The seats on the train were situated in such a way that we were looking directly at the windows on the opposite wall. Normally, we would have been able to see our reflections in the glass—but in this form, all we could see was a row of empty seats. This, perhaps even more than even the flying and formlessness, drove home for me the fact that I was a ghost right now, if only temporarily.
“Do you resent your killer, Ayane-san?” asked Aoi. “Because personally, if I got killed like that, I’d go loom over their bedside every night and try to haunt the heck out of ’em until they lost their mind. You ever feel that urge?”
Ayane absolutely had the right to detest the man who killed her. It wasn’t as though it was a totally avoidable accident—and she hadn’t even died from the initial impact, for that matter. For instance, had he rushed her straight to the hospital, rather than act rashly out of self-preservation, she would likely still be alive today.
“I wouldn’t say I’ve completely forgiven him,” said Ayane. “But for whatever reason, I’ve kind of gotten over it, as weird as that sounds. I do think he deserves to be judged in the eyes of the law for covering up the accident and not coming clean to the police, but… To be completely honest, I resent myself for getting in that fight with my mom far more than I resent the driver who ran me over.”
“You’re awfully mature, Ayane-san,” said Aoi. “Meanwhile, here I am, planning to write out the names of every one of my bullies and what they did to me in my suicide note. I want to make them suffer and live in fear as much as I possibly can after I’m gone.”
“I guarantee you it won’t do much to harm them in the long run,” Ryo interrupted. “Maybe they’ll be sorry they got busted—but it sure as hell won’t make them regret what they did. Bullies like that are the type to show up at your funeral and take selfies with your open casket and then share ’em around.”
“Well, how would you suggest I do some serious mental damage to them, then?”
“Not my wheelhouse, sorry. You’ll have to figure that one out for yourself.”
After resting a bit longer, we resumed our search—but it wasn’t long until we hit the time limit and our souls were instantly pulled back into our bodies at the abandoned airfield. The sudden return to gravity caused Aoi to lose her balance and she fell onto her backside. Ryo scanned the area for a few moments to confirm for himself that Ayane really was nowhere to be found. And seconds later, we were all cradling our aching heads in our hands.
“Guess we’d better call it a night,” I suggested, and the other two agreed. The three of us left the airfield behind and headed for home.
We met up again to continue our search the next day, and the day after that. I would go to cram school in the afternoon and then meet up with Aoi and Ryo at the station in the evening. From there, we’d go buy some sparklers, and then we’d hop on the bus and head for the abandoned airfield. On both days, I told my mother I’d be staying late at cram school to finish up what I’d been studying. There were quite a few kids who actually did do this, so it wasn’t a significant cause for suspicion, and I knew she was too busy with her own work as of late to pay much mind to my nightly activities.
That said, I still hadn’t done a single piece of artwork since the sketchbook debacle, even though I probably could have gotten away with it just by hiding my drawings in a notebook somewhere else. And if I was really worried about her finding it, I could simply find somewhere to stow it outside of the house, like in a coin locker in town or something. But I just couldn’t summon forth the will to draw anymore; perhaps being forced to destroy my own artwork with my own two hands had killed my motivation completely—destroyed something vital deep inside of me. Maybe if I’d mustered up the nerve to stand up to her and protect my artwork at all costs, I could still find the urge to draw. However, I put my own self-preservation above my passion, and that was a betrayal that my inner will to create simply could not forgive. It packed up its bags and left me, maybe even for good. My mother would certainly like that, at least. It’d be her ideal outcome.
Aoi had brought up the subject of resentment the other night—and how she hoped she could do permanent mental damage to those who had bullied her and pushed her into committing suicide. I had to wonder—if I were to pick a target of my resentment, would it be my mother? She seemed to be the obvious choice, but I really didn’t bear her strong enough ill will to bother leaving an even slightly passive-aggressive suicide note. In fact, at this point in time, I wasn’t really planning on writing one at all. This would no doubt make all of the adults in my life try to speculate as to why I chose to take my own life. They would no doubt relish the opportunity to diagnose me somehow—be it a mental breakdown due to too much studying and the pressure of impending entrance exams, or what have you.
In reality, though, it couldn’t be simpler—I just had no desire to go on living any longer. I felt distinctly disillusioned with the prospect and had given up on all my prior ambitions. And on top of that, I was a coward who couldn’t even pursue the few things in life I did feel passionate about. I was a puppet dancing from my mother’s strings. An empty vessel whose only job was to play the role of her good little honor student. That was all I was. But if I could manage this one last thing and take the reins away from her by taking my own life? I could at least prove that it had been my life, and my choice in the end.
And yes, I knew that my reason for committing suicide was pathetically minor compared to the problems Aoi and Ryo were dealing with. To say I’d simply grown tired of living was not an oversimplification—it really did sum it all up. I wondered how it was that the vast majority of society, people who never seriously contemplated suicide, managed to carry on living so easily. Were they simply well-off, or just happy with their lot in life? Did they all have dreams and aspirations that spurred them onward? People who went through life with distinct goals in mind always amazed me—people who never wavered in their paths, simply because they held something in their hearts to believe in. It was said that suicide rates were lower in countries with more religious populations, but I wondered if it had more to do with the act being forbidden by their respective faiths, or if simply having something greater to believe in was what got them through the day.