Dear Diary,
Hell is high school.
This requires no elaboration, I’m sure.
With all the love in my heart,
H.
-
The loudest sound in the world is your morning alarm after a raunchy one-night stand. Mine is a cacophonous orchestra of vehicles. Trucks, trains, airplanes, even a helicopter thrown in the mix.
I wake up on the wrong side of the ground- the top of it. My bones and muscles ache like I’ve been tumble-dried with stones, but I’m still unspeakably damp. Mold will take me if I don’t get up and move.
The city is long gone. No bedside note. No lipsticked napkin with a phone number scribbled on the back. She’s a big city, but it’s a small world. We’ll meet again whether we want to or not.
And above me
looms
the
infinite
day.
I’m not myself in the daylight. I’m not hungry. Not awake. The sun simply washes over me with its unblinking gaze and there is nothing to shield me from infinity. I could fall forever. By reflex, I run for cover, for a rock, for a roof over my head. I’m a piece of scrap paper, a plastic bag in a tornado.
There’s some maintenance hole in the side of one of the pillars of the highway bridge. I knock the door off its rusted hinges and dive onto the floor. My trembling arms hug the cold concrete like it's a beloved pet I’m about to put down. It hums with the vibrations of the cars rolling overhead. One of the city’s many songs. This one is her lullaby. She hums in my ear until I remember that gravity is enough to keep me tethered to the planet.
I remember I won’t be swept off my feet and into the void of outer space.
I remember how to breathe. One breath later, I wish I could forget. A coating of mostly-dried sewage will do that to you. A stench like that goes more than skin-deep. It’s in my DNA now. It’ll be visible in my own unblinking gaze. Stink-eyes.
I remember that it’s a school day.
Itchy. I have to shed my skin. It’s useless now that the vultures have picked it apart with their eighty-five-millimeter talons. Only a matter of time before that pesky photograph becomes a missile aimed directly at my head.
The highway stretches over a river. Seems as good a spot as any for a Viking burial. Only my stuff doesn’t float away and I can’t burn it. Instead, it just sinks to the bottom of the murky water like forgotten memories. All of it has to go. The cloak, the boots, the gloves, the armor, the mask.
Then there’s Peaches’ spiked bat. Voiceless. Inanimate. Calling out to me. Begging me not to let go. God, how I want to let go. But something won’t let me. An umbilical connection. The same feeling I get from my axe. Perhaps she longs for a companion. Someone non-judgmental. Someone to get bloody with. Romantic. I’m a sucker for romance.
I’m doubled over in knee-deep water, coughing up red. Retching up black. My reflection is muddy and quivering. Half-dead, half-wishing I was dead.
Head spinning, I check my watch. Its glass face is cracked and filled with filthy water. I blink and shake my head, hoping that it’s a hallucination caused by brain damage, because that would be preferable to the reality that it is indeed broken. But it’s broken. But I can fix it. I’ll get it fixed. It’s broken. I’ll fix it. Broken. Fix.
The frozen face of the watch is oddly comforting. But I can’t pretend that time stands still. It sprints and it never tires. Not even for a second.
I cover the watch with the palm of my hand and take a deep breath, unobscured by a mask. Early dawn-lit clouds roll lazily across the horizon. I lower myself down, and let the cool waters of the river flow over me, rinsing me as best as it can. It wants to suck up all my stains and troubles and spit them out to join the turbulence of the sea, but I refuse to let it take them all. My troubles are mine and mine alone. They are dear to me. Pets I have to put down myself.
It’s peak rush hour. You don’t need a watch to know that. I toss my two weapons in the decrepit maintenance closet. Give them some much-needed alone time. There are a hundred things about me that will attract unwanted attention on public transportation. I don’t need two more.
I have to hurry. Can’t be late for school.
-
I don’t know why people still drive cars en masse. Mahou Tokyo has excellent public transportation. You can get from pretty much any point in the city to any other within an hour. Usually much less. The trains move so fast it doesn’t make sense. I don’t know exactly how. Magnets, computers, magic, whatever. Probably all three.
People stare at me, but only until I stare back. The power of stink eyes.
There’s a new public service advertisement in circulation. A glossy, chibi version of Puppy Paladin says:
Remember: if you witness a crime in progress, call the Magical Girl Emergency Response Hotline. If the crime has already occured and nobody is in immediate danger, call the police instead. We can all do our part!
-
I arrive at the house where I live. Awkward phrasing for an awkward feeling. Calling it a home would feel wrong. It’s more like a hiding spot. Semi-suburban camouflage. At least we own the place. It’s just been the two of us for a while now. My sister and I.
Speaking of whom-
“Where in the world have you been?” Haven asks. She’s been waiting, seated by the door when I enter, looking about as tired and irritated as I imagine myself to be.
“I don’t want to talk about it.” I try to walk past, but she rolls her wheelchair to block me. Checkmate.
“You’ve been gone all night,” she sniffs, leaning away, “and you come back smelling like a corpse. Talk.” Haven might be my younger sister by two years, but sometimes she makes me feel like I’m the baby.
“I fell through an open sewer grate,” I deadpan.
“What- really?” She leans closer, removing her silvery glasses, red eyes scanning my scrapes, my blotches, my blood stains that I couldn’t quite let go. I watch with guilt as her anger melts away to form honest, genuine concern. I can’t look at that face. I don’t deserve that sympathy. It just tears me apart inside.
“It was just like a cartoon.” I whistle a descending tone, ending in a nonchalant smile.
“Are you- do you need to go to the hospital?”
“That’s where I’ve been,” I say. “Waited hours for them to just tell me what I already know. I’m fine. All I need now is a shower and a change of clothes. You’d better get ready for class.” This time, when I try to walk past, she doesn’t try to stop me.
“You could’ve called, at least. I was worried sick,” she says.
“I can take care of myself.”
Sorry, sis. I hate to treat you this way, to love you so coldly, but it has to be this way. You can’t know. I won’t let you be a part of this. You’re all the good I’ve got left.
Passing by the living room, the television warbles:
“-explosion that occurred last night in the Eastside expansion project that resulted in the death of one bystander has been attributed to the missing two-star Magical Girl, First Base. If you have any information please call the hotline at-”
Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.
I hit the power button and Peaches’ face vanishes from the screen. First Base might’ve been her official name, but she’ll always be Peaches to me.
-
Haven and I don’t speak on the way to school. I can’t find the words and she isn’t willing to give me any. When a rough cough sneaks up on me, she hands me a lacy handkerchief with a frown. I stain it red and shove it away in my pocket.
A genuine miracle- I get her to class on time. Not one second late. It’s not a point of pride. It’s not my obligation. It’s what she deserves.
-
Time to go through the motions. Each lesson and lecture is a shout in the canyon of my head. When they ask me to speak, summon an echo. In social engagements, say enough to be heard, but not so much as to be noticed. Painstakingly average. Be a background character in everyone else’s story. Minor side character at best.
It comes with frightening ease. If I grow up, I could make an excellent extra. I’d like that. A life out of focus.
“Helena?” the teacher calls out. Roll call has no right to be this difficult, but sometimes, I don’t even recognize my own name.
“Present,” I lie. Right now I’m in an alley, dodging lethal blows. Soaring between rooftops like a bird of prey. Planting axes in heads. I’m anywhere but math class.
-
Five-star Magical Girl Mach Love™ is traveling at three thousand six hundred kilometers per hour. She is flying towards an ICBM approaching her at twenty-four thousand kilometers per hour…
-
Writing and speaking.
For this week’s assignment, please prepare a report on a Magical Girl of your choosing that will be presented orally in front of the class. Be sure to include three ways in which that Magical Girl has positively influenced your life, either directly or indirectly.
The students chatter excitedly.
“I want to do mine on Coral the Cat Girl!”
“I call dibs on Executioner Fairy!”
“Sailor Waning Gibbous is my favorite!”
My friend Karin nudges my elbow.
“Who are you picking for your project?” she asks. There’s a name on the tip of my tongue I know I shouldn’t say, but it slips out like it wants to be heard.
“Pretty Pirouette.”
“Ooh, good choice. You know, I read on a news rumor website recently that Fuchsia Database was thinking about hiring her as their thirtieth member. That would make her the first two-star to be on that team, ever. They’re probably gearing up to make a new spinoff in the franchise. If you want help writing your assignment, let me know!”
Karin sure knows a lot about the Magical Girl business. With my tunnel vision, I only see the players. Her wide, sparkly eyes see the scores, the statistics, the trades, the trends. She likes to talk and talk and I’m glad to listen. If things were a little different, the ‘real me’ might’ve been her friend, too. Unfortunately, she only gets the fake, daytime–television Helena.
If she wants to learn more about the underbelly of the business, that’s her prerogative. I can’t be the one to break the illusion. I’m afraid the illusion isn’t the only thing that would break.
-
Lunch.
Crisis in the cafeteria. Rifling through my bag, I can’t find my lunch. I can’t find it because it isn’t there, because I never packed it. Which means I forgot to pack Haven’s lunch. How could I forget that? My mind must be broken. I have to fix it.
“You okay there, Lena?” Karin asks.
“Sorry, I’ll be right back, I think I forgot something in the classroom,” I excuse myself and start to walk away only to bump into someone and fall on my rear, dropping my bag and spilling its contents out on the floor.
“Oh, sorry!” the student says, getting on her hands and knees to help pick up my things. Everything about her is small. Her nose, her ears, her hands. She’s got a little honey bee hair clip on.
“You don’t need to do that,” I say, frantically trying to stuff everything back in my bag, uncertain that I didn’t stash a butterfly knife in there at some point.
“It’s no trouble.” I watch helplessly as she snatches up a loose sheet of paper covered in my scratchy drawings. The sketches and concepts for my next costume design in the margins of my notes from class. Belts and pads and cowls. It’s like she’s looking at my naked skin.
“These are lovely,” she says. “Such striking designs. Are you a manga artist?”
“No.” I take the paper from her and stuff it back in my bag. When she frowns at my frankness, I plaster on my most pathetic smile. “I just like to scribble from my imagination. I don’t usually show other people my drawings, so this is kind of embarrassing.”
She giggles, shrill and mirthful. “Oh, don’t be. You’ve got real talent.” I’m speechless when she hands me my lunch box. Guess it was in there after all.
“See you around!” Honey Bee Hair Clip walks away with a bubbly, bouncy gait. Like gravity is hardly weighing her down.
Karin elbows my side, waking me from my fugue. “Can I see your drawings?”
“No.” I sit back down at the table in a daze. “Who was that? I’ve never seen her before.”
“That’s Tsubaki, she just transferred to our school today. She seems nice!”
-
Physical education.
I work very hard to be the second-best in class. Nobody notices the second best. Typically, I have to hold back. Slow down to match the pace of the pack. But after the injuries sustained last night, I actually struggle to keep up.
When the students ask why I look like I’ve been chewed up and spit out, I tell them I fell off my bike. They seem to buy it. They care enough to ask but not enough to pry. A life out of focus.
I’m struggling to hold it together when I spot Haven at the other end of the gymnasium. Our eyes meet- she’s been watching me. I don’t know for how long. It’s disconcerting, being on the other side of this kind of engagement. Stink eye must be contagious. I fold first.
Sensing a riot inside my gut, I scamper away to the nearest bathroom and cough into the sink. I make it look like a crime scene. The mirrors are all-revealing in their fluorescence. The city scolds me. She reminds me to do my makeup after a tumble like last night.
Someone scoffs. Four someones in a pretty pink clique. I’ve stumbled into a claimed territory.
“What’s she doing here?” one says, as if I can’t hear her.
“Gross. She stinks.” The second of them takes a mugshot of me with her bedazzled flip phone. One more for the book, I assume.
“Must be strung out on drugs,” the third says. “Her eyes are so red.”
I move to leave but the fourth one steps to block me. The leader of the pack. Alpha-wolf in designer sheep’s clothing.
“This is our turf, and you made a mess. Clean it up,” she barks.
I killed someone last night.
I nod my head like a servant and grab some paper towels, wiping away all the fluids I splattered on the perfect porcelain surfaces. Very good, madam.
I’m just about finished in every sense of the word when one of them pulls out a bottle of juice and purposefully spills it on the tile floor.
“You missed a spot,” she says with a smile.
I killed someone last night.
I grab more paper towels. When I’m bent over mopping on the tiles, I feel a foot press on my lower back. If I had been holding a piece of coal in my hand, I could’ve turned it into a diamond. It takes a monk’s restraint to not lash out and flush her down the toilet headfirst. Apparently, enlightenment can be achieved via boundless rage.
“Don’t let us catch you in here again,” Alpha-wolf says from above.
I killed someone last night.
“Okay,” I whisper, voice trembling.
-
Magical Girl history.
The formation of the AbracadabrACT and the end of the Cold War.
I find myself missing the heft of my axe in my hands.
…all attempts at diplomacy had failed, and on October sixteenth, nineteen sixty-two, the first and last nuclear missiles were launched. It is unknown which side fired first, but both sides would soon be wiped from the face of the Earth…
My tools are out there, in the maintenance closet at the edge of town.
…with the help of the Magical Girl Supergroups PsyPOP™, Henshin Compact™, and Rainbow Melodie Cutie Missile Defense Hyper Squadron!™, over ninety-five percent of the nuclear missiles launched were disabled before impact, the vast majority of them being thrown into the planet’s upper orbit or the surface of the moon…
Some intrepid kids could come along and take them.
…humanity ceded authority of global affairs to the United Magical Coalition, whose first act of legislation was the AbracadabrACT, which dictated the voluntary dismantling of the majority of humanity’s militaries and decommissioning of all of its nuclear arsenals. Future disputes between nations would be dealt with by the authority of the UMC, and any unauthorized attempts at forming military forces were deemed illegal. World peace was achieved at last, and has lasted throughout…
I need to get my tools back.
-
Orchestra.
The world is round and I’m a triangle. Ting!
-
It’s finally the end of the day and my face is sore. It’s hard to go this long without scowling.
Haven has club activities with some other kids. They’re no saints, but neither am I. Plus, she’s upset with me and I still don’t feel like talking. She’s got no problem with traveling alone, but I hate it. But I can’t sneak out in the middle of the night for a while. She’ll be monitoring too closely.
The lazy clouds from earlier this morning have evolved into a dark, stormy mass, rumbling with thunder. I might not be able to sneak out at night, but it’ll be dark enough in the storm. This is my best chance.
Call me paranoid, and you’d be correct. I take the train to my house and drop everything off. Shut my bedroom blinds and turn on the lamp. The student act doesn’t stop until I’m beyond certain that nobody has been watching me.
When I sneak out the backdoor, I’m the real ‘me’ again.
-
The city looks beautiful draped in rain. It accentuates her curves and brings out the shimmer in her thousand eyes like nothing else. Streaks of lightning highlight her hair like a tantalizing halo.
She’s unapproachable. I’ve been bad. Got to sleep on the couch a few nights. Wait until the heat dies down. Then we can get bloody together again.
I navigate my way through the storm, back to where my day began. Unspeakably damp.
I get to the closet where I hid the weapons.
They’re long gone.
In their place, someone’s left a bedside note. A phone number.
Call me <3