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Preface: I have a very, very, very vague and limited range of knowledge on the exact ways of Japanese life. I do my best to research, and I have gotten better throughout the years since I started writing these types of stories. Still, they are no where near perfect, if not the furthest away. I'm still far-off from being anything close to a reference, so don't nag me if (small)things are wrong. It's called "evolution".
Anyways - this story takes place a little after the start of spring. Although there are roughly ten or so kids in these kids' group of friends, only six of them are in an this particular Japanese class. Five of those characters - Nami, Tani, Haya, Sumiko, and Yasashiku - share their drabbles to the audience (though Hiroshi is an important character too).
Final disclaimer: When it comes to the Japanese name, I know nothing. So please don't eat me. tear
“Ogawa-sensei…?” a tall boy named Kiyosho wondered. He was a Canadian, having moved to Japan with his family in the seventh grade. He fit in well enough, standing out only due to height. It was only under strange a circumstance was he dubbed ‘Sputnik’.
“Kiyosho-kun,” the sensei replied in a pleasant tone. Although he preached formalness in paper and essay assignments, he wasn’t afraid of calling his students by familiar honorifics. It was –kun for the boys, -chan for the girls, and the occasional ‘suke’ thrown in for good measure to torture the kids with old-fashioned names.
“…You’re freaking me out, Ogawa-sensei,” the usually chipperTanipiped out.
“I apologize, Tani-chan. Okay, so, let’s check the announcements.” He picked up the paper on the podium, scanned quickly over them, and sighed. “Agh. Well, nothing specifically for first years – mainly third years and the upcoming class trip. Err…well…If there are any girls who want to try out for next year’s baseball or softball teams, check the office for some information papers…And that’s about it.” He paused. “Oh. And…‘To all band members, uniforms are long overdue. Please turn them in as soon as possible. Good times!’” Another pause. “Yeah, that sounds like Aoshi…”
He was referring to Aoshi-sensei, young director of the high school’s various types of bands.
“What’s up for the agenda today, Ogawa-sensei?” Nami asked, hurriedly secluding Fruits Basket volume 13. Unlike most high school girls (and, in truth, boys), she and her friends had only gotten into Furuba a mere month before.
“Today,” he announced, setting himself back to his podium, “We will be doing a writing activity, since many of you seem to be complaining about how little we do of it.” Ogawa quickly put up his hand to block any arguments. “So, in honor of spring, we will be writing what are known as ‘drabbles’. Drabbles are short pieces of writing that are only one-hundred words long – no more, no less. Those one-hundred words exclude the title and author, just to let you know.”
“So the word count is only in effect to the actual story content,” Sumiko observed.
“Yes, exactly. At the end, each of you will share your ‘drabble’ to the class. Not only will it be a good exercise in your writing skills, but also for practicing presentation.”
“It’s…for CONFIDENCE!” Haya said dramatically. It was exemplified by Hiroshi, who threw in a bass underscore for extra effect.
“Um – yeah, this exercise will also be good in building up your confidence for future presentation projects you will do while at the high school…not to mention the real world.”
Yasashiku groaned, slamming his forehead on his desk. “God…not like I’ll go into this kind of thing when I get older…and become…a…a…” He stopped and tapped the shoulder of the girl sitting in front of him. “Hotaru?”
“Yeah, what?”
“What do you think I can become in the future?”
“…Good question.” And she promptly turned around to face the front of the classroom. Yasashiku whimpered.
“Your topic is spring time – and anything relating to spring, no matter how obscure…Though, I do request you try and make it more like a story over a poem.”
Nami couldn’t help but grin. This kind of assignment would see if Tani and/or Kiyosho could exert self-control over how much they wrote. It made her giggle when Tani tapped her pencil against her desk, muttering, “Only one-hundred words…”
I dashed to the park, bolting towards my favorite sakura tree. The flowers were in full bloom, petals cast along the ground.
Leaping forward, I grabbed onto the nearest branch and hauled myself up. The small branches shook slightly, but held my weight as I clambered up to the one spot.
The camera in my pocket soon met the open air. My sandals were losing their grip. I turned the camera on, praying for a fast load. The screen came. I aimed and clicked.
My grip was lost.
My feet scrapped against the trunk.
Splinters.
Blood.
All for one shot.
She proudly displayed the scabs.
The breeze stirred my bangs. I relished in the feeling.
A wind chime hummed in the distance, adding a heavenly atmosphere to the orange sun setting in the distance. A small buzz fluttered around. The cicadas were back.
I wanted to be a cicada – flying without a care, just thinking about living. No selfish wants or desires. All they wanted, all they needed, were materials to survive.
A cool gust sent my glasses askew. I promptly took them off, and the world instantly grew blurry.
“Hey.”
The voice startled me. As I turned to see the visitor, my glasses fell.
At the words of disbelief, she claimed that they had fallen into the grass. Though some still didn’t believe – Tani lived on the sixth floor of a condo-esque complex.
After popping in the newest Maaya Sakamoto CD (no relation, sadly), I opened up MS Word and stared blankly at the screen before me.
It was filled with words – jumbles, scribbles, nothing. Just some characters put together in an effort to make my newest screenplay idea. After I had talked to Nami about it on a train trip to downtown Tokyo, I couldn’t help but want to work on it again.
But there was no surge in my fingertips – no words of power coming to my head. Just pure, annoying silence.
“HEADS UP!”
An onigiri smacked me in the face.
Ogawa-sensei subtly wondered what that had to do with spring. After a blank moment’s silence, Haya promptly answered, “One of the characters was born in May.”
The screams of a hungry brother and an annoying sister almost made me go insane – if I wasn’t already there. I couldn’t focus on the video game before me (Kingdom Hearts II).
I tossed the controller aside and hit reset before heading out the door. The weekend morning was lazy and breezy. Traffic continued on in the distance, reminding me that it was just another day of my life.
A day which was quickly losing interest.
I sighed, frustrated. Maybe everyday was like this, and I didn’t know it.
Or maybe I was smart enough to say everyday was different.
The class was silent. Had Surudoi gone emo?
When somebody asked how far she had gotten in KH2, she laughed, setting the class at ease.
School is boring. Subjects are boring. Homework is boring.
In one class, pushing through until the end. Then what happens? I go to the next one, waiting for the end of the day.
The conclusion arrives, and all I’m left with is knowing there’s more tomorrow.
What keeps me going? I dunno. Something invisible, or something unspoken, or maybe something else entirely. Probably just my urge to get further in what I can do. But even then, it’s boring, and just plain dumb.
The more and more I think, the more and more I realize:
Life can be pretty boring.
The rest of the class couldn’t help but agree. Ogawa-sensei was left silent before saying, “The fact that you’re here prompts reason tothink you have something to believe in.”
