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‘A Truth for Me’
By Vyse
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“That’s the thing about girls. Every time they do something pretty, even if they’re not much to look at, or even if they’re sort of stupid, you half fall in love with them, and then you never know where the hell you are. Girls. Jesus Christ. They can drive you crazy. They really can.”

- Holden Caulfield from the book ‘The Catcher in the Rye’

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Chapter 1

I had no idea how, but my timetable for this year of high school would dictate my first lesson as being my advanced literary theory class, every Monday, Wednesday and Friday.

As I did pre-empt however, our teacher, Mr Pascal, began explaining and handing out our first literature assignment. This assignment would be due on the 28th of this month, giving us roughly two weeks to complete the task.

The task was to choose from a number of essays written by literary theorists and to show understanding of the theory by applying it to a text.

I shifted my focus from the papers detailing the assignment to regard the teacher as he began speaking again.

“If you read further on, you will find that this is in fact a ‘joint’ essay that you will write with one of your classmates” Pascal hummed passively, as though he had made the very same speech numerous times to other classes.

‘Oh great,’ I thought, as I didn’t know too many of the people in the classroom all that well. At least, not enough to want to spend the amount of time needed to complete the essay with them. That being said, it was not a very big class, only 10 students populated the room, 5 males and 5 females.

“So now,” Pascal pulled out a plastic tub with bits of paper inside of it, “I’m going to draw two names out at a time, the two I pull out will be a pair,” all eyes focussed on the front as he pulled out the first pair.

“Arthur and Eugene,” as he announced the first pair, Arthur pushed up his glasses, whilst Eugene glanced at him over my table, for I sat between them.

“The second pair will be…” he continued pairing everyone up, and when the second last pair was announced, I already knew who he would be paired with. I looked over to the girl sitting in the front row to the far right. She didn’t make any attempt to glance over at me, she just watched the teacher like everyone else did. She was a girl of slim stature, meek, with shoulder length brown hair and eyes to match.

“…And the last pair is obviously Soren and Abigail, now…” and he started explaining the actual assignment. I followed along as he read the marking criteria, whilst glancing over at Naomi every so often. She did not stir, for the whole lesson.

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“Soren”

I was busy copying down a few more notes from the board, whilst I assumed everyone else filed out of the room, pairing up as assigned to talk about their assignment. Apparently this was not the case, I looked up from my notebook, and next to my desk, Abigail stood, looking back down at me.

“Yes?” I replied non-chalantly, continuing to take down the last few lines on the white board.

“What do you think we should do for the assignment?” she asked neutrally. I penned the last word on the board and closed my book.

I considered her, and her tone of voice for a moment. I looked into her eyes, which did not waver, nor exude confidence when she met mine. She remained neutral, observing me with no further intention than to insinuate that she was waiting for an answer.

“What about…Kierkegaard?” I suggested, masking my anxiousness at what her reply may be.

“Existentialism?” she questioned, now expressing her want for me to elaborate.

“Yeah…Kind of left field in a way…but I like Kierkegaard,” I paused, thinking of how to elaborate further for her, but she interjected.

“What text?” she asked. I wasn’t sure wether she was agreeing with my vote for existentialism, or wether she wanted to make that decision based on the text I chose. She had an indifferent air about her that was intoxicating. Responding to her in a tone of voice that wasn’t indifferent seemed out of place. Her word choice was succinct, and to the point, this too, if not mirrored left you feeling at least inadequate. That I supposed, was the difference between arrogance and indifference.

“The Catcher in the Rye,” I replied. To this she said nothing, so I continued, assuming a discourse not unlike hers, “It’s possible exercise the existentialism theory in ‘The Catcher in the Rye’, because of Holden’s character…in my opinion”

I stopped and waited for her response. I felt her scrutinise me with her eyes, and my words with her mind, a feeling of dread washed over me as I considered the prospect of having my proposal rejected.

“I see. Then that’s what we’ll do,” she allowed a brief pause to judge my reaction, my relief must have shown. “Shall we work together on the assignment after school tomorrow then?” a barely noticeable lift in her sombre voice accompanied the question.

“Okay, in the school library tomorrow then?” she nodded, and so it was agreed.

“Bye,” she farewelled me in a single, short syllable as she walked past my desk and out the classroom door.

“See you tomorrow Abigail,” I managed to get out before she was out of the classroom. The air around me sobered, her apathy gradually dissipating from the room. I felt a weight drop from my shoulders, talking to Abigail, seemed to weigh down on my shoulders a lot.

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I checked my watch for the seventh time in as many minutes, and finally I spotted her exiting the school amongst the stragglers.

“Naomi!” I called to her and upon hearing her brother call her name, her features lit up. She bounded over to me like she normally does.

“Hey Onisan!” she called back as she stopped in front of me. I considered her for a brief moment, taking in her appearance, which consisted of very long, auburn coloured hair and brown eyes, much like I do. She stood at one head smaller than myself.

“We can’t waste time, the bus will be here in a few minutes,” I stomped all over her happy demeanour and she fell in step at my side and we walked over to the bus stop just outside of the school grounds.

Naomi is my sister, or to be precise, my twin sister. I was born first, twelve minutes separated our arrival into this world and hence her calling me ‘onisan’ which is Japanese for big brother. Japan has a big influence on this girl, as she is what she calls an ‘Otaku’, that is, a person who is a fan of Japanese popular visual culture, comprised of manga, anime, and video games.

She wasn’t phased by my retribution though, there isn’t a lot that phases her, at least when it concerns me. Her outlook on life is like a Shoujo manga, and it’s downright creepy sometimes, considering I’m one of only a few outlets, through which she expresses this.

“When do we start today?” she asked, referring to when we started work that day.

“Half-past four,” I replied, pretending not to notice her reaction.

“So why do you want to get there so quickly?” she asked in a raising tone.

“You said you wanted to shop didn’t you?” she fell silent to my simple retort and we both stopped walking.

She fell silent because the money I earn is the money we both spend. The money she earns goes straight to our mother, and she uses it to help keep the household, a small three-bedroom unit, aloft. She says it’s easier for her to keep Naomi’s bankcard and do it this way, than take half of both of our earnings. We weren’t exactly in a position to argue so we both agreed.

She lowered her head and nodded. It was a typical response from her, whenever I prioritised her wishes. “Domo arigato, gozaimasu,” she thanked me, and we continued on to the bus stop.

We arrived just in time for the bus that would take us into the center of the city. We arrived with forty-five minutes before our shifts started, and so as per normal she dragged me around to all of her favourite stores.

As it was the closest, the first one we went to was the comic and manga store, right inside the front entrance. I couldn’t help but feel over-protective of Naomi when we went into the store together, as every other eye in the store was male and regarding Naomi with piqued interest.

She skipped past the ‘american rubbish’ as she so blatantly put it and began to browse the extensive collection of manga. “I swear, all of these manga artists are Shojou traditionalists,” she remarked, referring to the majority of the shojou manga section, featuring characters with super detail, most prominent in their eyes.

“I like the more recent trends in manga design,” she spoke to me again, as I followed her around the section. “Negima, Gunslinger girl, Teacher Please…these are the kinds I like, they aren’t super detailed, but they’re cute, and believable…” she trailed off, as she scanned the aisle.

I sometimes wondered how she could get away with maybe only 5 different shirts and matching bottoms, and manage to channel her earnings into this passion of hers, but it was her money, and it made her happy, so it wasn’t my place to tell her otherwise.

~~~

Further Reading:
- ‘The Catcher in the Rye’ by J.D. Salinger
- Existentialist theory (Namely the works of Soren Abbaye Kierkegaard)
- Japanese Culture

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So what do you think. It took me a long time to come up with the final two paragraphs (Namely the second last one). I hope this flourishes into something memerable for my collection of stories. K-0S and Sieg would have you believe I am only capable of writing totally rad stories involving either Armored Core or Kingdom Hearts.

And I swear to god I'll have that judging done for WWYC this week.

we did. but I have not the funds for the prizes wink

In my most recent works, yes.

Being able to write maturely will make you a good writer, sure, Imagitek was awesome by all accounts (Mainly sieg's) but It wasn't a very mature piece of prose.

Being able to create anything with a mature style as I put it, means being able to write about human emotion on a level that isn't superficial.

Read K-0S's chapters of 'C.R.O.W.N' compared to the chapters I wrote and you'll see what I mean wink

It died in a fire. burning_eyes