realization. The idea she had had in her mind since she was thirteen was far from fleshed out, yet her understanding and familiarity was quite defined. She felt a little touch of concern for the other children in the class, not having anything set up already. Though as she looked about, their shuffling papers were full as well, of notations, of sketchy plots, of half hearted attempts of development and plot. Her worry was unneeded. She always had an idea in her periphery She had not done anything, it was still the first day wasn't it? Each pair of eyes focused on the papers they had out in front of them, ready to scrutinize their accomplishments. June feared the oncoming repercussions until she her self glanced down on the page full below her.
"Its a matter of logic and chance. How often will people want to go for the pattern they expect and how often will they want to have their world shaken up. One could understand such chances and write a story that will completely rock the world, based only on the concepts of chance. The details themselves are the rubber skin placed upon the frame of anticipating the needed defrayments from the expected." Karo Hito had told her that, peering down, his face shaded from the pulsing lights in the ceiling, she herself almost too distracted by the piercing feeling in her nose to remember. "Itsuka. Perhaps you should go down to the nurse..."
Hite slouched a little further into his chair beside Itsuka, garnering her attention from Karo with a near imperceptible movement. As their eye-lock commenced, his dull matte beneath a blanket of eyelid, neither pupil nor iris, her bright icy, barely coloured, tiny pupils gazing through the whatever with a disconcerting manner, she lost all thought of going to the nurse for whatever reason. She felt fine, if not a little light-headed, and that she attributed to Hite. She didn't even remember sitting down from when Mr. Hito had talked to her.
He mouthed words at her in the silence of the classroom. The pulses of chalk-sound fading in the monotony, the dull and faded, the space between moments. Yes. Tonight. She remembered. She could almost see right through him, his subtle movements in the desk's chair, the way his hair moved in the breeze of the overhead fan, the dreary eyes, coffee congealed worn and saw through. She couldn't stare away.
"Remember that tomorrow the first chapter is due for the creative writing assignment number one. We are all looking forwards to hearing each other's diligence. Yours especially June." Karo still loomed over her and her desk, even when he leaned down supporting himself with a friendly arm on the desktop. As friendly as Karo could seem anyways. "Still planning on writing the perfect novel?"
"Didn't you say that Shakespeare already wrote every basic plot-line that was possible?. All that I can do is change the details." When did he say that? She puzzled quietly to her self the why and how she was going to begin her first chapter when all she really wanted to do was go to Hite's party this evening. Hite. He was going to make a wonderful character. He was always so charming. All of those times since the first day she came to this class, he had walked her home. Hadn't he? Though wasn't this the first day still?
'The floor is comfort.' Awake told her self bitterly. Though the surface was sleek and sheik, white and solid, her skin wrinkled up as she slid across it.
'The floor is safety.' Gravity being what it was, outside of this place at least, gravity was a comfort albeit a comfort that went neglected and forgotten. Now here bouncing off of the floor with a sickening thud, Awake was fully aware of the lack of gratitude the gravitational force of the world was long since due. As she careened into the far wall, she could feel the rain spatter of blood as it followed her diligently in the weightlessness..."
"I remember the blood."
"Oh, thats right." She sat up in the dark. Lines representing her heart beat, her pulse, her brain-waves, anything worth measuring lit the room from dark and looming displays in their self-created shadows. The rough hospital blankets pushed down at her waste, the rough hospital gown billowy even after laying in this bed for at least two weeks since her collapse. She felt grimy and greasy, knotted hair and disheveled face. The make up had long since worn off in her dreamtide throws. Her clothes in the waiting chair broken in the room. She felt drained and listless, the slightest movement in her body twinging in echos. The red poured down from her nostrils, drenching the front of the flower pattern gown she wore. It clung to her bare skin with passionate fervor, hoping to dry, hoping to embrace her for ever. Already it had begun to oxidize, darkening in the twilight of the darkened room, and clouding the air in the pungent copper-smell that she just realized she had become painfully accustomed to.