The moon takes responsibility for the world during the night, casting its divine luminescence unto all of earth's dwellers. Alongside it walks a friend, the rabbit.
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Miruko's POV
Time: 4:52pm
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Dear Diary,
Just woke up loll so tired ;p
Signed,
Rumi :)
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Rumi Usagiyama did not fear.
Growing up as the eldest sister to several younger siblings, she never had the chance to learn the sentiment. There was always something to clean, someone to pick up after, bed sheets to hang, clothes to iron. She spared hardly any time to think for herself, instead devoting nights where she couldn't sleep to mending holes in dresses and rips in trousers. Fear provided room for doubt, and doubt wasn't necessary when preventing children from toppling off high chairs or pushing babies out of the way of boiling water.
The Rabbit Hero: Miruko didn't fear either.
After all, there was no need for her to. Fear only served as an obstacle to achievement in her path as a hero, a barrier that didn't need to exist in her progress. Courage and spontaneous action came easily to her if she didn't leave room for the sensation in her head, or heart. She had nothing else to thank for her rise in the hero ranks. Miruko the Hero had no fear of detachment, no fear of judgement, no fear of the unknown, no fear of the future, no fear of death.
She'd always imagined her end to be heavy and dark. Like a large palm coming down to destroy all of her horizons stretched far into the future, or a blanket of uncomfortable warmth laying out to rest on all of her dreams. She'd always expected to feel the release of all her memories slowly leaving her, being replaced by a nothingness that she tried so hard to describe and become accustomed to. Even as she was a small child, she'd sat in her room with her hands over her ears and her eyes squeezed shut trying to imagine what it would be like, but often gave up after her thoughts refused to cease buzzing about in her head. Death had almost been like a friend to her, a friend she was yet to meet.
But this death wasn't friendly. This was cold, hard and almost blindingly white, the opposite of what Rumi had imagined. She could hear the shout of voices calling for something, though she couldn't discern what exactly. Freezing cold seeped into her body, nestling snugly in her bones. This death wasn't warm, dark, soft or heavy.
This death hurt.
"Her heartbeat is active again!"
Slowly, Rumi realized she could open her eyes. She had never believed in heaven or hell, or any afterlife for that matter. Religion had always been foreign to her, the promise of conscience after death seeming impossible to grasp. What she couldn't grasp, she couldn't understand. What humans didn't understand, they tended to fear, so she cast it out of consideration and into the shadow of her silhouette.
But was this heaven? Alternatively, was it hell?
Black spots swirled in and out of her vision as she slowly opened her eyes. The light above her bled into the shadows in the corners of her eyes, the shadows bled into the colours from the fuzzy shapes around her, the colours bled into the light. From what she could hear, this was neither heaven nor hell. It was a hospital. She closed her eyes again. Everything was bleeding. Bleeding situation. Bleeding eyesight. Voices bleeding into one another.
