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| "A-hyuck!" |
Here I am, on a train, going to school, with my school friend. You can see we're friends by the way he talks to me. Now obviously this is all bullshit, but Pillow Boy wants so desperately for you to believe that it just will never stop tossing the shit at you.
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| Yeah, like you've even seen my mouth. |
He asks if I've been studying. I should really say "asks." Or maybe I'm trying to say "he." He's really just a mouthpiece for a forty-year-old writer on the other side of the globe whose only clues to my real actions and identity come from the Japanese census.
But...I guess that even a fictional transfer student can feel some fear and ennui.
Because I've been scared lately, too. I'm scared because I may never be enough. I'm scared because my bond with Beeble Bear was my everything, but it was so fragile to begin with. For the past few weeks I have been retreating into my Pillow Boys, but this is a fallen pillow fort of pricking feathers. Mary was a saint; Senpai was a god; the musician loosed the world from grace, an Eve with Lucifer.
I forsook my partner for the Boys. And I'm not sure who's to blame for the fallout.
No. Forget I said that. I'm entirely sure who's to blame.
And it's not you, Pillow Boy. And it's not me. It's...it's Beeble Bear.
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| I...didn't— |
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| No. This...this isn't your backstory, Transfer Student. It couldn't be. |
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| N-no... |
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