Haruka's Song

If someone were to ask him where the chasm began or ended, he wouldn’t be able to answer. If someone were to ask him why it came to be, however, he’d respond immediately: because he’d dug it around himself. 

“Haruka!”

It wasn’t a lie. For the longest time, the bridges others built  in a misguided attempt to help him had been demolished and turned into walls. 

“W-wait!”

It wasn’t a truth he wanted to embellish, but he had to. He had to.

Kaito dashed after the… entity… rival… harbinger of doom… while the one who’d spawned her ignorantly asked, “What’s wrong? What happened? Did she do something to you?” 

And while the pertinent option would’ve been to respond, he did not, for it did not fit his persona. Instead, he ran, skipped, jumped, for the visceral creatures around snipped and clawed at his feet. 

How could she not see? How they slithered across her own home? How her daughter had been distorted? How the monster begged for help? No one saw. No one heard. No one cared. It was as she’d said—that in their eyes, numbers came before people. Paychecks, exam scores, the amount of contacts on their social media. Madness!

Madness indeed. 

Not from him—from everyone else. 

Not even from…

…on second thought, Haruka was probably the maddest of all. In every sense of the word. When Kaito stepped out the door of her lair, he found a world that reaped what it sowed. In EVERY sense of the word.

The sky was a kind of pink only caused by a sandstorm from a faraway land. The clouds drowning in it more closely resembled claws than cotton, and they… moved? They moved! They twisted into vaguely humanoid shapes, giant bugs, eyes that leered when Kaito flinched at them. Then, splotches of dark blue, blood red, bright yellow bloomed and spread like paint on a watery canvas.

The suburban homes, innocently white and square in the past, had begun to dislodge from their bases, tainted by the disaster going on in the sky. A seism so strong it made him stumble caused the distorted buildings to jiggle, as if made from gelatin. Their doors and windows flew across the air as a result, landing on the ground like shuriken.

A convenient trail of spider lilies disappeared into the horizon—literally. Kaito could barely breathe, let alone stand, but, oh, he could talk. “I…” Kind of. “I TOLD YOU! I TOLD YOU GUYS! I TOLD YOUUUU!”

But who was there to tell anymore? As if on cue, Haruka’s mother hopped out of her car, which had been flattened into a sticker-like figurine. It fell upon the ground the way paper would. She didn’t notice, of course. With one hand, she held a couple of grocery bags containing drinks and what seemed to be chips. With the other, pizza. 

So that was her ‘errand’: to please a rare visitor who’d come to see her socially inept daughter. She blinked, then looked around. “Told who?” She asked. “What happened? Did Haruka do something?”

Before he responded, she put down the bags, then held out a hand to him, warm and human, which he held onto for dear life. Both of them were, looked, felt real. 

As though she found herself in a quaint sunny neighborhood and not a drawing made by a toddler having a seizure, she smiled, though this held no humor. No, Kaito knew that expression very well. 

What’s wrong?

As if the chasm dug and the wall built around him weren’t enough of an answer. He said, “Your daughter needs—” then stopped.

She vanished. 

She dissolved; her clothes and the items she held fell in a heap next to his feet.

…you.

Kaito took his hand with the other to keep it from shaking. Unfortunately, there was no way to do the same for his breathing. Kaito skidded backwards, tripped, stood up, looked around. The lilies were still there. They started off relatively normal, but as they receded from him, the petals turned brittle, sharp, dark red, like glass.

“I-I…”

Kaito glanced at the heap of clothes.

“I told you.”

Then back at the lilies.

“But you wouldn’t listen. None of you. No one.”

Not to him, not to Haruka. 

He began to run.

In that sense, how was he any better?

He followed the prints of the monster that’d caused the end of the world. Trees twisted into black lines that extended indefinitely, rolling down into swirls, scribbles, until they crashed against each other. 

All the while, he saw nobody else.

Perhaps there was nobody else. 

Some of the houses had detached altogether, rolling off their bases. Doors, windows, cars, bicycles swirled across the sky as though they’d been flattened into paper figurines. 

“Hello?” Kaito called out as he followed the lilies. “Is anyone—” He ducked to avoid a car that’d lost a dimension. “Anyone there? Anyone?”

Something popped out of his pocket, which made him jump. “She’s right up ahead,” was Vash’s response. The other two imps jumped off the car figurine. They might as well be in a quaint neighborhood and not the end of the world, too. Once reunited, they floated after the trail of lilies. 

She’s right up ahead. 

Haruka was. Or the monster? Was there any difference? Did it matter?

Because it did (not), Kaito followed. He held himself all the while. “I told you,” he mumbled, to no one, as always. “I told you I told you I told you but you wouldn’t listen. I knew this was gonna happen. I knew it. But no. You just had to… dismiss.”

One of the imps stopped.

“I should’ve told her.”

Two of the imps stopped.

“That I’m sorry.”

Three of the imps stopped.

“That I get it.”

They were dolls.

“I’m alone, too.”

They had always been dolls. All this while, he’d been holding them. Yet the trail of blackened lilies remained ahead until, as though blown by a giant, it scattered at the literal end of the road. Beyond that, it broke down, and the horizon did not exist anymore. 

Something budged at the end—a monster. 

Where the horizon used to exist, the road and the grass and the houses broke down, as if dissolving, mixing with the watercolor sky. A heap of black lay atop nothing, and it was made of nothing, too, for those were no longer lilies, but what happened to glass after you smashed it.

Something sobbed at the end. 

Kaito held the lifeless dolls to himself.

“...what?”

He swallowed. The monster had Haruka’s voice.

“Why are you here?”

Kaito cleared his throat, but his voice had turned into watercolor nonsense, too.

“Just… leave.”

How many people had she told that to before? One? Ten? Eight billion? 

“Leave me alone.”

“H-Haruka.”

The monster shifted, though he still faced her back. She said nothing. 

“Um. So. The. I’m. It’s just… the… why did you do this?”

Seriously, out of all the things he could’ve said… 

Haruka seemed to concur, because she growled. Had she been able to, and she would’ve scoffed. There was no one and nothing anymore, nothing to hide, no one to perform to. He’d known this would happen from the start. Both of them had. How? Why? She said, “I was destined to cast this sinful world into shadow, for…” then she sniffed. “For the…” She wiped what used to be eyes with her claws. “...the… I-I don’t know. Do you think I wanted this to happen?”

Kaito shook his head, then remembered she wasn’t facing him. While a great chance to correct such a moment of weakness, he did not. “I’m sorry.”

“You better.”

That almost made him smile. It came out watery, though, almost as much as what used to be the sky. “And you can’t fix it?”

“Do you think that—”

“Sorry, sorry. I know. If you could, you would’ve done it. But you didn’t know how, and, um. And nobody helped.”

“...no. Did you see what happened to…”

“Did you?”

Haruka shook her heads.

Kaito chewed on his lip for a bit. “The others are, uh… they’re hiding.”

“Where?”

“Their houses?”

“Mom?”

“Yeah. Same as mine.” He let out a short, shaky breath. “I think.”

The monster was looking at him now, perhaps. It was hard to tell. “What did you tell her when you left?” She asked. “What did she tell you? How do you know everyone’s hiding?”

“She’s… she…”

“She’s what?”

Weird to worry about self-preservation in a moment like this, yet there he was, weighing his options. Since it frankly didn’t matter anymore, upon shutting his eyes close, he admitted, “Gone.”

“...huh?”

“Everyone is.”

“Gone? H-how? How do you know?”

“I mean. I don’t know know, but—”

“Then they’re not gone gone,” she said. “Stop lying. Stop it.”

“I’m not—”

“You just—hate me, that’s why you keep saying those things! Right? No matter what I tell you, it’s always the same! Why do you hate me so much? Why!?”

Another earthquake. He stumbled, though he didn’t fall this time; he held onto the dolls as though they were an anchor. The watercolor ripped apart, the way it would’ve on cheap paper. Below it—beyond it—was a deep, endless void, that which everything floated upon. 

The world wasn’t ending anymore, but dissolving, as though it’d never existed. As though nothing anyone had ever done mattered. History. Science. Art. Struggles. Tears. Happiness. Gone.

“Haruka! Stop!”

“Leave me alone!” She snapped. “You hate me no matter what I do and you lie to me and you hate me go away I hate you go away!”

Why was he here, then? Kaito jumped where the road ended, landing on the heap of broken glass lilies. He would’ve told her to cut it out, but he was too busy trying to keep existing.

“NO!”

He held onto it while what used to be the world shook. Once it stopped, he began to climb.

It wasn’t until he’d hiked a few steps that he realized that it didn’t hurt because the dolls had wrapped themselves around his hands like mittens. He paused, for obvious reasons, but they did not seem to respond when he called for them. 

“Go away go away I hate you I hate you this is all your fault I hate you! Leave me alone!”

“Just—you stop!” He shouted. “If… if I hated you, I wouldn’t… be here. You’re so dramatic, always… always everyone against you, always everyone else’s fault. It’s so annoying.”

“Excuse me? That’s you!”

“Yeah, but you’re even worse!”

“I’m not! You just—”

Kaito slipped.

Kaito fell. 

As though it mattered, he braced himself. 

And he landed. 

And it hurt. 

And he was alive, atop what seemed to be… what was it, even? Colorful nonsense? It connected the world to Haruka’s fort. She faced him. She’d extended a hand out to him. Once they held eye contact, she drew it back, as though he’d slapped it. 

“...are you—”

“Are you—oh. Sorry.” Kaito cleared his throat.

“It’s okay.” Haruka looked away.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

He sat up. The dolls were still there, though they no longer spoke or moved. “Yeah,” he echoed. “I uh. You want these back?”

After a pause, Haruka nodded.

“All right. But you’ll have to help me…” He trailed off. What could’ve been rope or a tail or a carpet rolled down to him. Haruka turned her back to him once again after that. “Oh, come on.”

She huffed.

“Fine, fine. I’m even worse than you. Is that what you wanna hear?”

Something cracked—glass. Using said… structure… Haruka slid down. Kaito’s fight or flight response had been active for so long that he’d grown numb to it by then, so when they stood face to face, he didn’t even flinch. Still, she asked, “Are you scared?”

He returned her familiars to the demon queen. She accepted the offering. “I’m not,” he replied. “Of… of you specifically.”

She scowled. “Liar.”

“I’m not.”

“Prove i—” She choked back the rest of the phrase, for he poked where her cheek used to be with his finger. What on earth had possessed him to do such a thing? Pride? Insanity? But, against all reason, he did. 

“I was,” he admitted, “But not anymore.”

“Anymore, as in…”

“As in… I was, at the beginning. Then I got to know you. What? What is it? Do you still think I’m lying?”

It took a moment for her to react. Haruka shook her head, stepping away. 

If only he’d kept the dolls until then; what a great excuse they would’ve been to do something with his hands. Now it looked like he was pointing at her. Whatever. That was hardly the worst thing happening at the moment. 

“Weirdo,” she told him, and he agreed.

If Kaito pulled his hand back, then he might tear the curtain down by accident, however. The last couple of times it’d happened, he’d hurt Haruka. Or Haruka had hurt him. Or they’d done that to themselves and each other. This was the first time tearing it down would mean facing a literal apocalypse, though. 

“Sorry.”

He blinked. “Huh? What?”

“Sorry, I said,” Haruka mumbled. 

“For calling me a weirdo?”

“...yeah, that. And for everything else.” Gently, she pushed his hand down. Because of how lightly she did so, it was almost as though she’d expected him to flinch. Since he didn’t, she smiled a little bit, maybe. It was still hard to tell. “Let’s go back. I mean, up the hill.”

Up the fort. “Sure.”

For some reason, she climbed instead of… well, floating? Or something? Wasn’t she the queen of this realm now? But if he complained, she might call him weak, so he hopped along. Sooner than later, anyway, they’d reached the summit. 

She sat.

He sat.

Outside of their fort, as the bridge collapsed, the world ripped itself apart. The watercolors dissolved into space, as though tainted by ink. What a dazzling view space was, without civilization to mask its light…

Mountains, lakes, tectonic plates, the atmosphere, all gone. 

He still breathed, though. Both of them. Perhaps his mother would wake him up soon. She’d never been a fan of afternoon naps. His father, who loved them, would tell her to relax. He’d wake up soon and it’d all be okay, maybe. Maybe not. 

With her arms wrapped around her knees, Haruka asked, “Is what you said earlier true? That everyone’s gone?”

“Uh, I. Hope not?”

“How do you know?”

Because I saw your mother dissolve. She couldn’t have brought this up at a worse time. Just a little bit more and he would’ve been able to… oh, well. “I mean.” He gestured at the void around them.

Silence.

Deep, endless. 

“You’re still here, though,” she said. 

“You too.”

“Yeah. Maybe that means that… like I said, I didn’t… didn’t want for any of this to happen. I tried to make it not happen.” Her voice broke. “I tried. But if… if you say everyone’s gone, then…”

“Not everyone.”

“You, me, and who else, huh?”

“Maybe,” he tried, “Maybe there’s a way to, uh… bring everyone back? Maybe?”

“How?”

“I’m not—I’m just saying.”

Haruka held herself. 

“Actually, you said it yourself, that they’re not gone gone. Remember? So maybe there’s a way to… I’m just saying.”

Haruka glanced at him from the corners of her eyes. He would’ve smiled, but it would’ve killed him if she didn’t return it—perhaps literally. She shrugged the way he did when he’d flunked an exam and the teacher had asked him why. (‘Why’ being because he’d pulled an all-nighter fighting with a stranger on the internet. Oh, no. Here came the lump in his throat. If he cried and she cried, that’d be… the worst. Maybe she thought the same. Maybe that stopped her, too.)

Then she smiled. 

Kaito failed to do the same. Like her, his lips quivered. And out of all the things he could’ve said to cover this, it was, “I-If we’re gonna be here forever, then that’s enough time to come up with a plan, though, right?”

And out of all the ways to respond to this, she chose to laugh, warm, human, and unfortunately very real. It might as well have been a slap. “Weirdo.”

“...oh, shut up.”

She did. Together and alone, they sat.

There was no history, no art, no proof that cloud of dust had once brimmed with life. He’d told them, she’d told him, and none of them had listened. That’s how fragile they were. Surrounded by eternity, they were so small, so powerless, that whether they existed or not was irrelevant. 

Haruka’s stomach growled. “Great,” she mumbled. Kaito must’ve really worn his heart on his sleeve then, because all it took was a glance for her to snap, “I’m not gonna eat you.”

“No, it’s not… I need to pee.”

“GREAT.”

“W-what do we do?”

“Just do your thing,” Haruka said. “I’ll turn around until you’re done.”

“What if it floats?”

This seemed to stump her. 

“I’m not gonna… not now, but eventually I’ll have to… and you’ll have to—”

“Kaito.”

“It’s not my… wait, did you just—”

She slapped his mouth shut. Come to think of it, where were her other heads? Why had her fingers lost their claws? “We’re not floating,” Haruka told him. “And you’re still, you know, breathing. And so am I?”

He nodded.

She nodded.

“So there is a way, right?”

Kaito gently pushed her hand to the side. He decided against slapping it away, for some reason. “...yeah. Maybe.” As if to mock him, his stomach growled, too. “Ugh.”

They returned to their original positions, the sworn enemies, the outcasts, the prey and the hunter, the last two survivors, and the ones who’d… what? Save the planet after destroying it? Weirder things had happened before. 

“Hey, Kaito.”

Such as this. “You said my name again,” he noted. 

“Shut up. Once we figure out what to do, would you like to go for waffles again?”

Or that.