Finally wrote something.....here we go....
Her father died. It was just her, her mother and sisters to fend for themselves. This was her thought although she had the not-there and distant sensation of life for the past couple of years. It was how she was coping with her father’s death as she wanted to scream, cry and destroy anything that was around her. The cold snow that fell as they buried her father in their family monument, his cremains sealed within the marble urn; that very cold from the snow was the sensation that was running through her system since a lot of her friends had moved away at around the same time months before. The unemployed former military man and salary man that were laid to rest had died with no notice, as any other unexpected death of a loved one went. His death under investigation as his widow and three daughters were to brave things out. Sure they had family up in the northern most region of Hokkaido but their life was down in the near tropical island of Okinawa. The snow that fell making the service beautiful was offending to her. Watching her mother cry and not wanting to leave their father at the family grave nearly broke her. She had to be strong though. And almost immediately after all was said and done, back in the uncertain timeframe of the present with bills to be paid, she was working her hum-drum jobs but knew that she would have to do more than this.
That’s how she found them or rather how they found her. She was just doing her job when a male with long ginger locks approached her counter and bought a pack of Marlboro cigarettes. His eyes were a beautiful blue, almost like the ocean that was not far from the tourist hot-spot beaches that Okinawa was famous for. This man was rather peculiar as she gave him his change and he instantly opened and lit up in the store. As she was about to tell him that would need to continue his cigarette outside she was caught in a sharper gaze from him.
‘You can help them by the means I’m here to offer you.’ Was the smooth, sensual voice that almost sounded like a physical whisper to her mind.
The rest was a whirlwind, when she was not at her home trying to get sleep or trying to find ways to help in the household she was being trained in an abandoned warehouse on the arts of killing; the trade of an assassin.
The way that she had lived before hell had opened upon her family was still there. Maybe the reason why Mastermind, her instructor, was the one to find her and train her was for the fact that for her young life so far she felt like it was a dream. As if she was watching herself in a movie but had no emotional attachment to the working she had done. That the only times that she seemed alive was when she was with her friends and family. Looking upon all the personality disorders that were out there she could really see why she might have been ideal for this. Or she was at least trying to find some meaning of which could also tie into her meaning to live since her luck was getting worse and worse each passing day.
Depersonalization disorder was a dissociative behavioral disorder that the sufferer would have occurrences of derealization or of depersonalization in life. As if they were on a constant autopilot with that out-of-body feel leaving one to have problems relating to the reality that surrounded them. Most would consider this part of the ‘fight-or-flight’ and sense of ‘self-preservation’; a self-defense mechanism of which would come from severe trauma sometime or another in their lifetime. By no means would one diagnosed with this be completely unstable, oh no, the sensation of acknowledgment of existence in the means of praise and encouragement along with other positive stimuli from people that are loved from the sufferer keeps one with such a disorder rather normal. Rather, when the scientist from the organization that was training her was done with her psychiatric evaluation, the odd pink haired man corrected his glasses and laughed an almost giddy laugh. She was given a clean bill of health and went through some gruesome physical training for almost 3 months before another of her trainers deemed her acceptable for the field.
When she was in her right frame of mind, when her conscious was combating her on the good and evil on her choice of what she was to do, she knew she was taking a risk; a big risk in learning this trade. The money she would get for each successful mission would be suspicious to her mother but it would be a means of paying for their necessities. Hell, even with her education that she acquired at a local college the job she could possibly get from it would only warrant so much per hour and the economy was not that great for job openings. It was rather this than what most school dropouts in the mainland would do and that would be to sell themselves to old perverted salary men in the red-light districts or shady bars for little to no cash. During her training, next to thinking about how this would support her family, she was trying to justify her choice in doing this; to act like a monster that would be under a child’s bed except instead of scaring she would kill.
As she was undergoing this training she wondered how these people found her. She had by-no-means blogged about anything personal in her life really anymore so not that many knew of her hidden insecurities of the future to come. She was left to her thoughts a lot and apparently that was enough for Mastermind to find her. Apparently her thoughts were what drew him near and to have the higher ups pick her as part of a new program.
When it came to her first kill, she was in an odd zone like she usually was. The slick, wet and red meaning of life which was staining her black clothes and splattered on her face from the messy kill didn’t draw out the reaction she knew her body would have once this odd adrenalin drained from her veins. Her charcoal bangs stuck to her forehead as she took a deep breath. Her mission was completed; target was killed; now it was time to escape. Her mentor had taken care of just the guards that were on the outskirts of the lavished residence that their target occupied leaving her to knock out all others that were posted within the traditional compound. She didn’t kill them though, she just followed her orders to a ‘T’ and only eliminated her target and was making her quiet exit. She only looked at her target’s picture before the mission; the person within her that was rational and logical made her way out when it came to the mission details and made her not look over the bio of her target. It was worst off that she was going to be killing people, she didn’t need to know if they were going to leave behind family and friends and just get in and get out as quickly as possible.
When she made it out and away from the compound and rendezvoused with her mentor, she changed her black clothes to her street clothes that she was wearing prior to this outing and cleaned her face of the crimson stain left from her messy job. Her mind was oddly numb, but she knew this sensation well, as soon as she’d get home she would feel it all come down upon her. Things like this broke people every day, things like this….this unnerving calm before the emotional storm was what lead most school students in the mainland and all over the country to take their lives when they didn’t pass their entrance exams for the best university or the school that was their first choice.
She was roughly patted on the back by her mentor at the good job that she did. That even though she was a rookie and a type of person that would not do this kind of thing she acted almost like a pro on her first job. Hell no one plans to become a murderer to try and care for and provide for their family but when there are straws that you can grasp…..you have to do what you have to.
So when she arrived home late, under the pretense of a late night job at a convenience store, she stripped herself of her street clothes and showered. The calm of the storm ended too violently as she hugged herself tightly and cried to herself. Her nails digging into her arms and drawing blood as the face of her target’s flashed before her eyes again. The fear, panic and desperate desire to live were in those brown orbs which were rounded and wide like saucers. Before the man could try to talk to her and beg for his life an such she tried to end it with a clean shot to the chest, the silencer on the tip of her gun muffling the weapon’s going off. The shot to his chest was not enough though and so, the kill was messy as she moved the barrel of the gun with its silencer tip to the man’s head and fired twice. Her target was dead; she had killed a human being, murdered in cold blood for money. Oh she was going to hell for this, what had she done? It was too late though. When she finally fell asleep and woke for her shift at her only job that she did keep next to her job that she was going to do for god knows how long, she had received her money in the means of a check for her mission the night before in the mailbox under the guise of a letter from one of the ‘offices’ that she was working at.
Can one truly put a price on a human life? She wondered this as she slowly and shakily opened the envelope. The check written that was contained in the white envelope was written for 8331 yen. This would be a close equivalent to about 100,000 US dollars. To this organization that she had felt she made a devil’s contract with, she had earned enough just from one kill to pay all her family’s bills for the next couple of months.
Junko Shizuka*, age 24 and native to Okinawa, Japan was now to be forever walking a path that would put her family at a great risk and also herself. What path lies ahead for her, if she lives to see more missions or to see her friends and family again after said missions will be left for those to wonder.
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Notes: This is what I came out with finally. Sounds all marysue and shit but I don’t care. At least, obviously the character is based off of me and what I’ve been feeling some things are in here for the sake of the story while other things are what I’ve been genuinely feeling; I got something out in writing. Put a lot of thought into the name to, to put in some serious irony for the situation that I put the character in. The name Junko in Japanese means ‘pure child’ or ‘obedient child’ as the last name Shizuka in Japanese means ‘quiet summer’. I did put the name in the American order of first and then last in comparison to the Japanese way of surname and then given name. At least in fanfiction or story writing in general you could give the character some power over situations that would in reality have no means of making better. For those that do watch anime and such I did have Schuldig from Weiss Kreuz as Junko’s trainer. Almost want to say with everything that’s been happening my muse for writing has been revived. This is unnerving and most inconvenient.