Snippet #1693312

Remo Ulisse

It was one of those days again. One of those days when he just didn't feel like doing anything, when his eyes were half-lidded and his lips were curved into a frown and all his movements were sluggish and lazy. A day where he wondered why he was still alive. Depression, is a good word for how he was feeling. He wasn't a depressed person in general, but that's how he was feeling. Who would know? he wondered, staring at the opposite wall. It was white with dusty patterns where picture frames seemed to be at some point recently. Glass shards were scattered across the ground under the rectangular dust prints, mocking him and the ribbons around his hands that concealed the blood caused by them.

He wanted to forget it all. The longer he stared, however, the more he remembered; the more he remembered the look on that face, in those eyes, the feel of his hands and hugs and... No, he was remembering again. He wanted to forget. He wanted it to be gone before he could do anything again. It. All the memories. He wanted them gone. He didn't want to reverse time--he just wanted sudden and random amnesia. Angry, he tried convincing himself. He was just angry. He wasn't sad or regretful or reminiscent or longing or bothered--he was just angry. Simple.

Remo knew he had to get out of the house. Getting to his feet, he forced himself to move his lazy gaze towards the door. He grabbed his coat and left. The cool, brisk air outside almost felt nice; but for the moment, it only felt average. Everything was average. To him, the nice breeze was dull, the clear blue sky was gray, the smiling people were all faceless zombies. He simply didn't care, he convinced himself. He didn't care for anything anymore. When he happened to glance up and pay at least a little attention to things again, he realized he somehow managed to get himself to the shopping district. Raising an eyebrow, he merely stared blankly at the neon sign telling him about all the new sales in the area. He didn't care about that either.

"Hey, Remo!" Remo looked up curiously, catching the gaze of one of the men who worked at a nearby shop. Yoshiya, if he could recall, was the man's name. He was young and they'd spoken before, but Remo never really cared to get to know too many people other than... He was remembering again. "You seem to be in a good mood." That hit a chord. A good mood? He wanted to suddenly beat this man with the obnoxious neon sign beside him, but he controlled himself as he usually did. "Oh, I need to get going. See you later, man!" The guy gave Remo a casual wave--one that was not returned--and went back to his store. Did he have no idea? Was he really that clueless? Or was Remo really that unreadable?

Remo felt as if he were glaring glumly down at the ground, but he bet his expression never changed as per usual. He supposed he should be used to that by now, people being unable to read him. But he'd gotten so used to being around someone who could read him almost like a book, it started to become natural to him to be... Who? I'm an idiot. He tried to forget again. He felt a sudden jerk and hardly had a chance to glance back to see who'd shoved him when he found himself being shoved towards a car. It took hardly a second for him to register what was happening. "Eh--hey!" he shouted hesitantly, not completely understanding the situation; all he knew was he was suddenly anxious and knew he needed to get away. A final push by the faceless stranger and Remo shut his eyes, expecting to find himself flopping harshly into the leather seats on his face and riding away into the sunset with some random serial killers.

But none of that never happened. "I've got you," a voice said behind him. Remo blinked dumbly, staring out into space as the strangers disappeared among the masses. The way he was being held was almost familiar. Familiar to something he wanted to forget. Maybe he truly couldn't remember, but his subconscious suddenly--and quite randomly--burst into gear and he felt his eyes water up despite his own confusion. He leaned momentarily back into the hold. He realized he'd stopped breathing.

The person let go of him after an extended minute, a time that seemed to of lasted way too long for comfort, and Remo remembered to breathe again. He took in air like he was dying and spun to face the person, staring at him for a long moment. Nothing came to mind. No familiarity. I'm supposed to forget what again? He blinked dumbly for the second time. "Are you ok? You got pushed forward really suddenly," the other boy said in shaky English. How did he...? Oh, wait. Remo remembered when he shouted at the stranger, he'd been so caught off-guard, he must have spoken in English instead of Japanese. That's how this man knew. This guy saved his life, hadn't he?

"What do you want?" Remo asked, suddenly feeling on his guard and suspicious. He pulled his jacket collar up and closed it more around himself as a colder burst of wind blew by. He studied the boy up and down. He seemed innocent enough, but then again, so did many people. You never knew who might love you one day and hate you the next. He didn't need to associate with another person again. Oh. I'm remembering. He shook his head, taking a step back. "Thanks," he said in Japanese, straightening up and going blank-faced as usual. He shoved his cut-up hands into his jacket pockets. "You're a nice person." He frowned, gaze downcast. "But I need to go now."