The New Player

The Fool Arc

Magical Girls should not be allowed to exist. That was the singular conviction of the creature in the dark. It had been growing, changing. Bones snapping, ooze seeping from open sores that appeared and disappeared nightly. 

Let havoc reign, let pain cry out! It is better, nobler, to allow the world to start over than to be left to this juvenile fantasy. And that world reborn will sweep away the chaos of the old.

Magical Girls contradict everything held as right, everything decent. Everything proven by logic, study, research. They’re fiction. Fiction is vile, repugnant. The creature's worldview had no need of fairytales.

Everyone should know the truth.

And someday, that creature's truth would spread to everyone.

But who first? There were so many choices. So many people doubted the creature, mocked it, belittled it. 

This was a creature that lived in the dark, not because of anxiety, but because of fear that stepping into the light would prove it wrong.

♦ Tamaki Anya ♦

I am… different. No. I am wrong.

Not logically. Not in the sense of bad at school. And I am not a bad girl.

I am different because I do not think the way others do. I do not express like they do. I can be happy or excited and my teacher will stare at me and ask why I look sad. People treat me differently, too. Teachers, adults, and other students.

They say, “Maybe if you smile more, you’ll make some friends?”

They say, “Why can’t you play like a normal girl?”

They say, “Why can’t you read the room?”

And I just stare. And apologize. And the apologies do nothing. Apologies are meant to make it clear that I did not mean to upset them, but instead they just sneer, or cluck their tongue, or sigh. I want them to understand I do not want to upset them, but every time I try they get more mad at me.

They say, “Everyone has trouble making friends when they first start going to school, Anya.”

And then it is a year later and they say “What is wrong with you!?” and they yell and they argue and then Mom goes to live at grandma’s for a weekend. And Papa says “I don’t blame you.” and I want to ask for what but he’s already gone to work. And then the weekend turns into a week, then a month.

Sometimes, I wish I had not been born the way I am. I do not like when I make Papa sad. And I do not like when the other children kick me. And I do not like the way that Teacher glares at me. She does not do that with other students. And I do not like anything about Mama.

My randoseru is heavy. It is red. It was shiny at the start of school, but after years of being kicked, thrown, and “accidentally” finding its way into the trash when I was in the bathroom, the leather is scratched, and one of the straps is broken. The charm cat that hangs from the side that was put there on my first day is missing an eye and some of his whiskers. I like cats, even when they are sad about losing whiskers.

I do not know how it can end up accidentally in the trash. I stared at the can until the teacher scolded me for being weird and ordered me back to the lunch table.

My randoseru is heavy because of the books. And the cat food. The books are from the library, they are above my reading age and so the Librarian stared at me when I took them out. The cat food is from the local store. I buy it with the money Dad sometimes leaves for dinner. I am short for my age, and maybe that is why, but I like having friends more than I need to be tall. And cats do not say anything.

I stumble forwards as I walk, and look around. The reason why was a shove, a couple of boys from my class running ahead and laughing? The most likely culprits. It was probably an accident.

“Ugh, did you see cat girl? She’s wearing rain boots again!”
“And she stinks, too! Does she ever bathe?” They’re laughing again. I know they mean me. They mean me because that is what everyone in class calls me. I do not mind. I am a cat. That is a famous line at the start of a book I read about a cat observing people. There is another cat book I like, ‘The Unadulterated Cat’. It was in English, so I cannot share it with my classmates, but it observes cats and is very funny.

I sniff my arm. I do not smell bad, so I do not understand what they are talking about, but I make a mental note to find a way to smell better for tomorrow. There is some dirt on my sleeve, and I lick it to get rid of it, causing the two boys glancing at me to point and laugh. Laughter is supposed to be a good thing. The boys normally slap the one who makes them laugh on the back and then eat with them at lunch, so I do not know why they do not let me go to lunch with them. And when they slap me on the back, it is never because I did something funny and always because there was a fly, or a mosquito, or another bug. They hit hard, and they don’t leave behind any bug parts.

I look down at my rainboots. It is a sunny day, but I wear them because they are loose and they feel almost like wearing no boots, because wearing no boots outside is not allowed and is a thing that Bad Girls do, and I am not a Bad Girl even though I feel like I want to be sometimes. I always do my class chores, and I make sure the class hamster is fed even though when my tummy rumbles and I try the food I get scolded.

The boys run across the road and get pulled aside, scolded by the crossing guard. Good. Bad behaviour should be told off, otherwise you will not behave well. I lift my free hand into the air, my other holding onto my bag strap, and cross the road as I was taught.

I enter the school through the front gate, politely greeting the teacher on duty and walk into the entrance towards my shoe locker. There’s a chorus of good mornings but none are addressed to me so I do not respond or give any either. I slip my rainboots off and look inside the cubby. My inside-shoes are missing. I place my rainboots in and walk away, secretly a little happy. I do not know where they are, but I do not like them because they pinch my toes and I do not want to ask mom for new ones.

Randoseru placed by the side of my desk, and I stare out of the window. Homeroom. I curl my legs up to my chin as the teacher walks in. A couple of boys point at me and girls sneer, that’s the expression where their noses ride up like they’re playing piglets but they do not make the sound of piglets. And it makes them ugly, not cute.

“Attention, students.” Sensei calls from the front.
“Once again, I want to remind you to please follow the safety rules when crossing the road. This morning a group of students were seen running across the road, for the third time this month. This is dangerous and also looks bad on the school. Letters have been sent-” I can ignore this. I do not misbehave.

Once announcements were done, Sensei looked at the time.
“Okay, please talk amongst yourselves. But keep quiet.” She walks among the class as I stare off at the lazy sunbeams decorating the roof in twinkling yellow.
“Tamaki-san, where are your shoes?” A gentle whisper as she squats down next to my desk.
“I do not know, Sensei.” My honest reply.
“You complain about them a lot. Did you throw them away?”
“No, Sensei.”
“Hm.” The teacher looks at me, a few students giggling as they stare in my direction.
“Proper uniform must be worn, you know.”
“I know, Sensei.”
“...That includes shoes.”
“Yes, Sensei.”
“Tamaki-san, you were at the crossing with those boys this morning, too, weren’t you?” She scrunches up her face. She has not eaten a lemon that I have seen, so I do not know why she is making a lemon-face. It is distracting.
“Yes, Sensei.” I nod. Those boys had pushed me and run across the road. I have read mystery novels and sometimes they need witness reports, so that is what she is asking about.
“Hm.” Again. And she walks away to the front of the class. I resume my outward staring as morning plans start up, the morning lesson will be something academic.

…And then something bright catches my eye.