Chapter 2, Part 1 - An Anonymous Appearance

November 3rd, 2225 — Monday

Beep beep beep!

A useless sound, a symbol of annoyance, interrupts my peaceful sleep. I was sleeping so well that it's a miracle I managed to wake up. They even told me that once they tried to wake me by throwing a series of objects at me; needless to say, they failed miserably.

"Ah..."

I expose my arm to the cold of the room in an attempt to stop that infernal noise. A shiver runs through my body, but I keep going until I reach the annoying contraption: a digital alarm clock.
My eyes are so numb with sleep that I can't press the button. I try again and again, but nothing: I miss it.

"Come on..."

CLICK!

The room returns to its nightly calm, seasoned with the deepest silence.
I give one last look at the alarm clock, more precisely at the number on the display.

"It's only 6:50... ten more minutes..."

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Beep beep beep!

The alarm decides to take revenge by doing its job. A deafening sound tries to wake me again, even though I actually didn't manage to fall asleep again in just ten minutes.

You have to wonder what's worse: a simple repeated beep or one of those preset songs on phones or other technological devices.

I move my body a little, looking for the right warmth under the blankets. Right now my legs are so tangled that, in all likelihood, they'll only end up extremely sore once I'm awake.

Please, world, let me sleep for a few more minutes.

"Again..."

I make a small movement with my head on the pillow, exposing it to the light. Then I try to press the button and, somehow, I manage to do it on the first try.

CLICK!

I take refuge again in my soft castle with a little smile on my face.

"Peace..."

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Beep beep beep!

The pillow is too strong. Its softness, fused with this warmth, creates a kind of paradise for my little head.

There are many kinds of pillows: some people prefer the super soft ones that let their head sink completely into them, while others prefer firmer ones that, yes, are soft, but don't completely change shape as soon as they come into contact with an external force.

"Comfortable..."

For a moment my school responsibility flashes through my mind. I can't and mustn't be late: if that were to happen, things would go very badly.

And yet... I really feel good here... my sleepy nature prevails over my responsibilities, leading me down a bad path. What could possibly go wrong?

CLICK!

"I won't be late... just a little more..."

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Beep beep beep!

I stretch my legs, extending them as far as I can. I love doing it with my whole body, not to mention how much I love cracking my joints; in fact, usually as soon as I wake up I push my arms upward with force, causing a kind of relief in both of them, even if it's only temporary and doesn't last long.

I move my head with all the calm in the world, until... my gaze falls on the alarm display.
My body stiffens, anxiety starts to make its way through my blood: I'm so stunned that I almost risk having a heart attack on the spot.

"Ah!"

I jump up so fast that the blankets fly to the other side of the room. If I had had something above my head, I would surely have forgotten its existence and smashed right into it. I don't dare imagine the pain.

I grab the alarm clock, staring at it in disbelief.

"7:40! How did so much time pass?! Three seconds ago it was 7!"

I have to run! If I don't hurry I'll definitely be late! Why didn't Mom call me?! Usually, if I'm taking too long, she comes to wake me up!

I only have twenty minutes! Help! Why, universe, are you doing this to me? Why?!

Without the blankets to protect me, the only thing that can defend my little body from the icy cold of the room is the adrenaline of the moment.
By now the warmth of my bed is only a distant memory...

Okay, Kaede! Take a deep breath and focus. With a simple calculation, I have 20 minutes before the bell rings; so, considering how long it usually takes me to walk from home to school, I barely have 10 minutes to get ready.

First I have to brush my teeth, then I have to fix this hair, and finally I have to put on the uniform. Although... maybe I should add a super quick breakfast: it's enough if I eat a snack together with a simple glass of water. If I don't put something in my stomach I'll end up starving before the end of classes.

And I'm still thinking about it?! I have to hurry! Stupid Kaede, stupid!

I run to the kitchen with all my strength.

While moving through the house I notice that most of the windows are wide open, letting in an icy wind. I would have preferred them closed, but I understand the reason behind it: letting in a bit of fresh and "clean" air, even if I don't know how functional that last adjective really is in the year I'm in.

This confirms that Mom went out: only she could have done something like this. If everything is as usual, she should have gone to the pastry shop to help Dad.

Careful though: Mom doesn't work with sweets or cakes, but handles the other side of the coin, that is, the bar side, and I'm convinced she does her best to make things work, even if she often flies off the handle over trivial things.

If I may say so, I suppose I can state that my parents certainly aren't people who lack the desire to work; on the contrary, they devote themselves so much to that place that they often don't even close on holidays, and I admit that doesn't make me extremely happy.

After all, spending time with family should be a central point of life: spending time with the blood of our blood, even if sometimes it becomes rotten and prevents the peaceful existence of a bond already decided from the beginning.

Things don't always end well with relatives...

Inside the room there's a piece of furniture that would be considered sacred by every child; I myself call it the refuge of sweets. There are snacks and cookies of every kind there, and of course, to save money Mom always buys the store brands and not the official products.

I open the cabinet and, fishing inside a package, I pull out a Flauto — no, not the musical instrument, but an Italian snack.
Basically it's just a soft layer filled with chocolate inside, and I have to say it's really good, even if it's not my favorite.

Sometimes I spontaneously wonder what people from other countries would think about our snacks, or even about the way we have breakfast.
Because here we usually prefer a sweet breakfast, but outside the borders I know there are many people who prefer to eat savory things in the morning, like bacon, eggs, or similar stuff.

I eat in a hurry and swallow everything down with a nice glass of fresh water. It often happens that I feel an extreme need to drink right after eating something: maybe because I feel the duty to "clean" my mouth from the taste of the food I just ate, maybe because I have the feeling that something got stuck halfway down my throat and I try to avoid drowning. Or... it's just the call of my body, made up of 60% of the so-called "blue gold."

Prosperous humanity underestimates the importance of water: it lives in a society that serves it the possibility of life on a silver platter, yet there are people who have to walk for kilometers just to get a single bucket.

These are injustices. These are things that the universe doesn't seem to want to correct. The balance it draws shows the presence of those who live simply and those who live a life full of hardships. These are the two extremes; all of humanity doesn't always correspond exactly to one of the two, often remaining anchored in the middle of this relative perfection — or imperfection.

If one day water were to become a rare resource, well... in that case no one would hesitate to trade gold for that transparent liquid.

Any sensible person would ask me: Kaede, why are you thinking about these things while eating a snack? Why are you making these reflections when you barely have ten minutes available?
Before it was ten, now it's even less.

I wouldn't be able to answer those questions, nor to really talk about the topic I've outlined in my little mind. I only know that, at a certain point, I started to find curiosity in my thoughts: I started using them as entertainment and as protection from the outside world.

If something were to go wrong in reality, my thoughts would surely replay that event many times; but at the same time they are exactly what allows me to distract myself, sparing me an endless torture.

In all this I still haven't closed the sweets cabinet. Normally you should close the left door first, so that the right one fits correctly.
Things can never go the way they're supposed to, right?

By mistake I close them the other way around and, letting go of the left one, it slams against the other, making a bit of noise.

Scary!

I don't care about the sound, but I'm worried that something might have happened to the cabinet. I mean... what if one of the doors got scratched or damaged somehow? Even if the wood only chipped a little, Mom has X-ray vision and would discover the damage in an instant.

I waste more time checking that the situation hasn't become dangerous for me. I don't want to be torn to pieces for such a small and insignificant mistake. I don't want to become the meat stew that will be served at the next dinner.

My hands touch the wood with a delicacy never seen before. It doesn't take long: I just look at them for a moment to make sure everything is as it should be.
Okay, in my modest opinion nothing happened — I sincerely hope so.

I pinch my left cheek.
Kaede! Remember you still have to get dressed! Don't waste any more time, go!

I go back to my room, take the uniform from the closet and run to lock myself in the bathroom. A very simple and quick route that absolutely wouldn't have needed any kind of hitch.

Once inside, I find myself in front of a sea of white. The tiles are white, the walls too, and even all the furniture is the same snowy color. The only traces of color are scattered around the room: the shampoo and body-wash bottles, the toothbrushes, the towels, and probably other things I can't perceive right now.
This is nothing more than a place where the so-called privacy is really given space.

Before starting to remove my glorious and beloved pajamas, I decide to place the uniform on a small basket there. In the end that outfit is made of a white shirt, a dark blue jacket to cover up — just like any uniform you can think of.
Then, for the lower part, there are stockings that can be either black or white, and I'd say I fully approve of them since it's very cold; and finally a long skirt that, to be honest, I don't know if it's really right. In the end I'd be fine even with normal pants: I just want to be comfortable.

I decide to turn toward the mirror and I see her.
Who? I see myself, or at least the weak body that was given to me at birth.

Weak? I struggle in any sport, I have no balance at all and no coordination. People expect me to have a certain strength, but I don't.
I don't see everything: I can only see my face and the first hint of a chest. That face, that face that has never represented a source of pride for me — no one would give me the adjective "pretty girl."

And yet something inside me tells me that I'm not completely disgusting, that someone might appreciate what my face shows. To be honest, I'd place myself in the middle, in the total center, in the point where I can't have a precise definition.
No feature that stands out either in my being or in my appearance.

My hair, certainly not managed in the best way, is a simple brown color that shifts toward hazelnut when I'm lit by the rays of the glorious star that has given us so many things... including a habitable climate.

It's cut short, just below the jawline, with an irregular length that makes it look constantly messy — and in fact it's never properly combed, always just enough to reach a minimum level of decency.

The strands are thin and light, not too thick, and they open slightly outward at the tips, creating a soft outline around my face. That's only because I never refused to go get my hair cut to fix it a bit; otherwise my hair would be very different.

The bangs are broken and asymmetrical, with some shorter strands falling onto my forehead in an irregular way, without completely covering my eyes. I think I like it. I don't know. I couldn't really define it well, but I don't think it makes me worse, so... maybe... it's a positive thing that it's there.

The truth is that my own hair tries to hide me as best it can, even if it's too small and weak to do it successfully. It tries because it knows how shy and insecure I am and also that, if I were truly revealed to the world, I'd become the laughingstock of the entire planet.

My eyes share the same fate: they too have a simple brown color, something so common that it can become almost annoying.

The only difference compared to my hair is that these eyeballs seem to have the ability to show something — the times they light up allowing my happiness to be understood instantly, or when they tremble revealing the deepest fear.

They show. And if there really is something inside me, well... then someone might manage to understand it.

Dad has brown eyes while Mom has blue ones, and from what I understand brown has a kind of dominance over the other colors, so it's normal that mine are this shade.

Are they banal?

Yes.

But if they come from my parents, I should only be proud of them: they're the proof that I am their seed, that I am the thing they created with so much love, and they're also the reason why they should always love me.