Karanoia is a city of life and opportunity. It is the home to starry-eyed hopefuls, to corruption still present in society, and to the warmth of a new beginning. The city is heralded as the city of dreams and the entire universe revolves around its existence.
And I have always loved Karanoia the most of all the worlds I have seen. I will always love the way it bridges the gap between the lines, especially fond of the way it fills the space between with something heavy and alive. Sometimes, I wonder if it were my birthplace, too; other times I wonder if there are lines that even I will be unable to cross. Even after all these years, the mysteries and known truths still excite me. Even after all these years, the city still brings a smile to my face.
One day I will have to leave it all behind.
That, I hope, will also be the day that Slater Fujisaki breathes his last.
I watch as he and Bones walk into the bright and lively city streets, surrounded by the cacophony that are people. Slater's hands are trembling, he trains his gaze on the crowds that move with more purpose. They are not dolls and husks of humanity, no, they are alive and breathing. Where some walk in patterned guidance, others are more carefree in their steps.
He is riddled with static in his chest and I watch closely.
Comfort has never been easy, anonymity will always be his preference. Stupid, stupid Slater. He should have never rushed outside of a rift knowing that exiting elsewhere would bring him back into the city proper.
"So!" His companion for the night, Bones, pipes up with an enthusiasm that Slater does not match. "Are we splitting off here or did you want to keep hanging out!"
I keep my chuckle to myself, though no one is around to hear it.
Slater's response stutters alive. "I don't... have any shoes or money to hang out... sorry." And he's reminded that he is in a state of exposure to the world. His arms, his feet, his neck, his skin. They can see him as he is. A scared boy.
He just wants to hide.
Bones seems to understand more than well enough, regarding Slater with the brightest of smiles and the wave of his hand. "Welllllll, you can always message me on Pocket. What's your username again?"
There's no chance to answer, "Actually. I'll just find it out on my own." Meaning he'd ask their mutual friend. His pockets are coming up empty and he'd much rather reunite with both Nancy and Simon than stay here with the mouse of a boy.
( And he needed to get his new skeleton back home, too. )
Speaking of, the clambering of skeletons catch both of their attentions. Bones' first and Slater's second. "Bones," the first that greets the pair is the skeleton wearing a bow-tie and wrist cuffs. The voice is inhuman, yet nasal in quality. This is Simon, the more skittish of the skele-nannies, who he throws his arms around Bones in a hug that should be nauseating to look at.
Bones returns it with a vigor that should render the re-animated skeletal body into pieces and yet it nearly looks the same as if hugging a fleshy body.
Nancy, the skeleton adorned with floating earrings and a pearl necklace, stands by with her hands clasped in front of her. She gives off the regality befitting of royals and yet her station was that of Bones' guardian. A caretaker. A friend, if you can call it that.
I suppose that she is my favorite of the two, yet Simon comes in a very close second. He's an awkward sort of cute and that was just fine by me.
Slater wants to take the chance to sneak away, he is unfortunately rooted in place.
"I missed you guys! Nancy, Simon! It's Slater, he helped me escape. I was in a rift." As soon as Bones begins a new tirade of speech, the world around them seems to disappear in a haze of metaphorical smoke and fog. The content of his speech is lost on Slater's ears as he stands there in wait for when he would become properly addressed and included in the conversation.
( He does not want to be included in the conversation of a psychopath who would rather kill him than listen to reason. )
In a moment's time, Slater is pulled into a flurry of greetings.
"Thank you for bringing Bones back," Nancy offers a courtesy bow. Somehow, her expression seems relaxed though there is no skin, nor muscles either... Though the smile can be felt from vibes only.
He struggles to form a response, nodding numbly, Bones nor the two skele-nannies seem to mind. "U-Um... no problem." There is no need to give a correction to anything. Nor expand on anything to contradict whatever Bones had actually said. "I uh..."
Time to dismiss himself, disappear and go home.
In his peripheral he swears he sees his twin ( he does ) and the distraction turns his entire body. "I have to go. Enjoy your time with your uh- with Nancy and Simon. Thanks, bye."
A message on Pocket will be waiting for him whenever Bones remembers to do it.
Slater walks away from the conversation without looking back.
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Off an exhale, Slater finds his limitations in the comfort of loneliness. His bones are weary, sighing in complaint. His feet are blistered and yet the pain of being alive keeps him from the edge. He curls into himself and thinks that this is the better alternative to fading away. Internally, he can still feel the pain of his heart and his anima straining in protest from the misuse of earlier.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Sometimes, he wishes he were empty.
He knows he has the opportunity to sit here forever, time will continue to pass. He has tested the extents of his anima once before and nothing positive has ever came from it. In the end he is always left with the same result.
Rinse and repeat.
Over and over and over.
Picking himself up, he dusts the aftermath off his skin and his mind with still trembling hands. There is an atmosphere he adores about the grit of an alley. He picks his skin, unravelling the itching until it's bleeding again. He knows it will temporarily leave a scar.
I know that all his scars stick to his skin like memories blotted out with permanent markers. They are invisible to the eye, painted with invisible ink and yet, the ridges can be always be felt under the pads of his own fingertips. He knows they're there and that's enough even if no one else does.
But I know.
It's our well-kept secret and no word of it will leave my lips.
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They say home is where the heart is.
Slater stares at the fire-escape that leads up to his family home and wonders where his heart is. He wonders where his soul is. He wonders if he deserves to be back here. He wonders if he'll be able to fix it. He wonders if perhaps this is his own punishment.
Snake eat own tail, ouroboros. Slater knows he is consuming himself.
He doesn't have to open the door by himself, as if knowing that he is struggling to make the effort to cross the threshold, ∎∎∎∎∎ opens the door and clips to the space in front of him. A blink and he's there.
The name leaves his lips in a film of static, Slater enjoys the feel of it on his tongue despite the gaps in his memory. "You're here..."
"I'm always here if you just call my name, Slater." As if it is that easy. As if it were that easy. The whole time, he could've shouted his name. The whole time he could've demanded his help.
And yet...
Slater did not.
Something bitter rises up in his chest, a red-hot and icy fury that disappears the second he's pulled into the comfort of a hug. The waterline of his eyes tremble, they itch, and he brings up shaking hands to furl into the back of his brother's shirt. Like the baby he is, he hides away his tears in the crook of his neck and shoulder.
That juncture is the only place he'd disappear to.
Weak.
That's what he was.
Weak and dissolving in the embrace of his brother. He should be a better man, he knows. He should be a stronger man, he knows. He should be a man and yet, he breathes as if that will make it all the better. It does not and he knows.
It's only been a few moments before he registers that they've transitioned from the sidewalk just outside of the apartment and back to the dark of their shared room. Slater does not mind the abrupt change, the twist of reality. It should unsettle him and yet this is where is heart was.
In the dark of a room, beating in a chest that was not his own.
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He wakes up with a headache, because of course he does.
Where ∎∎∎∎∎ disappeared off to... there's no telling. I watch as Slaters sits up and rubs the butt of his palms into his eyes. There is a drawn out sigh here as he gets used to the feeling of existing in his own bed. "Fucking hell."
His hands fall back into his lap unceremoniously and it's here that he searches around for the phone he so desperately needs. It should be easy to spot, but its not and he finally reaches under his pillow to find it.
It's pink, mainly due to his magical girl phone case. It's themed after his favorite one, Strawberry Cream Soda ( or Ribbonista Von Deleon III ) who is apart of Soda Pop! Fizzy Adventure alongside others, who were littered about his room. He had other anime figures and he had his own series he was working on. At sixteen, he was probably still working on this shounen and something else to make some side money.
The charge is somewhere in the fifties and Slater sighs in mock relief.
Going through, entering the password felt like deja vu on steroids. All his apps were the same as he remembered them, all the games, the memories, the pictures. He doesn't know if this is around the time he was dating his ex-girlfriend or if they had broken up. He'd have to check on that...
Instead of properly sifting through his phone, he pulls out a notebook from his side table.
> REMEMBER
>
> * don't save xavier
> * the riot
> * that banquet explosion
> * school
> * find helpful people
He writes down his notes, scribbling nonsense on the page beside it. There was no way he'd be able to leave this time period, not right away, so he'd have to catch himself up on figuring out how to get the best possible result. Some things were better to do than others and pretty soon he's written himself a pretty good pathway.
If he's remembering correctly.
I know that there's things missing from the list, I just cannot interject. He will figure it out eventually.
Sitting with himself has always been his constant and yet he loathes it. He scrambles to write more even thought there is no rush to get anything correct. I understand the urgency, I understand it. Truly.
After tremendous effort, trying to jog his brain back into remembering more, he falls backwards onto his pillows. His eyes close and I wonder why there is anticipation rising in my chest.
There is sudden anxiety as I catch myself up to my own reality. The truth is that Slater is here and I am watching him exist in this awful place. An observer of ruin. An observer of decay. An observer of fate. The truth is that I drove him back into this endless loop, with my own hands. I am selfish.
And I am empty.
Time will continue to pass and I only hope that at the end of his journey, that mine will end too. The thought of the end was once comfort and now...
Part of me wishes that I could join him in his unconscious state, to find life again in the world of dreams. It is a foolish thought and my hands clench. I wish to leave crescent marks, I cannot.
Static begins to fill my chest, will anything end well? The system exists in a state of ambiguity and I am at the mercy of it.
If only ambiguity could be a dream.
Slater opens his eyes to a sea of darkness, much like the beginning of a nightmare he has witnessed all too many times before. The wave of nausea does not stop, it is almost empty how it rips apart his chest and his stomach. I can only watch in envious horror.
I want to feel something, too.
There is a sense of silence skipping into the room. Slater regains his mind and he is back in his home where it is far safer than the territory of the unknown. The static in my chest begins to melt away. Danger no longer peeps around the corner and he is safe.
My world will not end.