Sick: A Monster Just for Me

The feeling of snapping that slender neck and crushing those delicate bones lingered in her hands.

As she opened the door to the kitchen at the facility's edge, the sky was already pitch black. On the town's outskirts, sparse streetlights left an eerie silence. The night sky was a deep black, with the bright moon and countless stars twinkling above.

A girl in her mid-teens emerged from the kitchen, her lustrous black hair blending seamlessly with the night. Her dark eyes carried a weariness far beyond her years.

Gazing up at the night sky, she unconsciously rubbed her palms against the hem of her clothes.

. . . My first kill.

Her words slipped out softly, turning into a faint white mist in the cold air. She rubbed her hands on her clothes again, wiping them vigorously.

She had washed them thoroughly earlier—no feathers, bits of flesh, or blood remained under her nails. Yet, the feeling lingered in her hands—the jarring snap of bones, as if recorded into her memory.

The moon above was nearly a perfect circle, with a small notch on its right side. The cold, clear air made every shadow on its surface visible.

The festival at the facility was always held on the night when the moon shone the brightest, typically on a full moon in October. More than 200 adults and children at the facility would gather to feast, play music, sing, and enjoy themselves.

For the children, it was a heavenly day—no classes, no chores, and they could eat all the sweets they wanted without being scolded. Until last year, the girl had enjoyed the festival with the same innocence.

My first kill . . . Growing up really is hard.

She reflected on what happened with a murmur once more, wiping her hands on her clothes.

Turning fifteen at the facility meant becoming an adult. You went from being protected and enjoying the festival to being the one who protects the facility and entertains the children. This tradition was marked by newly recognized adults joining in the preparation of the festival feast three days before.

Tonight, the girl killed a chicken. She wrung its long, slender neck and snapped its spine. It was one of the chickens she had fed, named, and cared for alongside the other children at the facility's farm.

The adults who guided her until the end assured her it was the way of things.

This is the path everyone has to walk—it's just a part of growing up.

They had let her take a break after that, promising to handle the rest on their own.

The girl was dazed and exhausted. If she were to even hold a knife, it seems like she’d end up cutting her own finger. Though she knew the adults were trying to be kind by letting her go early, she couldn't help but feel they thought she wasn't ready. She took a deep breath and exhaled, misty in the cold air.

I have to come to terms with it. Like Sister said, this is what it means to live . . . May this soul, freed from the shackles of the flesh, find its way to the Lord in the heavens.

The girl glanced up at the dazzling moon above before offering a quiet prayer for the life she'd taken, closing her eyes.

When she finished her prayer, fatigue washed over her as if the tension had finally snapped. She began walking toward the dormitory, hating the feeling of a yawn creeping up, as if it made her seem heartless.

The facility sat atop a hill overlooking the mountains. Scattered across the wide lawn were various buildings—the children's dormitory, the school, the church, and more. The streetlights illuminated only the areas around the buildings, so for a while, the girl walked through the moonlit grass, the crunching underfoot carrying her into the night.

Absent-mindedly wiping her hands on the hem of her clothes, the girl gazed up at the night sky. Nearing the dormitory, she lowered her gaze and suddenly stopped.

The one-story building where the children slept was surrounded by flower beds. Cosmos flowers had been planted there, their buds swelling, ready to bloom soon.

In a dim, unlit corner of the flower bed, a boy was sitting alone.

That boy . . .

The child, much younger than the girl, was hugging his knees and looking down. His shoulders were trembling slightly.

Sniff . . . Hic . . .

The soft sobbing blended with the rustling of the wind through the grass.

The boy, sitting alone, seemed like he might dissolve into the darkness and disappear if left there.

The girl stopped and watched the boy for a while, then sighed softly, a hint of concern in her breath. She stepped forward, the grass crunching beneath her feet, and stood beside him.

It's such a beautiful night sky, Itsuru. It'd be a shame not to look up at it.

Kanon . . .

When the girl—Kanon—spoke, the boy called Itsuru lifted his head to look at her. His large eyes, full of innocent wonder, glistened with tears, streaking down his soft cheeks.

Why are you crying out here? Did you get into a fight with your roommate? Or did Sister get mad after catching you steal a bite?

Just . . . leave me alone. I want to be alone.

Don't act tough. I know you're relieved I found you.

When Kanon gave a warm smile, Itsuru averted his tear-filled eyes and rested his chin on his knees. His pale hands, wrapped around his knees, were trembling, likely from the cold.

Kanon sighed, almost theatrically.

Down we go.

With an exaggerated groan, she sat down next to Itsuru, stretching her legs out on the grass and gazing up at the night sky.

Ahh, I can't wait for the festival.

. . .

We don’t have to study, we can eat as many snacks as we want, and get to play games until midnight. It'll be so fun~!

Kanon cast a quick glance at Itsuru in the midst of her performance. He remained downcast, staring listlessly into the night as the grass swayed in the wind.

. . . It's getting kinda cold, huh? It almost feels more like a winter night, even though it's only October.

. . .

Doesn't the cold make you feel a bit lonely inside?

. . . Yeah.

Still hugging his knees, Itsuru gave a small nod. Relieved by his response, Kanon continued gently.

If you stay up too late, tomorrow's classes will be tough. Don't you think it'd be better to go to bed early?

I don’t want to go to sleep. Every time I do, I end up having scary dreams.

What kind of dreams? Do you want to tell me about them?

Itsuru's arms tightened around his knees. His big, round eyes welled up and started overflowing again.

Dreams about mom and dad. They go so high up into the sky . . . and leave me all alone.

Oh, that's . . .

Kanon fell silent at that.

Your mom and dad are stars now.

Kanon remembered what the sister at the facility had reassured Itsuru.

They had ascended to the heavens to meet the Lord after all their hardships. Even if they are beyond your reach, they are always watching over you from the night sky. So there's no need to feel lonely.

. . . That was how the Sister explained it to Itsuru.

Saying I'm not lonely is a lie. Where are my mom and dad? Why did they leave me here all alone?

Itsuru hugged his knees tightly as he spoke.

The pain of being without parents was something they all understood. The facility was full of orphaned children. Kanon herself had once cried under the same night sky, mourning the family she would never see again.

Kanon eventually let the smile she'd put on to cheer up Itsuru fall, looking up at the starry sky instead.

Sister says that hardships are trials to strengthen our souls. Through suffering, we grow stronger, and when freed from our physical shackles, we can finally reach the Lord.

So, tragedy should be welcomed, for it's a gift from God to polish our souls. This was the teaching that Kanon and Itsuru were raised with.

. . . No matter what they say, though, it won't make it hurt any less. Of course it's lonely. Having someone important taken away from us is just so . . . so cruel.

. . .

Itsuru looked down, unable to respond. Kanon knew that neither sympathy nor understanding would be enough to comfort a boy with such heartache.

That's why Kanon decided to give Itsuru a laugh instead.

The corner of her lips curled into a smile as she raised a single finger.

Alright, Itsuru, here's a question for you. Who's standing next to you right now?

Huh?

Itsuru looked up at Kanon, taken aback by the sudden question. He blinked his tear-stained reddened eyes, answering with a hint of confusion.