Lust of Misanthropy

I. To Whom

hh

Let's edit this.
It went by a
little too

q ckl .

ÖśêwN,kØX..ñ KJjjj g ng

I went home that day, my head lugging behind a burdensome yet unknown feeling of guilt, drear, and malaise. The feeling inside of my stomach rendered myself empty, as it felt to be the only true way to stifle the lingering feeling of this melancholy.

My house was barren, without a noise nor light.

I sat down on the floor in the living room, and dropped my head down onto the sturdy glass among the table in front of my couch.

Wondering how to shake off this feeling of strange culpabilities, I figured that I would do some schoolwork to keep my head out of the gutter.

Nothing. Just some equations due for physics.

My back felt an uncomfortable yet subtle buzzing sensation as I turned around to see my phone vibrating in the crevices of my couch.

I held the speaker up to my ear.

No words. I guess I was supposed to say something first?

"Hey?" I answered, sounding a bit crude, considering the fact that I didn't even look at the ID of the caller.

"-kun? This is your number right?"

I didn't respond collectively, considering that I hadn't a clue on who I was speaking with.

"Uh..."

"Damn... Yuri's really gonna get it for bitchin' with me!"

After hearing Yuri's name expell out of the caller's mouth, my head shook in recognization. "Wait, wait! Sorry... Who is this?"

"Duh, Natsuki?" she cooed in her usual snobby attitude.

I squinted my eyes and continued, "Ah. What is it, Natsuki? I'm not feeling too hot right now."

Without a genuine response, I heard her cough densely from within the speaker. I could remark the sound distance, and how she intended to make it seem muffled.

"I'm just a little sick, and can't think clearly. Can you give me ideas for something to write tomorrow?" Natsuki asked, now seeming less hoarse with her tone.

Pinching my temple, I let out a sigh and spoke. "You're telling me."

As we continued to speak, I poured myself a glass of milk, and scanned my refridgerator. I could've sworn that there were photos, or magnets, or whatever, just stamped all over this thing...

"What are you writing about?" she asked me.

"I don't know." I responded, sniffling the viscous driblets of phlegm that rendered my nostrils annoyed.

Natsuki made a 'tsk' sound with her teeth, and remained quiet for a few seconds.

"What did I do today?" I abruptly asked her.

"Huh? What're you on, -kun?" she replied.

"I really don't know. I don't remember anything I did, up until I saw my house from the distance."

"You ever hear of GHOSTS?" Natsuki asked. She put a heavy emphasis on 'ghosts' in a common frightening gesture.

"Do you take anything seriously?" I asked her, now displeased with her lack of attention.

"Yeah, the club. Now give me ideas!" she demanded.

I let out one more sigh of stress, and decided to help Natsuki write her poem for the club.

Later that night, I had fallen asleep beyond my usual bedtime hours. Waking up, I felt ever so groggy and worn.

I turned on the light in my room, and repeatedly practiced the sensitivity of my eyes while holding a forced, firm stare onto the light to keep myself from freaking out when I walk outside.

When I stepped outside, I saw a petite figure awaiting my arrival. It was Natsuki.

I approached her, as she held a proud and joyous smile on her face.

As bizarre as it was, I couldn't shun away from her. "...Something on your mind?"

Natsuki suddenly dropped her smile and held her chin philosophically, as if she was trying to appear mature. "You could say that..."

"Why did you show up at my house at seven in the morning?" I asked her with a spicy hint of wonder, "I never liked stalker girls."

Onwards, we continued the conversation while heading to school.

"SILENCE!" Natsuki boasted. "I mean, eh..." she began, fumbling with a glittery pen she held in her hand; it had a little apple with a bland smiley-face on top of it, like an eraser of some sort. "I wanted to thank you for making me write the coolest poem ever. And, I dedicated it to you, so, yeah, you're reading my poem first today. I don't care what you say."

I shrugged, and gave her an off-putting response, "Okay, glad I could help."

That day in the club, I witnessed Yuri, reading the book we used to read together, Portrait of Markov. I sat down with her, as she glanced over to me in a fairly quick manner.

"-kun, you're here!" she mumbled in a strange fashion of excitement.

I returned greeting to her with a smile, and began reading with her. She seemed off today, in my eyes. Maybe it was the fact that she appeared to be a little clingy today, or maybe she seemed a little less clingy–; I couldn't tell.

Before I knew it, I had reached Chapter XVII. I don't remember getting so far into this book, but I guess time flies when you're into it.