The teacher's voice is a steady hum in the background-like the sound of an old fan you stop hearing after a while. I'm supposed to be taking notes, but my pen hasn't moved in ten minutes. Instead, I'm staring past the smudged glass of the window, watching sunlight spill over the football field outside.
My reflection stares back at me in the glass-dark hair falling into my eyes, the same hazel that can't seem to decide between green and gold. People say I look athletic, like I'm the kind of guy who spends hours in the gym. I don't. My build just... happened.
Out there, life looks simple. A couple of birds fight over something in the grass. The wind moves through the trees without asking for permission. In here, everyone's fighting for grades, for approval, for something to make them feel important or to give them a purpose. I can't bring myself to care. The truth of the reality they refuse to face out of fear of rejection and self destruction?, 'Everything is Hevel'.
It has been and it always will be, a chasing after the wind.
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/Hevel; meaning vanity or meaningless when translated to greek/
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The scrape of chairs against the floor jolts me back to the present. Class is over. I hadn't even noticed the bell. I'm still staring out the window when a shadow falls across my desk.
"Hey," a familiar voice says. It's Seiji-grinning like the world's been handing out good news for free. He leans on my desk, eyes searching my face.
"You looked like you were somewhere else. Thinking about skipping lunch again?"
"I can't be bothered how my lunch goes," I say, shrugging. "Whatever happens, happens."
Seiji smirks, the kind of grin that thinks it's clever. "You're wierd, you know that?"
He's right though-not only about the wierd part, but about the lunch. I'll probably skip it, not because I want to, not because I'm too busy, but because I couldn't care less. Food, hunger... they don't matter much when you're this good at ignoring yourself and the world around you.
Seiji's leaning against my desk like he owns the spot, messy black hair half-covering his forehead, eyes sharp but not in a dangerous way. We've known each other since we were ten. He's the only one I've managed to keep around this long-probably because he worries for me more than he should.
I try, for a second, to imagine being in his place. Worrying about someone else-someone who isn't me, or my mother. The thought feels strange, like wearing a shirt that doesn't fit. I can't picture it. Not even for him.
Maybe that's just who I am. Or maybe it's what's left of me-after that day.
The rest of the day moves like wet paint drying-slow, silent, and impossible to speed up. Teachers come and go, words blur together, and the clock on the wall does its best impression of a corpse.
By the time the final bell rings, I'm already halfway out the door in my head. The hallway fills with the usual noise-shouts, laughter, the clatter of lockers.
On my way out, I pass clusters of students making plans. A group of girls deciding on karaoke. Two guys arguing over which park to hit. Others talking about grabbing dinner somewhere.
Why do they even try?
What's the point? What's the aim?
They live, they laugh, they fill their days with things that feel important now, but in the end... everything they do is meaningless. The lives they lead, the friendships they make-even the adults in the world, the ones who tell us they know better-spend decades grinding away at jobs that demand their time, their energy, their dreams. They sacrifice their happiness for numbers on a screen or paper in their wallets.
And for what?
Pleasure? Security? Some version of success they were told to chase?
It all ends the same way-whether rich or poor, brilliant or foolish. Sooner or later, they all crumble into dust, swallowed by the same ground they came from.
I push through the school gates, the late afternoon light spilling across the street like melted gold. Seiji's leaning against the wall, waiting-hands in his pockets, that half-smile already in place.
"Man, I'm gonna do it," he blurts the moment I'm close enough. "I'm asking her out."
I raise an eyebrow. "Her?"
"You know who I mean," he says, eyes darting like he's afraid the whole street might be eavesdropping. "I don't expect you to give me advice or anything-I'm just too excited to keep it to myself."
We start walking, the rhythm of our steps lazy. As we round the corner, a wall of sound leaks from an electronics store. The TV in the window is blaring over the hum of traffic. Both of us glance at it-just for a moment, like fate decided to snag our attention.
"...the largest single-day collapse in stock exchange history. Makasahi Inc. has filed for bankruptcy with no hope of revival. Industry experts call it unprecedented-"
Seiji whistles low. "Crazy. I actually know the guy who owns that place. Used to live around your neighborhood before he moved to some giant mansion."
Still staring at the screen, I Can't help but think about how another corporate monkey got played by the system that sustained him and left him for dust. Yesterday he probably thought he was at the top of the world-no clue today that he would be dragged into the gutter by the same faces he thought weren't using him for a profit.
Aloud, I say, "I doubt I'd know him. I don't care enough to remember the faces around me."
Seiji grins sideways. "It's a miracle you still remember mine."
I smirk, but keep walking.
Seiji lives in the next town over, so we usually take the same train after school. Different destinations-his stop comes first, mine after. It's a small ritual neither of us talks about, but we always end up walking to the station together.
When my stop finally arrives, I get off and take the short walk home. The apartment's quiet except for the faint click of knitting needles. My mother's sitting on the couch, a ball of pale blue yarn resting in her lap.
She has the kind of face that never raises its voice-calm, gentle, always trying to see the good in people. It's cost her more than she'll admit.
"How was school?" she asks.
"The same," I answer, voice low. Same question, same answer, every day.
I head upstairs to my room, drop onto my bed, and stare at the ceiling.
Why am I here?
Surely the dead have it better-they don't have to keep trudging through this farce. And those yet to be born... they're even luckier. They haven't seen the ugliness of the world yet.
I pull out my phone. The top story on my feed is the same news clip Seiji and I saw earlier-the company's implosion plastered across the screen. Two seconds, maybe less, and I scroll past it.
The endless news feed of noise happening all around the world blurs together until I put the phone down, get up, and move through the motions: shower, change clothes, eat. Eventually, I'm back where I started, lying on my bed.
"It's all hevel," I mutter into the empty room.
That's when I hear it-a scream from downstairs.
Before I can think, I'm running, heart in my throat, every nerve certain something's happened to her. But when I reach the bottom, she's standing in the kitchen, perfectly fine.
"You okay?" she asks, tilting her head.
"I thought-" I stop. She's looking at me like I imagined it. Maybe I did. "I'm fine. Just tired."
I turn to go upstairs, but she steps past me, carrying a small bag of garbage toward the door. I know she wants me to take it, but won't say so. I sigh, take it from her-and my fingers brush the tip of her hand-just skin against skin, nothing unusual-
-except it feels like the world shatters.
Suddenly, I'm somewhere else. Or maybe everywhere at once.
It's an endless loop. A reel of moments spinning faster than I can process, but somehow, I'm living each one. Every detail. Every sound. Every shiver of air before it happens.
Pain.
Fear.
Grief.
I can't look away. I can't stop experiencing it.
It's her-always her. My mother. And she's dying.
Once, it's in the kitchen. Another time, on the couch. Another, alone in a dark room that looks like our basement. Different causes. Different details. But the same place. The same time. Over. And over. And over again.
It doesn't stop.
It never stops.
Infinity stretches out, choking me, until I can't tell if this is a second or a century.
Then-
"Itsuki!" Her voice snaps through the haze, sharp and desperate.
I gasp, blinking hard. I'm back in the kitchen. My hands are trembling. My cheeks are wet.
She's staring at me, the garbage scattered on my feet. "What's wrong? You look pale-"
I pull away, shifting just out of her reach. My throat is dry. I can't tell her.
Because the truth is, for that one moment that felt like infinity, I watched her die an endless number of times. And each time, it felt real. It felt like a memory of what had already happened, but it hasn't. I see her, she's there, right in front of me, looking worried as ever.
My knees give out before I even realize I'm falling. The floor rushes up, cold against my palms.
"Itsuki-"
She steps toward me, but I flinch back, dragging myself a few inches away. My chest tightens. I don't want her near me. I don't want to touch her. Not again.
The next second, I'm on my feet-running. My legs move on instinct, up the stairs, away from her voice. I slam the door behind me, pressing my back to it like it might hold the whole world out.
"Itsuki?" Her voice is muffled through the wood. "What happened? Why were you crying? You looked... scared."
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. My throat locks up. My breath comes in short bursts. I feel like if I speak, that vision will come flooding back.
It takes nearly a minute for my body to loosen its grip on me. She's still alive, I remind myself. She's still alive.
"I'm fine," I manage at last, forcing my voice into something that sounds almost steady. "Just... sudden headache. School was harder than usual."
I try to sound normal, but my throat strains with every word, and my eyes still won't lose that wide, frightened look.
She hesitates before answering. "When you feel better, come downstairs. We should talk about it."
"Yeah," I say, though I'm not sure I mean it.
As soon as her footsteps fade, I grab my phone. I call Seiji. No answer. I try again. Still nothing.
I stare at the screen, my hands cold and damp.
What did I see?
What was that nightmare that came the moment I felt her touch?
I drop the phone beside me and sink back against the wall. The room feels smaller than before, like the walls are leaning in just enough for me to notice.
Outside, a car passes. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barks. The world moves on, oblivious to what just happened.
I press my palms against my eyes, as if darkness will erase what I saw. But the images cling to me—her falling, her choking, her blood pooling, her breath catching in ways I can still hear. Every version ends the same way: lifeless eyes.
My hands shake. I tell myself it wasn't real. Just some stress-induced hallucination. Just exhaustion. But that doesn't explain how it felt… true.
I glance at the phone again, half-expecting it to ring, half-hoping Seiji will call back and talk about something—anything—that'll drag me out of this spiral.
Nothing.
With a hollow sigh, I lie back on the floor and stare at the ceiling. My breath steadies, but my heart hasn't caught up. Somewhere deep down, a thought gnaws at me:
If what I saw wasn't a dream… then what was it?
I figured Mom was probably shaken too… but the thought of facing her again made my stomach twist. No — I wasn't going downstairs. Not tonight. Not until I could hold myself together.
The phone suddenly rang, making me jump. Seiji's name flashed on the screen.
I picked up instantly.
"Dude, I did it!" Seiji's voice exploded through the speaker before I could say a word. "I asked her — and she said yes! She actually said yes!"
I smiled faintly. Seiji was probably the only guy in the world who didn't realize how good-looking he was… or how easily girls would say yes if he just tried.
"So, uh…" he continued, "what'd you want to say when you called me earlier?"
I hesitated. For a moment, I thought about telling him. About the touch, the terror, the tears. But his voice was too light, too full of the kind of happiness that shouldn't be weighed down.
"Nah, nothing happened," I said. "Just wanted to hear from you. You gonna take her on a date tomorrow?"
"Of course!" His grin was almost audible. "Man, I can't believe I actually did it, I finally have a girlfriend."
"Yeah, congrats man. I'll let you go. Talk later."
The call ended.
In that brief conversation, I made my decision — I wasn't going to let this become a big deal. I would forget it ever happened. Move on. After all, no one else would care… so why should I?
I sank onto my bed, letting out a long breath. My heartbeat had slowed, but the memory still pressed at the edges of my mind.
What was that?
Why?
What did it mean?
Sleep took me before I found an answer.
But I had no way of knowing… this small, strange moment was the beginning of everything.