SOTF Archive/SOTF Classic

((Yuka Hayashibara continues from all of our heroes fading))

The rain came a few hours after the first announcements. It had felt appropriate and fitting to Yuka. She expected no less from the skies.

Yuka and the boys had made no attempt to shelter from the rain. There were no nearby buildings at the time, just the woods, so there was no point. They let the clouds drench them as they made their way to somewhere. Somewhere was a good enough destination. They had lost their way during some point in time, unable to distinguish one tree from another. The trees felt endless, all-encompassing. Suffocating. Anywhere els ewas good enough. Anywhere with people. As long as one of them was Yuki or Y--

She jerked her head upwards. Let the rain trickle from the leaves to her face, to her eyes, the corners of her eyes, down her face. Let the rain obscure her sight for a bit. Her fingers dug into her palms, her breathing slowed. Gradual inhales, shaky, stuttering exhales.

The moment passed. And so did the next moment. And the next moment. And the next, and the next, until her breathing steadied, her hands relaxed. She walked on, without a word to either of the boys. Every now and then, she could hear them trade words amongst themselves. What those words were didn't matter. They could be plotting their departure, for all she knew. That didn't matter. If they left, it might even keep them from holding her back, from having to mind such things as food, rest.

They didn't leave. So, the group stopped when necessary. Lunch. No sign of people, no sign of Yuki. Snack. No sign of people, no sign of Yuki. Dinner. No sign of Yuki. Just the trees. Just the rain.

During their miles-long journey, after the passing of moments, she would wipe the back of her hand against her face and come away with streaks of black, charteuse. Her face melting away. She wondered if the boys saw more of Yuki than Yuka, now. The thought plunged into her chest, so her pupils dilated. She looked past the trees, dirt, branches, into nothing at all. The rain faded into static, and she welcomed it. The static entered her ears, and she let it scrape every last thought, every last feeling, every last bit of gray matter away from the inside of her skull. Raindrops drummed onto her head from above, and she let each and every drop drum into her skull, pummel, pulverize it until there was nothing left. And once that was done, once everything she thought and felt and loved and feared and mourned dissolved with the rainwater, she walked on.



She walked on.



She walked on.



She walked on.



She walked on--

They were under a tree, it was dark. The raindrops were less a constant pummel and more an occasional drop or two, seeping past the gaps of the fronds above. One of the boys was saying something about taking watch. She wasn't up first, so she could rest. She nodded without looking. And then she opened her bag.

She first retrieved her flashlight from her daypack. She turned it on, and held it with her right hand while sifting through the contents of her personal bag. Her bag wasn't waterproof, so all the contents had been soaked through. There was no point in changing. She wasn't sure she could even if she wanted to. The fabric of her clothes stuck to her like a second skin, like a Band-aid on a scab.

She intended on using one of her undershirts as a pillow. So, she pulled it out, and saw a smear of chartreuse.

Quiet, rapid-fire whispers of 'No' poured from Yuka as she yanked out the shirt, and rummaged through the bottom of the bag. Her words subsided, fell into silence, as she retrieved an empty, dripping bottle of chartreuse liquid eyeliner.

She had bought it at a Forever 21 with Beryl, shortly after her hair had been dyed chartreuse. It had been a month before the trip, she thought. Beryl had suggested she buy it, to match it with her hair, and she couldn't tell if that was supposed to be a joke or not, but she obliged anyways and bought it. They had had a laugh about it as Yuka headed over to the register. It cost twenty dollars at the time, she thought.

Beryl's name had been on the announcements, she remembered. A few seconds before--

It had been on the announcements.

It had mattered for a few seconds. Beryl's name, a name she grew up with, adored for most of her life, had mattered for a few seconds, and then it hadn't. And it still couldn't matter, because she couldn't afford it. Yuka couldn't afford to care about Beryl, or Dante, or Chris, or Katr--

Katrina had been on the announcements.

Katrina Lavell.

Katr--

The nails dug into her skin this time. She let go, the indents in her palm stung.

Beryl had mattered once upon a time. A few days ago. Some of the money in her wallet, also at the bottom of the bag, also stained chartreuse, had been meant for buying a succulent of one kind or another. A farewell gift before they all left for college.

That money didn't matter now. Beryl didn't matter now. All that was left for Yuka to mind was an empty bottle bled out, chartreuse smeared on her hands, on all her belongings.

She stood up, and walked out into the rain, hands shaking as she rinsed off the eyeliner. She looked up again for a few more seconds, let the rain fall into her eyes, rinse away whatever remained of her makeup. And then she retrieved the undershirt, laid her head on top.

She closed her eyes, and she was left with the static. Maybe it would smother her in her sleep. That would be nice.

They were back at the restaurant. Yuka had a plate of teriyaki and rice in front of her, small. It was one of those hibachi restaurants. Yuki loved her Japanese cuisine, the other two didn't mind, so here they were.

The chefs had had their performance and moved on to other customers, the sisters had had their food, so all that was left was the gifts. Yuka had saved herself for last. "Save the best for last," she had jested, along with a giggle, a nervous one, she hoped they didn't realize. It was their 18th birthday, she had spent all of the past month thinking of a gift for her sisters, and yet she wasn't sure it would be enough. What if she got it wrong? What if they didn't like her gift? She didn't know if they would tell her, even if they didn't like it. She hated that about them, about people in general. She wished they would be more direct with negative things in general. Rip the Band-aid off, and all.

She took a deep breath. She was getting worked up over nothing.

Yuki and Yuko had given Yuka her gifts already, a gem necklace and a pastel shirt with bears on it, respectively, and she had given them hugs in return, but of course, they expected more, and she had more.

But was it enough?

She gave Yuko a pair of football earrings. She had thought they were quirky, funny, but also fitting for Yuko. Something to spruce up her style, make things interesting. But maybe they would come off as tacky, a joke gift. She didn't know.

"I hope you like it," Yuka said quietly.

Yuka looked down at her nails, picked at them.

"They're really nice!"

The words had been said an octave higher than normal. Bassy, still, but enthusiastic. Excited. Pleased.

That was what Yuko said. That was how she said it. That was her voice, expressing gratitude. She liked it, she liked the gift.

She looked up, and Yuko had them on already! She liked them that much. Yuka hadn't been wrong after all, she'd done well. Yuko liked them.

"How do they look?" she asked.
-
'They look perfect,' Yuka mumbled.

It was pitch black. Her face felt wet. She sat up with a jolt. Where was she? What was happening? Where was

Yuko?

She blinked. A tinny voice came back to her, over the static.




Yuko





Yuko was




Yuko wasn't around anymore.

Yuko was dead.

It was the next day, and Yuko was still dead. And she would always be dead. She would never come back.

Yuko was dead.

Yuka folded in on herself, wrapped her arms around herself, and rocked back and forth, choked sobs coming out of her throat.

((Sal Bonaventura continued from all of our heroes fading))

Sal pursed his lips as he stared off into the darkness, exhaustion weighing down on him like a blanket as the seconds ticked by, the length of his watch seeming to stretch forward into infinity. The scene was eerily still, almost like something out of a painting rather than a real-life experience.

Suddenly, a small sound pierced through the stillness. Sal's ears perked up as he tried to identify what he was hearing, straining for a few seconds before he noticed the sound repeat itself. It sounded like...sobbing?

Sal's head snapped over to where Yuka was lying. He couldn't make out much, but even with his impaired vision he could see his friend's shoulders heaving as she cried. He watched for a moment, stunned, before he slowly walked over too her and whispered quietly, to not wake Manuel.

"Hey...are you okay?"

The rocking stopped the moment Sal spoke, along with everything else. No sound, no movement.

There were other people with her, Yuka realized. And one of them was awake. With her. He had seen everything.

Everything.

She slowly turned her head, revealing a tear-streaked, furious expression.

She launched herself at him, soundless, and flailed her fists at his face, chest, trying to make him disappear.

Sal stared at Yuka, a sinking feeling spreading its way throughout his body. He had seen Yuka upset before, but never once had she physically struck him, not even in jest. Not only that, but something about the expression on her face shook him, only furthering the overwhelming sense that the situation was rapidly spiraling out of his control.

Her blows rained down on him as he desperately fumbled for something to say. He knew that he had walked in on something he shouldn't have, a private moment not meant for anyone else's eyes. What could he possibly say to make things better? No matter how much he wanted to, there were some types of pain that he couldn't just take away.

Tears began to flow down his face as he dropped any pretense of being calm or collected. There was only one thing he could think to say, which forced its way hoarsely out of his throat into the empty air.

"Yuka... I'm sorry..."

Yuka felt naked. Raw. As if Sal had gone beneath the makeup, scraped the skin off her face. Her nerves were on fire. And, she couldn't forgive this. He hurt her. He didn't have the right to see her like this. She didn't give him any right. So, why was he still here? Why wasn't he leaving? What gave him the right to stay here?

She continued to beat on him for a few more seconds, fist after fist raining on him. Suppressed sobs came out of her throat, involuntarily. They sounded childish, like that of a toddler throwing a tantrum.

And, that's all she was, in the end. A child, without guidance, lashing out. That's all she'd been reduced to.

The punches slowed gradually, coming less and less until she ended with one solid jab at his chest.

And then, she collapsed into his shoulder, shaking.

A quiet sigh of relief made its way out of Sal's throat as Yuka seemed to calm down, at least little bit. Did his apology make her less upset at him? Was she feeling any better now? Both of these were questions to which he hoped the answer was yes, but overwhelmed him with the sneaking suspicion that the answer was, in fact, no.

Swallowing hard, Sal wrapped his arms around his crying friend, gently cradling her as he imagined one would hold a small child. His heart was pounding in his chest, and a cold breeze made him acutely aware of the wetness of his tear-stained cheeks. He could almost swear that, as strange as it might seem, he still could feel the sensation of her fists still striking against his chest.

He wanted to tell her that everything would be okay, that they all get out of this, that her wounds would heal. The only issue was... that he couldn't. There was no way he could possibly phrase that sentiment in a way that didn't sound like a bunch of cheap platitudes. Instead, he decided to just keep holding her, hoping that she didn't notice that he was also crying.

Yuka had failed.

She had failed to find her sister Yuko. She had failed to save her sister Yuko. And now, she failed at this.

She wanted to drum into Sal like the rain drummed into her head. She wanted to scrape his memories out like the static scraped her memories out. She had punched, wailed at him, and that was supposed to disappear him. But he was still here. All of what she did amounted to flailing, and he hadn't even moved an inch.

Now, there was a witness to everything that had happened. Someone to testify to this. She couldn't make Sal forget this moment. She couldn't pretend this moment didn't exist now.

The past few seconds, with Yuka sobbing into herself, lashing out, giving up, breaking down, that was immortalized now. In Sal's memory, in the cameras.

That moment she woke up, the screaming, pulling at her hair, her clothes, the complete unraveling, that was immortalized.

The moment of the announcements, her silent collapse, was immortalized.

SOTF had happened. Yuko's death had happened. This had happened. It all happened. It all happened, and she was here, and this was happening.

She still held on to Sal, despite what he'd done. Because he was still here, maybe. Maybe just because he was here.

She felt like she would never get up if she let go. She felt like she would sink into the ground, once more, and it would never let her go. If it would bring her to Yuko, she would let it happen.

She knew it wouldn't.

She didn't know what to do, really, how to move on from this. She had hoped this moment wouldn't come. She hadn't planned for this.

She didn't know what to do, so she continued holding onto him, swaying a little, tightening her embrace, occasionally sobbing into him. Eventually, after minutes or hours, her grip slackened, and she slowly slid down, until she was left on the ground, back asleep.

((Yuka Hayashibara and Sal Bonaventura continue in Incredible Adventures))