Memento Mori (MikaYuu)

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Two sounds.

A sharp intake of breath.

The struggling sounds of a neck-snapping headlock.

A cry tore from Yuu's throat from the inescapable lock, his thin fingers digging into the arm that necklaced him. He knew not to shout, knowing that his only choice then would really be dying. His panic decelerated as he also knew if he contained movement, his neck would crack for the last time.

The captor's fatal clutch around him only got tighter the more he acknowledged how much of a burden he'd might've carried due to a measly pair of ponderous, virescent eyes.

And he'd never abandon the memory of those eyes. Big, peculiar, stupid, emerald eyes. Catching him right in his deeds.

The captor steadied his breathing, ire circulating his tall body like the boiling blood underneath his skin. He could hardly concentrate, knowing the safest option was to just snap the sophomore's neck and dispose his body.

He knew he could've gotten away with it, too.

"Drop it," he lowly said, his lips dangerously close to Yuu's skin. Not even a second later, the device hit the concrete rooftop with a couple turns and skips, and skidded to a halt. Right near the ledge.

Yuu only felt guilt puncturing his body. His eyes stung with tears of fear and agony, blurring the visual of the sharp detail of the mystic tattoos aligned on the criminal's strong arm.

This entire affair could've been evaded.

Yes, it could've. Yuu was repeating that over and over to himself in his head as if it were a line he had to recite for presentation.

It could've been such a more simpler time, he thought to himself.

And it was.

Only, that was three hours ago at 8 PM. Yuu was drowning in calamity at 11:24 PM.

Good ol' 8 PM. His beloved hour of all out of the twenty-four for he could conclude his studying in the library and leave. Not like he got much comprehension from it, anyways. He always wound up wandering off to a new tab to play a couple rounds of Tetris or PacMan with his eyes bored into the screen while his fingers mindlessly clacked away on the keyboard.

If a single word chronicled Yuichiro, it was: unteachable.

Well, more of anti-educational. That was the last thing on his mind.

Ever since freshman year, Yuu knew he'd entered a building of cinematic injustice. Here's an example:

The school's motto: Welcome to Harbor Lee. Your place to learn.

The student's motto (which is by far much more popular): Memento mori.

"Remember you have to die."

A little saying for the odds of anyone ever outlasting their high school years.

There weren't as many graduates as there were students applied. Some failed, some quit, and some died before they could even see another school year.

Then there were those who were murdered.

As anyone could see, the students's motto was far more relevant.

Yuu could easily call to mind his first day in the building a couple years back like it was the back of his hand - a fight. He wasn't even sure if the kid that was violently slung over the stairwell in a stampede survived. Or the kid with his face struck into the drinking fountain ever got surgery. The faucet spewed red water for a week like it belonged in Hell as a decorative piece. Not to mention the crusade that broke out between the lunch ladies. A searing frying pan was crashed upon one of their heads. Dead. The sight of the body bag burned into his skull still made him nauseous.

School was shut down so often, it was practically never open. But things were different that year.

So, Harbor Lee was per say an educational prison. Minus the education. Plus the nursery. Almost half of the females were impregnated or already had children. Some were even on their second child.

It was also a pound. Drug dogs were always whining and roaming the halls like it was their natural territory, sniffing out lockers and barking out the victims. An arrest was prominent at least once every two weeks.

Yuu luckily stayed out of that crowd in freshman year. But one enigma he always kept with him was the cold war between two divisions in school: the coteries. They starstruck him every time like celebrities. In fact, that's exactly who they were. There were the chiefs, the henchmen, and the devotees. And they returned in vocation that year, right on time to initiate their "jobs", as they would often profess.

Right for Yuu's eyes thirsty for action. How could he ever concentrate with such a riveting division in front of him?

Yuu was like a bird. He was one of the watchers. He definitely was not a chief, nor a henchman, and certainly not a devotee. He belonged to the microscopic minority of birds who just watched all of the action lay out below them as they flew silently above, class to class.

During school hours, the divisions never crossed. Except for one cursed time during Yuu's sophomore year, which was inevitably haunting.

There was a golden reason they never engaged during school - because someone always brought an unforgivable gun. And someone always died.

The gangs always carried guns in their bags. The more confident ones carried one under their shirts. Most strolled about with just a handy pocket knife.

So, how did people know there were gangs? They were the most astute and reticent. They received awards for academic brilliancy, were eligible valedictorians, had the most beautiful of women as girlfriends, and always had the rich scent of cologne. They looked as if they hadn't picked up a gun in their life. Hell, even seen a crime in their lifetime.

But they existed, and they birthed bloodbaths. People often called them "ghosts" or "phantoms" due to their secrecy and agility to work undetected. They operated together, assassinated together, wolfed together, and some even lived together.

But yeah, yadda yadda yadda. It was a never-ending cycle of woe in the most neglected site in the city.

Who would bother to save this school, anyway? Yuu always thought to himself. It wasn't long before the school met its termination.

Yuu yawned silently, turning off his computer box before stretching in his tiny, plastic chair.

Another day wasted in the computer lab.

At least he learned a fact: Farting a couple hundred times burns some calories.

He slung his bag over his shoulder, waving goodbye to the librarian who he was warmly familiar with. The bookkeeper was a kind old man who didn't deserve to work in such a battlefield. He always reeked of printer paper and cinnamon, and always gave Yuu the specialty of free bookmarks and told him life lessons, for he was the only one who'd join him during lunch and share an apple and a sandwich.

That was enough to keep coming into work, right? Besides risking your life at every second. Especially an elder like himself.

"Walk home safely, mister!" his gentle voice called out, his aged features conforming to his smile.

The viridescent-eyed boy waved again. And then he was gone.

Like one of the "ghosts."

Nah, he'd never be one of them.

But he saw one, yes.