You didn't anticipate being caught up in a chaotic situation.
Growing up as a girl who moved houses annually, you were used to constant change until your father settled in a bustling neighborhood.
And when Takemitchi, your friend and a self-procl...
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When I was young, I never seemed to get hurt—at least not in any visible way.
Someone bumped into you making you fall on the ground, "Ah-" you winced as your knees were scraped when you fell. "Are you okay?" a little girl with bows gasped out as she kneeled down to help you, only nodding as you took her hands, hoisting you up gently. She looked at your knee and saw it bleeding; she frowned and looked at you apologetically.
"Here.." she said, handing you a bandage with flower designs, "You need to go and see our teacher for your wounds to be cleaned," she continued, but her words were interrupted by the call of her friends. She looked back at you once more before holding your hand and giving you the bandage, repeating her words again before running towards her friends..
Sure, I experienced bumps and bruises like any other kid, but my wounds always healed astonishingly fast.
You watched the girl's retreating figure while clutching the bandage in your hand by your side. As you felt the throbbing pain in your knee begin to subside, you looked down, witnessing the bruise fading away before your eyes. With a deep sigh, you looked back at the bandage in your hand and mumbled, "I don't need this."
It's because my body possessed an innate ability to repair itself beyond the norm. The injuries would vanish completely, leaving no scars or marks to prove they had ever existed.
Growing up with this peculiar gift was both a blessing and a curse. On one hand, I was spared the physical pain and lasting reminders of accidents and mishaps. On the other hand, my inability to show tangible evidence of my injuries often led to disbelief from others.
"Are you sure she was hurt?" the school nurse inquired, her brow furrowing in concern as she addressed your classmate.
"Yes, miss. She was hit on the head," your classmate explained, recounting the incident to the nurse.
The nurse examined you closely, her gaze searching for any signs of injury. "But... I don't see any injury on her. Her head seems to be just fine," she remarked, her voice trailing off in thought.
Turning to her desk, she retrieved a pen and began jotting notes on your file. "Maybe we should have her see a doctor to examine her skull for any potential internal injuries," she suggested, setting down the pen and file.
You lay quietly, listening to the conversation between the nurse and your classmate. With a tired expression, you let out a sigh and gazed out the window, lost in your own thoughts.
Friends and family would raise their eyebrows in skepticism when I claimed to have fallen or been injured in some way, unable to comprehend how I could recover so quickly and completely.
Aware of my unusual ability, my father made it his mission to keep it hidden from others. My tendency to get involved in situations due to my empathy often led to exposure of my abilities to potentially dangerous individuals.
To protect us, we moved every year, never staying in one place for more than two years. It felt like we were constantly on the run, perpetually hiding from an unseen threat that lingered just beyond our reach.
Moving around all the time made it nearly impossible to build lasting friendships. Every time I started to feel comfortable and close to people, it was time to pack up and move on.
It left me feeling like I was drifting, never really anchored or connected to anyone. The whole moving routine became a big part of my life, molding my relationships and making me feel even more isolated.
Because of this, I started mentally marking people with imaginary X's, a symbolic barrier to prevent myself from getting too attached.
Each new encounter became tinged with a sense of impermanence, as I struggled to maintain emotional distance to avoid the inevitable heartache of saying goodbye yet again.
And despite my efforts to keep my distance, there were always a few friends who seemed to effortlessly find their way back to me, clinging to me like their lives depended on it.
Mikey was one of them, always managing to find me while riding his moped. No matter where we moved, he would show up unexpectedly, his mop roaring down the street as if on a mission to seek me out.
Baji, much like Mikey, was another childhood friend who seemed to have an uncanny knack for finding me wherever we went.
And Takemitchi, a family friend, was another constant presence in my life. We had been friends since birth, given my mother and his parents' shared history and close relationship. Despite our differences we always find a way to bond over the stupidest things.
Finally, my father made the decision to settle down in an unusually large house, which he transformed into a mini restaurant.
Here, he cooked and sold homemade yakisobas and a variety of other dishes. I couldn't help but feel a sense of relief and joy at the prospect of staying in one place for a change.
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ Lost in Tokyo: The Witch
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Note ♪┌|∵|┘♪└|∵|┐♪
Damn this is a lot lol
Forgot to add one minor detail. Each imaginary X on people's faces can have different colors. The most common is the color blue, which means they're a stranger to you but aren't or don't appear dangerous.
The red color is what you use to indicate a person as a stranger if you consider them dangerous.
