Main Page | Next Chapter »

The Girl’s Last Wish

From the day I met her—since we were children, we were always together. Our houses were nearby, so maybe it would be appropriate to call us childhood friends.

She should have been two years younger than me, but she always acted so haughtily. To make it worse, she was from an old, rich family which would make her a high-class lady fit for a painting.

If I was late to a meetup, even for just a minute, her mood would worsen and I would become the target of her insult. If I received a bad score on a test, she would lecture me with a stern look on her face for hours. If I fell over nothing, she would give a very cold look in her eyes, so much that I thought she was going to kill me, albeit in a figurative sense.

Her attitude had made me wonder if she actually hated me, so I ended up asking her about it. But, in a deadpan expression, she answered, “That’s not true.” It was fun spending time with her, so it made me really happy to hear that she did not hate me.

Although, I don’t know what she really thought of me, even now. It’s okay even if I wasn’t her number one, or two, even if she did not think of me as anyone special… it’s okay. It would be great if she thought of me as a friend.


I reminisced a time when she ate a cookie I made. With an expressionless face, she murmured that it was delicious. ‘Is it really delicious?’ I asked, but she got angry, telling me not to make her repeat herself.

She was a girl that rarely smiled, and she would never say her true feelings aloud. That’s why even if I call her my childhood friend, I hardly know anything about her. I thought it would be best to be quiet about things that she didn’t want to tell others about.

(I was so stupid…)

Since she would get angry at me every time I received a bad mark, my grades ended up going up. Although, it seems that the stupidity in my head never changed. If only I was a bit smarter, things would not turn out like this. I reap what I sow.

(There’s nothing I can do about it.)

Even so, perhaps it would have been better if I did what I could. After all, it is so much better than regretting things I didn’t do.

(Still, I’m sure she’s really angry.)

My eyes can’t see anything anymore, my ears can’t hear anything, either. I can’t see her displeased face, nor can I hear her icy voice anymore. It makes me feel lonely, and pained. But taking on the positive side, I don’t need to listen to her scolding because of it.

(Ah, it doesn’t hurt anymore.)

I have lost my eyesight, my sense of pain, as well as the strength to move my body. Although I can’t confirm it, I am sure that a large amount of blood is flowing out of my body—I am dying.

I… can no longer be saved.

(I’m going to die.)

Now that I think of it, I once joked about how I wanted to die with a smile on my face. I think she said something in reply, while looking displeased.

(But in the end, I didn’t have the time to put on a smile.)

I wish I could say something to my mother, father, to my younger sister for the last time. I wish I could see everyone’s faces, for one last look. Thinking back upon it, I have so many regrets, but there’s nothing I can do anymore.

(Did I manage to protect her?)

It’s frustrating that I can’t do anything anymore, but please… let her be happy. I want her to be really, really happy, and smile.

(I think… it’s soon…)

My consciousness is fading, and I can’t think anymore. I am slowly disappearing from this world. Her face dimly appears in my mind, it was the last that I saw of her—a face full of sadness. It doesn’t have to be a smile, but at least…

It would have been better if I could see her usual face.

(I’m… sorry…)

Without being able to convey those words, I slowly take my last breath.

Back to top | Next Chapter »

5 thoughts on “Warm Place Chapter 1

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.