The persistent beeping of my alarm jolts me awake from the depths of sleep. Half awake, I reach out to silence it, squinting at the glaring display— it's 5:30. With a sense of urgency, I push myself out of bed, knowing I can't afford to dawdle if I want to avoid being late. As I shuffle towards the bathroom, I instinctively draw back the curtains, momentarily blinded by the dawn's early light. Despite living in the confines of an apartment, the view outside is captivating, holding me in its thrall with its boundless expanse.
Stepping into the brightly lit bathroom, I catch my reflection in the mirror. My appearance is dishevelled, except for my hair— bright red, a shade I've always cherished. Focusing on the task at hand, I splash water on my face to shake off the remnants of sleep, swiftly attending to my hygiene routine before stealing one last glance in the mirror.
My name is Ray Hakucho and today marks the beginning of my journey into college life at 18. To be frank, I'm not brimming with excitement; school has always felt monotonous, regardless of the year. Perhaps it's because I'm what they call a Beta -, finding most subjects a breeze, except for humanities, that subject leaves me indifferent, a realm I've decided to avoid.
Emerging from the bathroom, I reluctantly wear my new uniform, not exactly thrilled with its design, but grateful nonetheless for the free attire. Glancing at the clock—6:46— I tidy up my room, knowing it'll save me precious minutes later on. The familiar haunting, beep of my alarm returns.
Snatching my bag and slipping in my air pods, I make my way to the door, keys in hand. I hear a soft whisper, "Bye, honey…"
"Bye, Mom."
With that, I step outside, closing and locking the door behind me, the weight of the morning settling around me. Descending the staircase to the ground floor, I'm greeted by the familiar face of my neighbour, a warm smile lighting her wrinkled features.
Unable to hear her greeting over the music pulsating through my earbuds, I offer a wave in response. Despite the upbeat tunes, haunting memories linger in the recesses of my mind—a constant reminder of the incident that befell me.
Amidst the thundering beats pounding in my ears, I am acutely aware of what lies beyond the music's embrace—the piercing cries of a desperate child pleading for his mother's return. No melody can drown out the haunting echoes of that tragic moment, forever etched in my memory. Even as I immerse myself in music, her lifeless form remains vivid in my mind—a contrast against the backdrop of crimson, a chilling remembrance to the irreversible act that occurred.
My gaze drifts upwards, drawn to the window of my apartment, overlooking the breathtaking view of the sky. Was this the same sight that greeted my mother in her final moments? That serene expanse of sky, now tainted by her untimely demise.
Each day, I am overwhelmed by the relentless blitz of memories—the day she chose to end her life before my very eyes, when I was seven. It was the last time I saw her fragile, bruised form, ironically though, the first time I glimpsed a semblance of peace upon her lips. I navigate the path towards school, careful to avoid treading upon the phantom visage of my mother, forever frozen in her final, blood-stained smile.