Rebel Red Carnation {Kiribaku}

X

holy fuck i'm so sorry this is so late!

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Home hasn't changed much since I left—not that I really expected it to. It's still dreary as fuck. Dirty. Rundown. Cold. Abandoned-looking, save for the few bodies lining the gutters near drain grates, hoping for some warmth in the increasingly cold air.

My eyes aren't so much on my home, though, as they are on Eijirou. I'm gauging his reactions. Watching his face, seeing how it changes as we walk along the road and he takes it all in.

Things are quiet, as they usually are when winter is rolling its happy ass in like it's ready to suck the innocent lives out of people without a second thought. Sure, it's a dark thought, but not an inaccurate one, and I want Eijirou to see that. I want him to see the brutality that is the way I live because we aren't and were never fortunate enough to make it somewhere better.

I can only try to imagine what he's thinking, the way he's seeing it all as we walk along, slowly. It must be quite the opposite of the way I saw his giant fucking home when I made it there almost two months ago now, though knowing him the thoughts racing through his mind are a lot less bitter than the ones I had.

His face changes several times as we walk the streets lined with trash and debris, between the small, abandoned and squished-in housing units people have taken refuge in. It starts out as shock, his eyes wide and seldom blinking as he takes it all in, evidently unsure of what to make of what he sees. Between the people sleeping on the streets and in boxes, mulling about and digging through the trash as they attempt to find something better than trash bags or other plastic to protect them from the wind.

The longer we walk, the more grim he becomes, seeing just how bad it is and that I didn't sugarcoat a damn thing. He doesn't seem to realize his brow is furrowed, his mouth pressed into the sublest of grimaces, just barely revealing his dimples.

Good, I think. This should shock him—everything his parents have been hiding from him since the day he was born for their own selfish, bullshit agenda that supposedly transcends generations or whatever.

I take leading him through the streets as slow as I can despite wanting nothing more than to beeline it for my own little section of this shitty city and curl up in a bed that's nothing more than a worn out mat under a pile of dirty, torn up blankets. My back is throbbing again, and my head's a little hazy, but it's not enough for me to stop. I want him to see this, to take in every little thing he can. I don't know what good it will do, and maybe deep down I want him to feel guilty. Whatever it is, I press on.

Neither of us says a thing. I want The Outskirts to speak for itself, and Eijirou himself is probably completely speechless. Hearing about it and seeing it are two different things, and surely he's never seen anything like this.

Eventually I do start steering us back toward the main road in this part of the slums, back toward the light blue housing unit that acts as my home though it has no legal address. It's back to where my mother is, likely having been waiting for me this whole damn time. Surely I'll get an earful for it, and I know she won't hold back despite knowing how sensitive to loud noises my ears are, and how much pain her damned shouting causes. Even still, I'll be glad to see her again.

Just a few blocks away from my home is when people start to recognize me. It's a little more bustling here; people making hasty trades, kids running about regardless of the cold and trying to make the best of the last of the warmer days. Others are still shut into their 'houses,' similar to the two-storey one I live in, though they're all rundown, falling apart, lacking heat or electricity most of the time. It's lucky we get one or two hours a week of electricity; it's always been sporadic, and no one knows why it ever comes on at all, but we treasure it too much to take it for granted and ask questions that'll risk it getting shut off permanently.