CHAPTER 5: A YOUNG MAN’S SOLILOQUY

Ray

I am weak.

I had thusly known from a very young age. Ever since, the firm belief has been embedded into my head, paved like concrete.

And because I, myself, am weak, I had to surround myself with others to hide and suppress that weakness.

I lived under a mask.

Being the school idol. The ‘popular’ kid, if you will.

I was friends with everyone, the teachers loved me, and I aced all my exams. Everyone knew me as the social, optimistic type.

And that was a persona created to hide my true self. I am terribly, almost laughably incompetent. At everything. And I had tried my best to cover that truth.

They say sadness and isolation increases the speed of which the brain matures. Perhaps that is why I am who I am now.

If my friends—could I call them real friends?—found out about my true outlook of the world, I was sure to get shamed for being overly serious.

It’s hard to connect when you see the world through a broken lens.

Back then, I would cower—slinking into the shadows, too afraid to come to terms with my weakness and scared to face reality.

Yet not long afterwards, another horror would come by and overwhelm my brooding sense of tentative self-identity.

Though still etched inside my mind, my weakness now only covers a small portion of my thoughts, residing only in the furthest corners.

Because I don’t have time to fret about myself. Not after that day. That horrid, horrid day.

But before that, I should explain what made me who I am today. It all happened many years ago.

I was young. But I found out about secrets that never should have even been whispered or uttered to life.

My father was a renowned businessman. My mother, a loving housewife.

Father was overseas most of the time. He would only come back on holidays, and only for a few days at once. Sometimes, for scarce hours.

But he made good money. The three of us were a happy family. Every day would bring along banquets of joy. It was nice. Happy. As all things should be.

Imagine my surprise when I found out that Father was cheating on Mother and had established a second family in America. I had a sister I had never met, a brother alien to me, and… a second ‘mother’.

My life shattered at that exact moment. When I clicked on the hard drive and browsed the photos, my naivety cracked. I saw the world through a second angle. Every truth became a distorted fracture of my perceived reality.

I no longer… I- I… no longer…

…

No. Even now, such hateful words should not be spoken.

Later that week on Christmas Eve when Father returned, I didn’t run towards him like I usually did. I didn’t want to feel him cup me up, wrapping his ‘loving’ arms around me.

I stayed in my room. The house we lived in was rather big, a large portion of it thanks to Father’s earnings, and a lucky crypto investment. From outside my window, I saw Mother come running up towards Father, hands outstretched. When they kissed, I looked away.

Not from embarrassment though. Not this time.

I looked away in disgust. Red was all I saw.

But I bottled up my feelings and swallowed them down.

Even if Father was… a traitorous bastard, I wouldn’t allow it to get in the way of Mother’s happiness. I had to lie. And act incognizant.

Eventually, I reluctantly dawdled out of my room, and sloppily staggered to the yard.

“Hey Ray, what took you so long? Don’t you miss daddy?”

I was staring down at my feet. Even though Father had done something wrong, Mother didn’t know yet. Back then, we all had the right to be happy. I didn’t want to ruin the perfect family—even if it was all a façade—Fake like plastic. And fragile. Like a painting protected by nothing but a thin layer of glass.

Oh, so trivially fragile. So I had to step in and act like a second wall of protection. I had to keep our family together. For Mother.

And so, I forcefully dragged my body up and a crocodilian smile grew across my lips.

I ran up to him, and gave Father a big, long hug. I squeezed with all my strength. But I wasn’t strong. Father had misinterpreted my hateful hug as one of passion.

Like intended.

“Sorry Daddy, I was playing in my room! I miss you so much! Can you stay for a week this time? Pleaase?”

Later that night, the beef wellington was tasteless. It was a favourite of mine—a British dish that I would never be able to eat in Japan if it weren’t for Father’s exquisite cooking.

The stains of the sauce were in the likeness of a little bird. The cloth covering the spruce table was a few centimetres uneven.

I tried to focus on little things like that. I had to distract myself. Mother and Father were in deep conversation. Usually, I would try to butt in and somehow weasel into the conversations—in hope of earning the once heartwarming chuckle from Father.

But I couldn’t bring myself to do it that time. I lifelessly poked the beef with my chopsticks. I prodded, and the tender beef slightly jiggled.

“Hey Ray, you sure everything’s good? You can talk to Mummy and I if you want!”

“Helloooo~? Earth to Ray?”

I snapped out of my comatose state. Shooting up, I instantly answered. Perhaps a little too quick, as Mother and Father glanced at each other before starting.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Ray, if anything’s wrong, be sure to tell us, okay?”

I broke into the sweetest smile. I was practically beaming with light as I replied. But, where light shines, there will always be a shadow. Underneath the grin, I was flooded with discomfort.

“No, Mummy, everything’s alright!”

My mother sighed in relief, before returning to her meal.

“As long as you’re fine, my precious baby!”

“Muuuummy!! I told you not to call me that!”

I was only eight.

But it was exactly then when that faker was born. I didn’t want to shatter the bonds we had created, so I acted as if nothing had happened.

But soon enough, reality caught up with me.

I just couldn't… I couldn’t keep up the act anymore.

I was secretly taking anti-depressant pills by the time I entered junior high. Every time I returned to my room and closed the door after wishing a good night, I would instantly slump onto bed, sobbing into my sheets.

Thus, my personality essentially split in two. I wasn’t bipolar—the switch could be controlled. I was cheerful and optimistic by day. And an empty shell at night.

But amidst my suffering, a bonfire of justice had erupted.

I strongly fought for what I believed in to be good. Because I couldn’t bear thinking that another child would go through the same experience as I.

The flames of justice burned brightly. And many times, it would lead to me doing whatever it took to make things ‘right’, even if it meant getting into many fights.

Throughout junior high, I didn’t have many friends. In my second year I stopped taking meds, but the drawbacks meant that I suffered for months afterwards. After the third month, I couldn’t handle the restless nights and ran back to the pharmacy to buy more anti-depressants.

But it was too late. I had already changed, and was almost always grumpy.

Oh, many, many fights I got into.

Eventually, Mother was called into the principal’s office. They warned her that if I got one more negative incident, it would lead to my expulsion.

And if that got into my record, even getting into a public school would be difficult, let alone a prestigious private school like the one Mother and Father had planned for me to attend during my senior years.

She broke down into tears on the spot, and began sobbing, begging for me to end my rebelliousness.

And the sight broke my heart.

I wanted to make Mother happy. Instead, I had broken her.

When my senior years started, I decided to utterly reform my image. The school I went to was slightly further away from my hometown so no one else would know who I was. It was the perfect opportunity for me to change and get a second chance.

So, I studied hard, made friends, and batted my eye to avoid fights. Everyone loved me—teachers included. Soon afterwards, I stopped taking meds.

And the drawbacks were minimal.

I still knew I was weak. But, those thoughts had stopped haunting me. I had come to an acceptance with myself.

I was invited to many parties, had my fair share of girls, and aced all the mock exams. I would always come at least top thirty in the nationals.

My network extended further, and everyone at school knew my name. I was friends with everyone—albeit one aloof girl who stubbornly ignored me whenever I tried to make contact.

It was a good life. Even if I never opened up to the closest of my friends, afraid they would reject the incoherent mass I really was.

But I had grown from the hopeless, hapless loser burdened by the pressure of pretentious acting.

Every day, I lived under a mask. But the mask had changed from abject to just inadequate.

Now, onto the main story.

It was just like any other day.

I woke up. Nervous and groggy. Here came another day where I hid my true identity—a cowering of nothing—and act like someone society would perceive as perfect.

Every day. Every single day.

I took a deep, depressive sigh and wiped the drool off my cheek. Rising out of bed like a zombie, I robotically dressed up. Undershirt. Pants. Belt. Shirt. Blazer. The one too many pins signalling my achievements. I went to the mirror, and looked at my gloomy self. Putting a finger on each cheek, I pressed upwards to form a (lousy) smile.

Quickly brushing my teeth, I marched downstairs to pack my bag. Grabbing the textbooks I would need for the day, I sneakily snatched my phone and wallet, before quickly darting outside the house, careful not to make any noise.

Going to a school further away meant that the walks were long.

Therefore, I found it necessary to wake up early in the morning in order to maintain my perfect attendance.

My mother was a light sleeper. I wouldn’t want to wake her up—hence, the secrecy.

Stepping outside the door, my gloomy face suddenly lighted up, as I beamed with fake joyousness.

As I walked through the mundane, lifeless streets where even the break of day hadn’t enveloped fully, I came to a stop at my usual convenience store.

Walking in, I paid the cashier 1,000 yen. In return, she handed me two onigiris—one smoked salmon, the other teriyaki chicken.

I thanked her and gave a polite bow before strolling away.

In the corner of my eye, I noticed a poor, homeless man squatting on the streets, begging for money.

The sight broke my heart. According to… Father, homelessness was common and widespread in America. But in Japan, a man on the streets was a rare sight indeed. From the bushy beard and the torn clothes, I could presume that he had been like that for a long time, treated like nothing but a piece of garbage. Scanning my surroundings, I noticed many a passerby guiltily eyeing him, before quickly hurrying away.

Not me.

I walked up to him, leaning down to pass him the two onigiris I had purchased. Searching my wallet, I yanked out a 5,000 yen note and passed it to him.

The unfortunate man stared up at me in disbelief.

“T-thank you so much, young man!” he replied, as he tuged on the hems of his clothing. His voice was full of both passion and gratitude, and his widened eyes gaze directly at me.

Many people glazed past us, and I noticed subtle whispering. But I paid no heed.

“No problem, sir. Happy to help”

I sat down with him for a while, as I slowly delved into his woeful story. I quickly scribbled down a phone number, before passing it to him.

“My father’s number. I’ll see if I can get you to work for him,” I commented, glad to give the man—Ryuuen—a second chance.

“Anything, young man! Even cleaning!” he stammered, before fretfully shaking my hand before I excused myself to go to school.

Even if Father is an innate bastard, just like me, he also has a second face—an outward appearance. I was sure he would accept Ryuuen.

Whenever the two of us talk, it feels like a game of charades.

All fake, each one trying to get atop the other.

Though, I’m sure he hasn’t seen through my façade. Only I see the conversations that way. For him, it is a normal chat between father and son.

On my walk to school, a beautiful girl caught my attention. But her looks were not the main thing that had captivated me.

You see, this was the one girl who I had failed to befriend.

It would be hard to describe her in a single word.

A quick look would make you assume Rena was serious and aloof—she always had an uninterested expression, and her eyes seemed to phase through anything in her sight. But sometimes she would blurt out childish comments. Most of the time, however, she would keep to herself.

No one knew her well.

She always seemed to be lost in thought in class. When I was frantically scribbling down notes to keep up pace with our homeroom teacher, she was looking outside the window and yawning.

I spent restless nights studying. Hundreds of hours to come first in every exam.

And while she did nothing but sloth around, she was always in the top ten without even focusing during the lectures.

Still dazed in thought, I noticed it far too late.

Rena was crossing the road, her eyes glued on her smartphone. Although the pedestrian light was green, a rogue car burst out past an intersection. The driver didn’t notice Rena, probably because the streets were usually packed with people.

Perhaps he was negligent enough to not notice a lone girl.

In fact, the driver sped up, his face contorted with worry.

Perhaps he was late for a meeting.

But now, such little facts don’t matter.

My body moved on its own.

Though my mind was frozen in shock, my muscles twitched, as if spurred on by something intrinsic. Primal, even. On instinct, I sprinted up to her, and shoved Rena as far away as I could. Rena let out a squeal, as she suddenly tumbled sideways, her headphones bouncing onto the ground. I looked up and saw the car advancing towards me. I heard the rev of the engines. The thick smell of gasoline filled my nostrils. It made my face wrinkle.

However, amidst all of it, I broke out into a genuine smile.

.

.

.

I had done good. I saved someone…

.

.

.

Sacrificing my own, pathetic life in the process…