《Higanbana》


 UNFINISHED PROLOGUE

    The setting sun painted the sky red


    Shadows stretched along the dirt path


    The river was calm underneath that wooden bridgeEnjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    I looked out toward the distance


    Toward the horizon


    Where a figure should have been


    Was it the glare of the setting sun


    Was it the haze of the summer day


    Was it my fatigued, unfocused mind


    That caused me to not see anything


    Tomorrow as well¡­

 HANGING GARDEN pt0

    Metal hissed violently, bringing the iron giant to a halt.


    Warped from alignment. Wires crossed, coiled, and intertwined.


    A figure hung loosely. Like a doll, like a puppet.


    Metallic strings pulling at its flesh.


    Like some sick circus act, displayed to the public.


    That faceless crowd, looked on in awe.If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    Their murmur grew louder. Grew indistinct.


    The constant flickering, the continuous shuttering.


    Click followed by flash. Click followed by flash.


    Click followed by flash followed by click followed by flash.


    Click followed by flash followed by click followed by flash.


    Click followed by flash followed by click followed by flash followed by click followed by flash followed by click followed by flash followed by click followed by flash followed by click followed by flash followed by¡­


    Click. Flash. Click. Flash. Click. Flash. Click. Flash. Click. Flash. Click. Flash. Click. Flash. Click. Flash. Click. Flash.


    Over and over and over and over.


    Again and again and again and again.


    In an endless cycle.


    Violent. Cruel. Maddening.


    As chaos assaulted sanity.


    As vertigo threatened consciousness.


    And reality blurred into psychosis.


    Those lifeless eyes.


    They stared back at me.


    Stared at me.


    Directly.


    As if saying¡­

 HANGING GARDEN pt1

    It was usually a crowded street. A crowd like a river, its constant current pushing the flow of people. Never still.


    But it was still.


    It was more crowded than usual. This crowd however, this constant current of faces, had come to a stop. Its water, all but still.


    The mass rocked back and forth, as people pushed against one another. There was no direction, and therefore no real flow. Just a wave that seemed to toss against itself.


    Overhead, just outside the train station, in one of the city¡¯s most crowded crossings.


    There it hung, on the powerlines. A figure. A body. Of a young girl.


    Its limbs were tangled on the wire, allowing it to stay suspended. Its head hung lifelessly, as long, black hair obscured the face.


    I didn¡¯t look at it. I tried not to look at it. I tried desperately to avert my gaze.


    But it stuck out at you. Forcing you to look. Forcing you to stare.


    It captivated the gaze. Like a curse, like a hex.


    It burned the retinas. It burned just to stare.


    I wanted to close my eyes. I wanted to look away. To run away. To escape.


    To pretend that it wasn¡¯t real. That it was but a twisted nightmare conjured by a sick mind.


    But it was reality.


    I couldn¡¯t just look away. I couldn¡¯t just close my eyes. Nor run. Nor pretend.


    It was there, right in front of me. Witnessed by myself and countless others. That blood curdling, horrifying, sickening scene.Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    And all I could do¡­ was stare.


    ¡­


    The clock read just past eight.


    The usually crowded halls were empty. The sort of emptiness that was usually painted red. In a way, it felt kind of eerie.


    I could hear the sound of each of my footsteps, echoing back at me.


    Maybe it was just my unusually heightened sensitivity. Anxious and unsettled, every sound seemed to set me off just a little more. From the cracking of the wood floor to my own irregular breathing.


    After wandering the streets aimlessly, I had somehow found myself here. As if I had just stumbled in by chance. And yet, this was where I was meant to be. Where I set off to reach earlier this morning.


    Then, why did it feel so off?


    It was odd. I felt lost. I felt dazed.


    Nothing felt real. I felt a strange detachment. Not just to the rest of the world, but to my own body.


    My movements felt delayed. As if my body was lagging just behind me.


    I slowly slid the door open. It rattled against my trembling hand. I slipped through, closing the door behind me. And just stood there, if only for a brief moment. A moment that seemed to prologue.


    Thirty-eight pairs of eyes stared back at me. I tried to shake it off, telling myself it was just the paranoia getting to me, and made my way to my desk.


    I sat awkwardly. My mind was restless, but my body felt sluggish. As if unable to keep up. I wasn¡¯t sure what to do, so I just did nothing.


    It was hard to focus. My mind was a blur. And yet, the world seemed much sharper and vivid. Oversaturated colors and hyperdetailed objects flooded my vision. As if my eyes were picking up every last sensory information sent their way. The overstimulation overloading my mind.


    I closed my eyes, trying to escape that hyper-focused world.


    My body suddenly jolted as a roll of paper snapped against my desk. I looked up to see my teacher¡¯s body looming over me. An irritated scowl with eyes that stared daggers down at me.


    Flustered, having been caught off guard, I tried, vainly, to respond. Instead, I merely opened my lips and let out incoherent sounds that didn¡¯t even vaguely resemble speech, as I stumbled just to form a single word.


    This desperate attempt at human speech did little to defend me. I reached to my side for my book, to at least mimic the behavior of everyone around me.


    Alarms suddenly rang in my head as the desperation amplified. Try as I might, my hand only grasped at air. I then came to the horrifying realization that I was missing my bag.


    Those eyes still loomed over me. I could feel them inching closer by the second. It sent shivers down my spine, filled me with a primitive sense of dread.


    I could feel the rest of the room silently snickering. Even so, the sound was drowned by ever looming eyes.


    I could feel a cold sweat building from the nerves. To those looming eyes, all I could do was respond with eyes that pled.


    To no avail.

 HANGING GARDEN pt2

    The stairwell was usually dim, perhaps deliberately so. The windowless stairwell encased by walls on all four sides, illuminated by the faint glow of florescent lights spotted at the top of each flight ¨C save for the last one.


    No one ever came here. Especially to this floor. It was evident by the layer of dust that had begun to build on the surface of the worn-out desks, haphazardly discarded here, on the topmost landing.


    It was a chore just to shuffle through the clutter. In a way, that too must have been deliberate.


    A small path had been opened, just wide enough to squeeze through. It was hard to navigate in the dark, but if you kept your body pushed up against the wall, all you had to do was walk forward.


    At the end, the piled-up desks had been pushed out the way just enough. Revealing a door.


    The door cracked open with just the turn of the doorknob, the broken lock failing to deny access. It opened ever slightly, before hitting the leg of a desk. And yet, just enough.


    Light rushed into the dim stairwell, along with the fresh smell of the outdoor air. A stark contradiction to the dark, closed-off stairwell.


    Past the door was an open sky of light blue. The roof, surrounded by a tall metal fence.


    There was a slight breeze, just enough to ruffle the hair. It felt cool against the skin, as if finally beginning to feel like autumn.


    No one ever came up here. In fact, no one was even allowed to be up here in the first place. It was by chance that I had found a way up here, one day while wandering the halls. And it was by chance that, out of the only two roof accesses, I had picked the one with a broken lock.


    And yet, in this empty roof enclosed by fences, I was not alone.


    Above me, on the top of the stair house, like a perched bird that stood out against the blue of the sky and the pale grey of the roof.


    There she was.


    She was standing up straight, as if waiting. As if anticipating my arrival. As if she had known I would show up.This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    Her short, black hair fluttered in the wind, even more so than her loose jacket. Her head was slightly tilted at an angle, as her light brown eyes looked down at me.


    Her aura was so mysterious. That girl who I knew only by name.


    I had never seen her around school. Not during the entrance ceremony, nor in any class, nor passing by in the halls. And yet, whenever I came here, no matter the time, day, or weather, there she was. Always standing on the top of that stair house. Her hair always suspended in a never-ending breeze, as if captivated by the wind. Those squinted brown eyes, always staring back at me.


    She was an enigma, in every sense of the word.


    ¡°So you¡¯ve come.¡±


    She spoke softly, if but bluntly, as if the wind carried her words down to me.


    ¡°What is it that you seek?¡±


    It was difficult to understand ¨C the strange sensation that overcame me every time I saw her.


    She was beautiful. But it was not her beauty that left me at a loss for words. Maybe it was her stone-cold expression, that never seemed to betray emotions. Or perhaps the way her narrow eyes gazed at me. Their soft brown color, that seemed to contradict her ever stoic expression.


    Regardless of what it was, I had come because I needed to ask her something. At times like these, she was the only one I knew to turn to. And yet, in saying times like these, nothing like this had ever occurred.


    ¡°Did you hear? The rumors have started to spread.¡±


    ¡°There are many rumors,¡± she replied, ¡°Of which do you speak?¡±


    ¡°This morning¡­ outside the train station¡­¡±


    She closed her eyes, as she thought about it. And yet, she seemed to briefly lose herself in that thought.


    Her hand moved toward her face and she slightly adjusted her pose as if to say something. Only to remain silent, as her hand fell back to her side.


    Another brief moment¡­


    ¡°You mean the girl?¡±


    My body shook, just to recall that scene. So heavy an impact that scene had left. So strong an image it had burned into my mind.


    ¡°Yes¡­ the one hanging from the powerlines.¡±


    Even now, I hadn¡¯t been able to get that image out of my mind. I tried and tried. And yet it seemed the more I tried, the more vivid the image became.


    ¡°There¡¯s nothing I can tell you,¡± she said, ¡°I¡¯m sure even the police don¡¯t know much.¡±


    She paused, as she contemplated it further.


    ¡°That strange way in which she died¡­ could it have been an accident¡­ a suicide¡­ or perhaps, a murder?¡±


    She spoke in pauses, under her breath. As if speaking indirectly. Merely thinking out loud.


    But that word stuck out at me.


    Murder.


    For as horrifying as what the word entailed, it begged to question, how, and more so, why would someone commit such a cruel and twisted murder?


    ¡°Do you know who she was?¡±


    She shook her head. ¡°As I said, there is little I know. Her hair obscured her face, even the media was unable to capture her face. How then can a name be put to the body?¡±


    She paused, once again moving her hand to her face. ¡°It was the police that took her body down and carried it off. Even they should take a while to identify the body. And even if they already have, they have yet to make any public statement.¡±


    She leaned over, further toward me, from up there. That cold expression, the gaze of her eyes.


    ¡°All I can tell you is this¡­ that uniform she wore, belonged to our school.¡±