"The Key"
“T-Tou~!” the girl cried indignantly, “G-give it ba~ck!”
A door separated her from her older brother, on which the platinum blond girl banged her hands when she doubted she had her brother’s attention.
“You’re being annoying. Go away.” was all she heard on the other side, a calm and cold response that she should’ve been used to by now, yet that callous had never grown and it always grated her whenever her brother treated her like that.
Aghast, she called out, “B-but it’s mi~ne! Y-you can’t just go into my room a-and—and take my things like that!”
The girl’s declaration at last prompted a reaction. The door was pulled open, much to her surprise, and a face just about as small as her own poked out from the darkness of the room. The girl nearly jumped out of her skin when the boy nearly pressed his forehead against hers.
He was smaller than most boys his age. He was fourteen, just two and a half years older than the girl, and at that age, growth spurts had already started and all the awkward shuffling of puberty were at their highest moments, yet this boy hadn’t grown much since he was his sister’s age. He instead physically matured without uncomfortable and awkward constrictions of physical growth. He may have been his sister’s height, at just a few inches over five feet tall, but he looked older and more mature in his face and eyes. This, however, was commonplace amongst their ethnicity, something not so common in a village like Hillcrest.
They didn’t look at all related, though. They were both short, scrawny, of the same ethnic background, and had short hair—and that was the end of it. The girl’s hair, pulled up in two short pig-tails as it was, was a platinum blond, whilst her brother’s was almost charcoal black. He wore glasses and she did not. Her eyes were a reddish brown that looked the color of blood in the right light and his were a dull and lifeless blue.
She felt a chill run up her spine when her brother looked into her eyes with the utmost coldness and sincere disinterest.
“I can’t?” he asked monotonously. He even sounded older in his voice.
“N-no,” she stammered, “Y-you c-can’t—you c-can’t take other people’s stuff. Th-that’s—th-that’s j-just mean a-and i-it’s unfair a-and it’s . . . a-and it’s . . .”
The boy furrowed his brow. “But I did, anyways?”
“Y-yes, a-and—and th-that’s—”
He interrupted her. “So, I guess that means I can after all.”
Before she could get a word in, he pulled back into his room and slammed the door shut behind him.
* * *
Growing up in Hillcrest was a bit odd for her. The small farming village was a bit too far from other countries to vary too much in ethnicity—excepting, of course, a very select few people—making the most of the town strictly Caucasian in descent, and those that deviated from it, people such as the girl and her family, who’d all come from a distant, less civilized country, in search of a small, quiet town just like Hillcrest. They were fortunate in that the townsfolk were less prejudice than they were curious.
Unfortunately for the girl, Akizetsumei of Terra, fitting in was still difficult, and no matter what social group she stood amongst, she was still a foreigner through and through.
One of the biggest problems for her and her two brothers—her elder brother Toushikyo and her younger brother Oboreru—was the most superficial: their names, or more specifically their last name. The fact was, they simply didn’t have one. Where they came from, they were simply known as the Terra Clan; they hadn’t any sort of surname, only the title “of Terra.” This created the greatest problem in formal education, as regardless of how much it was explained, those that grew up with a surname amongst those that had surnames simply couldn’t understand what it was like to lack a surname, and especially could not grasp any source of reasoning behind it. Where they came from, there were only clan and house names and nothing more. Individual names established them as unique members of their clans, but individualism was hardly important.
Luckily for Akizetsumei, only Toushikyo was ever truly raised in such a country. Her parents took them to Hillcrest when Akizetsumei was four, long before she started making any sorts of permanent memories.
Popular stories in Hillcrest spoke of the world’s end, and how some hundreds of years ago history experienced its most disastrous hiccup. It was such a prevalent topic in history books, and children even in remote villages like Hillcrest were beaten over the head with it since the day they started their formal educations. There was, however, such a large philosophical debate about all that happened way back then that many children simply gave up all attempts to care or understand.
Akizetsumei of Terra was amongst these children. She, however, differed in that she couldn’t have cared less even in the beginning of her formal education. Back then, five and six year olds all sat around in a poorly lit room, whilst their teacher loomed over them with arms outstretched, narrating a disorienting and terrifying tale of doom and gloom. Whole peoples disappeared and entire worlds were on the line, and some of the girls scared by the whole story simply weren’t allowed to run home—but Akizetsumei had a habit of simply tuning such things out, even at that young an age.
Formal education in Hillcrest lasted only until a child’s tenth birthday, after which a number of opportunities frequently sprung about before the child. Further study at home could lead to acceptance in a university, either within their country or beyond it, apprenticeships for the more skilled professions in town were readily available, or one could commit to the beginnings of life as an unskilled laborer.
While Toushikyo took to studies, Akizetsumei didn’t quite know what she wanted out of life, and her parents made no attempt to rush her, even though it’d been two whole years since the end of her formal education.
In and out of school, Akizetsumei never quite found where she most belonged. She eventually even got used to feeling like a stranger, so much that she could drift from one social group to the next and still feel cheery about it. She stopped feeling so self conscious about how little she fit in; she wore clothes that made her stand out, all dubbed “oriental” and one of her favorites given the name of a “china dress;” and she stopped trying to over-culture herself with the customs of Hillcrest over those of her family’s. She developed into a cheerful and energetic girl, mostly happy to simply be herself, such a girl that was rarely, if ever, seen frowning or nervous, and it was only her older brother that ever drove her to this. Few people ever managed to bother her quite like he did. He was something of a master at it.
* * *
Akizetsumei retreated to her room. They lived in a two story house of mid-continental architecture, and her room was just down the hall from Toushikyo’s. She was almost tempted to slam the door behind her as well, but the drive to curl up on her bed and brood over the loss of her favorite antique fan was far greater an urge. She brushed by her open door, curled up on her bed with her shoes still on, clutched her knees to her chest, and fought the strongest urge to cry that she’d had in months.
Nighttime was quickly descending upon Hillcrest, but she did not at all move to light the oil lantern by her bedside. Not yet.
* * *
Just because she’d come to terms and was happy with who she was did not necessarily mean that Akizetsumei of Terra didn’t care if she couldn’t fit in. It was quite the opposite, actually. As many social groups as she bounced from, she still ultimately felt the sore stings of loneliness and the want of someone with whom she could feel wanted and valued.
And such a person—such a social group—had accidentally crept into her life a little less than a month ago.
The boy was one of Toushikyo’s long time friends, but as Toushikyo scarcely brought any of his friends around the household, she really hadn’t seen much of him until a few weeks ago. His name was Tsukimono. Akizetsumei gathered this from the nature of his visit. Her little brother was sick at the time, a bit too sick to get out of bed for any reason, and the boy showed up to deliver a few useful medications to the family. The village clinic was owned and operated entirely by the Tsukimono family, one of the very few non-central continental families in Hillcrest, and the only such delivery boy would have been the Tsukimono’s son.
When Akizetsumei opened the door to let him inside, she instantly felt kinship with him. Not only was his surname remarkably “oriental,” but he partly looked the type, too—albeit a different kind of “oriental” than she. Tsukimono was of mixed ethnicity; his family stemmed from both the southern orient and central continental Caucasians. He was about Toushikyo’s age, and seemed to wear clothes that made him look a bit older than he actually was, just the same as Toushikyo did. There was a chance that one was following the other’s lead, but Akizetsumei didn’t at all gather that much.
Tsukimono had fair skin and short, dark hair. His eyes were an odd purplish sort. He was short, but a bit taller and just a bit more muscled than Toushikyo. Like Toushikyo, he wasn’t yet growing facial hair. Yet unlike Akizetsumei’s brother, Tsukimono had a kind and expressive face.
“Hello,” he greeted her kindly at the door, “Are your parents in?”
Akizetsumei’s initial reaction to meeting Tsukimono was something she’d later intentionally forget and mostly attempt to write off as having never happened to begin with. She stared. She stared at length and she did not blink. She’d never actually seen Tsukimono around the village before, and when she looked at him, it was so easy for her to confuse the light red tint of the village during the setting sun as something less natural, something akin to a purely pink and enthralling background; it was so simple to mix the sound of chirping birds with the sound of harps; and it was especially effortless to perceive him has the only person in the entire village.
Tsukimono looked mildly confused. He glanced behind him as if to check behind him for someone else meriting such a strange stare. Akizetsumei quickly became aware of this, and felt first and foremost the urge to curl in on herself and become a mute—or perhaps blind, so that she might have an excuse.
“N-no,” she responded hastily as she tried to catch her bearings; she was mostly unaware of the burning in her cheeks, “Th-they’re working right now.”
Instead of becoming a mute, she became meek and awkward. Tsukimono seemed to chalk it up to nothing of too much importance, though he did look over Akizetsumei’s shoulder and into their living room—or, rather, to the staircase at the end of the living room.
“How about your brother?”
“U-um—O-Oboreru i-is—” Akizetsumei began as little more than a whisper, so meek and small that she even let herself trail off and go mute for a moment.
Tsukimono shook his head. “Sorry,” he apologized casually, “I meant Toushikyo.”
“O-oh,” Akizetsumei found her voice again, “H-he’s, um, n-no—h-he’s out with his friends r-right now.”
Tsukimono furrowed his brow. “His friends, huh?”
The way he said it didn’t sound so intrinsically indignant, but he wore a strange look of concern, one that carried the slightest undertones of indignation. This, however, was only temporary.
“Well, we heard about Oboreru and his cold,” Tsukimono continued as he straightened up and returned to a casual and professional demeanor, “And my parents figured I should bring some medicine for him.”
“M-medicine, h-huh?” Akizetsumei replied, slowly but surely transitioning into a typical cheeriness, albeit still decidedly meek and awkward.
Tsukimono nodded, “It’s just a few things; some fever reducers and chest rub. That should clear him right up, though.”
“Y-yeah,” Akizetsumei nodded with steady enthusiasm, though she didn’t quite know how “chest rub” would do anyone any good.
Tsukimono looked from the stairs to Akizetsumei, then back to the stairs again, all in a frequent repeat, until Akizetsumei gathered that he was waiting for an invitation inside. Instantly stricken by an uncharacteristic nervousness, she reached past the door to take from him the basket he carried.
With the cheeriest smile she could wear, Akizetsumei stammered nervously, “Th-thankyouverymuch! W-we’llletyouknowifitdoesn’twork—um—um—b-bye!”
Much to Tsukimono’s confusion, she slammed the door behind her. On the other side of the door, Akizetsumei released a relieved smile. She pressed her back to the door, held the medicine basket to her chest, and let herself slide down to the floor. It was strange even to her how much she was smiling, but in spite of it all, it felt right.
* * *
Toushikyo did not knock before entering Akizetsumei’s room. She’d just finished containing the urge to cry when he pushed the door open just enough to fit through. He startled the girl, and at first she thought he was someone else, maybe Oboreru, or maybe even the Tsukimono boy paying a visit to Toushikyo but going to the wrong room. When Toushikyo picked up her oil lantern and twisted the front knob to light it, the girl realized who was in her room and immediately took to disliking his presence.
“Why are you here?” she whispered indignantly.
Toushikyo did not answer. Instead, he set the oil lantern down next to Akizetsumei’s bed. She averted her gaze from him and pouted.
“Who says you can come into my room, huh?” Akizetsumei whispered with express disdain.
“Who says I can’t?” Toushikyo replied as simply and coldly as he always did with her—and with everyone else, she suspected.
“Me, that’s who.”
Toushikyo rolled his shoulders. As if it meant little to him, he said no more than, “Fine.”
However, before he turned to leave, he dug his hand into the pockets of his slacks-like pajama pants. From this, he withdrew the object of Akizetsumei’s ill feelings, a thin chain necklace, from which small charms, all of her custom decoration, dangled. All the charms were small except for one, a rustic key. This was her favorite necklace, though it had recently broken. The chain snapped and the key broke off at the base.
Toushikyo tossed it onto her bed before turning to leave her room. Akizetsumei looked it over for a moment, before lifting it. She found it completely in tact. The key was expertly fixed, if not replaced with an exact replica, and so was the chain. It didn’t take long for the truth to sink in, and she felt tears sting at her eyes again.
“T-Tou, y-you . . .” she whispered.
But when Akizetsumei looked for her brother, he was already gone. She heard his door close down the hall. The girl smiled in both embarrassed bashfulness and inherent appreciation.
With the hints of cheerfulness returning to her, the platinum blond held the necklace to the center of her chest and smiled, this time with the utmost sincerity. Shutting her eyes, Akizetsumei whispered happily, “Y-you big jerk.”
