The black dog

Chapter 2

* The young male with icy blue eyes and snow-white hair had entered his house. The house where it was easy to see that he was moved by his own almost snow-white hair and his icy, light blue eyes. Those colors were everywhere in his house. He lived alone and he was fine with that. All the time he needed to think about anything and everything. What he thought about he wrote down in a special room. Again, this was directly where he went. In the room his coffee from this morning was still there. Cold as the black stuff was, he drank it anyway. With the cold coffee beside him, he sat down with pen and paper in front of him and wrote down what he was thinking. His thoughts were not hard to guess. Everything he thought about regarding towards the girl he wrote down immediately. At the top of the paper was the description of the only thing he saw of her. Girl with red hair and reddish-brown eyes. For a moment he looked outside where the first stars were already visible from the small window that sat exactly at his eye level.

   The silence was in favor for the boy who liked to pick out his thoughts. He noticed that he had more question than answer. As soon as he did have an answer, a question was crossed out as a sign that he had found a solution. That always did him good. Darkness had now fallen in the outside world. He didn't want to have a sense of time. It was nice to think away. He leaned back and saw the questions he had hung on his ceiling. Still, he didn't read the questions. The next question came to mind. How can you look at a text and still resist the temptation to read. He shook his head and smiled. He loved it. His questions were disrupted by the solutions that came to him. He shot forward from his chair and chaotically searched for the papers that contained the questions that still lacked the solutions he was just thinking about. The papers were flying around in the same chaotic manner.

   A small twilight lamp was swinging back and forth and a person was sitting in the middle of the room, throwing up papers. A few he had already found. Some of the papers were half empty, but that was the way it was. When he had collected them all, he hurried to his desk where his cold coffee was. His haste caused more and more papers to fly around. He hurriedly grabbed a pen and wrote, as if his life depended on it, the solutions on the papers where the questions were. He didn't even know why he was doing this. It was as if there was an urge that made him write it down. Even the questions were like an urge for him. He didn't know anything else his whole life. His parents always went crazy with his questions. No wonder he left home early. Possibly a little too early, but he got by. He always liked to be alone. He didn't need all that childish fuss. He preferred to think. Preferably about things that are out of the ordinary. He didn't have any friends. Nor did he need any. The only need he had was to be alone.

   Sometimes he went crazy with himself too. He didn't know why he is the way he is. They sometimes said he was out of his mind, but he didn’t care. He had made up his mind that he is who he is. He is just Souta. This was his distinct name. Souta: 'Sou' from suddenly and 'ta' from big. Suddenly big, that was what his name meant. How strange it is. How do parents come up with such names. Still busily moving the pen around in his hand, he tried with all his might to write down his last solutions. There were more things to list as to why he closed himself off so much. He wasn't crazy. He just had something special. That was something he knew for sure about himself. While Souta was busy writing, he softly heard his name.

'Souta?' Was whispered. Friendly as ever, Souta answered the voice very controlled.

‘Tell me?’ he knew who was asking about him.

'You know what to do.' a voice said.

'I know that, but who should I do it with?' despite answering, he did not allow himself to be distracted from his work.

'You know with whom.'

   Writing a lot slower already, Souta managed to have a conversation with the voice. The floor lamp that hung in the room swung back and forth with changing light on the papers that lay around the room. Souta hunched over his desk with a stack of paper under his arms. The pen was clenched strongly in his fingers. He had stopped writing. There was a great silence, the only sound was the squeaking of the lamp swinging back and forth.  

   Souta left his room and sat down on his old, dilapidated couch. That old thing had been at his parent’s house. It was his favorite couch, even though the feathers were almost jumping out of it already. The chocolate stain he had left when he was five was still in it. There was no TV in the room. No one understood why not, only he did. Other people didn't interest him anyway. There weren't many things he really cared about. He had just sat down on the couch with his legs tightly crossed on the table in front of him, before he got up again. He was in the mood for a cup of hot coffee. The half-full cup that was in the other room and already far from hot was no longer enough for him.

   In the kitchen, the coffee maker rumbled to make a good, hot cup of coffee from some coffee grounds and water. While waiting, Souta was thinking. Problems were there for him to solve. His little conversation with the voice had made him think. He grabbed a pen and paper from the living room and set it down on the small, wooden table in the kitchen. On the table, there was barely room for two people and it was pretty shaky. In addition, it was also full of scratches and tears. The chair that stood next to it was in no better shape, but that didn't stop Souta from sitting on it. With his hot cup of coffee, he sat down at the table on the not too good-looking chair and began to think about what he wanted to write down. 

   Who should help me. He wrote on it. As if I don't know anything better. Went through Souta’s mind. Normally he knows how to give questions a nice shape, but this one? This one was different. It was so simple; he wasn't used to it from himself. In a flash he came back to his question. He picked up a pack of cigarettes hidden somewhere in the kitchen drawer. Why was it in there again? For a moment Souta  was very distorted. He frowned, shrugged, and took a cigarette from the pack. He stuck the round, tobacco-filled, white stem into his mouth. Searching for a lighter, he banged his head on a cabinet that was still half open due to the overflowing contents it possessed. The bump on his head made everything clear to him. How, he did not know, but everything was clear. He removed the stem from his mouth, sat back down and wrote down exactly what he was thinking. ‘I need someone to see you.’ he muttered. Immediately the next question popped into his mind, which was written on the same sheet of paper that now contained two sentences. Who can see you, he wrote. He leaned back on the chair that was about to give way and put the cigarette back in his mouth.

   'Actually, I think I know who could help with that.' the voice Souta heard earlier said. The room was empty, but to him it was full of people.

'Who?' Souta asked full surprise.

' The girl in the train, she was able to see me. It's not fully there yet, but she can see us.'  In the meantime, he had lit his cigarette and let the unnecessary smoke escape from his mouth. Souta then layed the cigarette in the ashtray continuing to burn away without his own body tasting it. Souta had lost his need for the cigarette. Something else had demanded his need, something he didn't want to think about now. 'Then make sure she knows.' Souta said and stood up.

   He had had enough for today, it was late and his bed which was actually too big for him alone, was waiting in the, expected of him, chaotic room. His two-meter-long bed had called to him. Souta was in no hurry. Despite the fact that he could be so busy with anything and everything, he was rarely in a hurry. He did something only when he felt like it. Right now, his feeling was to go to bed and not think again until morning. He didn’t put any effort in putting on a pyjama. Just with his old dilapidated, white shirt and his old jeans with holes, he layed down under his huge blanket. Gently he layed his almost snow-white hair on the large pillow where his head sank nicely into, which he loved so much. For a moment his eyes, which seemed to stand out even in the dark, were still open. Then the icy, blue color of his eyes was gone. Before long, Souta fell into a deep sleep. Despite his deep sleep, his subconscious still managed to wake him up with a dream. Dreaming is normal, of course, but this dream was unlike any other. He had never experienced anything like it before. Almost as if this dream wanted to change his whole life.

> At the sight of the stars, she wondered if she would get in tonight. Still, her thoughts led her everywhere. Worlds that left her wondering how she was ever going to reach them. She was brought brutally out of her thoughts when she heard her name. A woman with the same red hair as hers came walking up. It was her mother. From both sides, the great astonishment was easy to read. The door to warmth finally opened for her as well. The large hallway was dark until it was greatly illuminated by the large lamp hanging from the ceiling. She did not want to take the trouble to ask where her mother was. Why should she. She's reluctantly sitting here anyway. Besides, that question was already answered by her mother, as usual. She never waits.

   After two hours her mother was still talking about how wonderful her meeting was, which she considered more important than the arrival of her own daughter. After that long the girl really had enough. Every time that selfish behavior from her mother, not even asking how her trip was which she already found so annoying. She had kept it all inside until now, but now it was slipping out of her like that. She yelled at her mother that she has every understanding of her father for leaving her mother. She had to go to her room for it, which was to be expected. Not that she minded it that much. Her mother had no interest in her anyway. Her last words before she went to her own domain were that one day she would be gone and then her mother would have no one to worry about. Except herself and that no one would ask her anything anymore. Those words came out of her mouth like a curse. They even startled her a little, but she mustn't let that show. She stormed into her room and slammed the door without even bothering to turn on the light.

   The only time she liked to be alone for a while was now. Now with the stupid thing with her mother. Her selfish mother, only looking out for herself. The same one she almost cursed in anger over. She sat in the dark room on her bed. She hid her face. She didn't want anyone to see her. It wasn't just anger, she was sad. Sad for her mother who didn't seem to care about her. Not that it was better with her father, but at least he asked about her. Unlike her mother. She felt alone. Never able to tell her anything about herself. It must also be especially unimportant if I tell anything, she thought. She layed down on her bed and cried. It took a long time, but she cried. Slowly she cried herself to sleep and didn't even feel any need to do anything more. If it will be her end and she will have to start over, she wouldn’t even care about that.

   Still in her room, she was wondering a lot of things. Would that weird guy be so alone too? She was shocked at herself that he even crossed her mind. Of all the people she knows, taking someone, she doesn't know at all to think about. Maybe it was his quietness, or those piercing eyes. She didn't know. Very distantly, she heard her name.

'Mizore.' she paid no attention to it. 'Mizore.' still, she did not find the will to pay attention to it. 'Mizore!' Reverberated all at once. Her anger had not yet subsided. So, the attention gave was not up to desired standards.

'What, what do you want! she snarled. She expected her mother in the room, but she wasn't there. She was shouting from the stairs below.

   Mizore was still in the darkness. She wouldn't let her mother force her to go downstairs. She hid her head and covered her ears. She didn't want to hear her mother's screams. Anything but that. Slowly she began to cry out what she wanted. Finally, she began to scream it out, too, ‘Just leave me alone!’ she repeated this a few times and burst into tears. Whimpering, she kept repeating that she wanted to be left alone. For a moment there was silence and Mizore closed her eyes. Even her head, which was normally completely full, was empty. For the first time, even her full head was completely empty. She didn't want to think about anything either. That darkness in her head didn't last long. In the distance, she saw a point of light. She squeezed her eyes shut. Trying to avoid her eyes from opening. The point of light remained. Mizore began to become confused with herself. Slowly, the point of light became a phantom. This didn't really help her understand things better. Rather, it became more and more vague to her. The phantom was getting closer and closer. For Mizore, the most predictable question came to mind. Not even sure yet if the question was only in her head. ‘Who are you?’ Came out of her mouth.

   As if her surprise wasn't enough, the white shadow came closer until finally it was right in front of her. Mizore had to try hard to get a better idea of what exactly she was seeing. More and more details became clear to her. It took take an eternity. Atleast, it felt like that. Silence had struck, words were not exchanged. For the moment she had lost her voice completely. Everything she said merged into the silence. The words she uttered did not exist. Not a single word existed. It was just her, the white shadow and the silence. Even when it appeared that the white phantom was much like a small child, gaining more color with each passing moment, the silence remained. Aimlessly, Mizore had to pull out all the stops to get even a slightly clear picture. The shape of the child formed into a boy and the colors began to come out. It was nothing more than a normal little boy with dark blond hair and softly expressing green eyes. He wore a blue and green striped sweater, underneath it a simple pair of jeans with some sneakers of about 26 cm. He must have been not older than six. Mizore didn't understand any of it anymore. Wanting to escape from it, she shook her head wildly, hoping everything would disappear. When she stopped shaking her head and opened her eyes again, nothing had changed. The little boy was still standing there, for a moment he smiled at her. She looked again closely and she fell into shock at what was happening. That sweet looking little boy was crying and it was screaming, but there was no sound to be heard. She had no idea what was going on. The only thing that came to her mind was the enormous shock.

   Mizore slowly recovered a little from the shock. She hoped with all her might that this will be the end of her strange dream. However, nothing was further from the truth. The little boy stopped wanting to scream. It didn't seem to be relieved. The boy looked at Mizore almost pleadingly. Tears came to his eyes, she saw that they were not the beautiful transparent tears of a child. Not like the salty tears she herself had cried today. They were tears of blood. The little boy was beginning to get cuts, becoming even paler than it already was, and the open wounds were bleeding. She wanted to scream as loud as she could. It didn't want to come out, she wasn’t able to scream. She just sat full of fear watching the little boy bleed before her eyes. A great need to start crying came up in her. Just when her salty tears were about to fall from her eyes, the little boy stopped bleeding, the cuts were gone and he also stopped crying blood. In fact, he began to smile at her again. Her mouth fell open and just as slowly as he came, the little boy was gone again.    

Mizore just couldn't believe what had happened.

   Mizore was still wide awake. She managed to escape from the strange image of her mind. Her eyes were open and she stared into the darkness that her room had over it. The darkness had even taken away all forms of what was in her room. Mizore sat up straight in bed and rubbed her eyes. She had fallen asleep and looked around. She was facing the direction of the clock that hung on her wall. It was special to her though. She had gotten it from her father for her birthday. It was so special that it even had glow-in-the-dark hands. Of course, these really didn't work after midnight. Mizore had completely lost her sense of time. She had no idea what time it was and had no idea what to make of the whole situation. The question of whether it was a dream lingered in her mind, as did the image of the little boy who was so strange. She was sure she had never seen him before. So why he would appear in a dream, if that was what it was, made no sense at all. It must have been a dream, she imagined. Fatigue had struck her and she crawled under the soft blankets of duck feathers. A cold shiver fell over her to which she fell asleep. Her last thought, before she fell asleep, was that she never wanted to experience a dream like that again. She was deeply asleep and was dreamless for the rest of the night until the next morning.

* For Souta, the night was long and his dream only longer. Images shot by. A white phantom passed by, the girl with the red hair and reddish-brown eyes he had met on the train, with whom he had not exchanged a word, and even an old building that was unfamiliar to him. It seemed so real, like it was a vision. He walked through the rooms and hallways of the old building. After visiting a few rooms, it was obvious where he was. The old institute for the mentally ill. It had been closed for years because people were abused there and illegal practices were going on. He remembered well that his mother always forbade him to come near that institution. Fear had crept up on him and he desperately searched for the exit. Three times he passed through the same room with the frightening red light. From the ceiling a chain hung down and from it hung a vague black shape. Next to it hung another chain or two, the state of which was totally impossible to see through the incident red light. Walking had soon become running to him. Running became more and more reckless as time went on. He no longer had any idea where he was going through the institute. From the distance, the building clearly had several floors, but the stairs were missing. There were no stairs in sight. With his hands in his hair, Souta jolted awake. Sweat dripped down his forehead. He gasped and his eyes wandered around anxiously. A tiny streak of light came through the curtains. It was morning.

   The blankets flew off Souta and he stood up at once. That was just the way he was. He didn't want to stay up. To him, awake is awake and only go to sleep when you are tired. Like every day, he first went to the kitchen to make himself a good cup of coffee and then quickly went to his small, enclosed room, with the little twilight lamp that squeaked very much as it moved back and forth. Souta wanted to know the meaning of his dream. Secretly he hoped there would be no sequel, which he was almost certain there would be. Once again, the machine from which his coffee would eventually come bubbled and he stood beside it, thinking. He was sure his dream meant something, but the big question remained what. It was fortunate that he liked to think about things so much. Even though this was the first time for him that he had really been scared in a dream. Even with that, he didn't have an immediate answer. Why the fear was so besting him. He shot awake and for the first time in his life. Of course, he'd had nightmares before when he was little, more even than any child at school. Yet this was different. It wasn't a childhood nightmare about a monster under the bed. This seemed real. Maybe too real, but he wasn’t sure about that. Normally, he knew the answer to that, but not now. The answer was blank to him.

   The filling of emptiness from the answer didn't want to come. The emptiness was there and it would remain. By now Souta had figured that out. He wondered if there was the consideration that his dream was no ordinary dream, because maybe it was a vision. That would explain everything. Again, a blank sheet of paper was taken and words were written down to fill it. Souta put down his pen, looked up from his sheet and stared with his icy blue eyes out the window through which the sunlight shined brightly. 'You want me to work with her. Or don't you?’ He remarked, staring far ahead. He didn't even wait for the answer and he immediately asked the next question. 'Where can I find her?’ He asked, looking around with the hope to see or hear anything. Only he heard the answer. Souta rushed to the coat rack where he wildly pulled on his only coat which caused the coat rack to almost fall over. Actually, he hated to travel, but he had to this time. On the way he stopped. Stick stiff he stood still. Maybe she didn't even know about her gift yet. What would she think if she suddenly saw him standing at the door. Souta hadn't even thought about that. He went back to his cozy little house with the icy blue and almost snow-white walls that had to be an even picture of his hair and eyes. With his hands in his coat pockets, he let his head hang down and walked back. He had rushed for nothing. He had self-control and manipulative powers and could think about the most difficult things, but about logical ones? He was too impulsive for that. It even depressed him a little. Dragging his feet, he walked back.

> Mizore was still asleep in her bed, even though the rays of light touched her face. She didn't want to wake up yet. Tough night deserves good rest, she thought secretly. This rest was quickly disturbed by her mother who came in without knocking and pulled open the curtains with a busy floral print on them. Quickly Mizore pulled the blanket over her head. With all her might she did not want to get out of bed, she hated being woken up so rudely. Her father was always nice. He asked her if she wanted to get up and if not, he let her sleep. Mother, on the other hand, did her own thing. Mizore had to obey her whether she wanted to or not.

‘Mizore! Get up, you lazy bastard!’ echoed through the first so quiet and dark room.

Immediately Mizore's anger for her mother bubbled up again.

'It's weekend, let me.'

'Nothing to do with it, I say you get out of your nest, so then you do. I need to have a heart-to-heart with you anyway.'

'What do you want to talk to me about then.'

'You know that very well lady. I want to talk about your behavior yesterday. I don't like your behavior lately at all.'

'Well if you're talking about it now anyway, just keep talking and I'll just keep lying down. Just as easy right?’ she jokingly tried to get out of it with her mother.

'That's not what I was thinking. Out of bed. Now!’ her mother shouted at her and pulled away the blankets that were so wonderfully warm.

   She woke up and the arguing had entered the house again. Screaming, Mizore ran down the stairs. She had it with her mother. To her mother she was clear about that. She had enough. Her anger was even worse than the day before. Suddenly all her irritations came out that she had hidden for so long. They poured out of her mouth like a river gone wild that had been piling up all the pressure for a long time. The only difference, in her river of words had an end. She closed with the words she had first sworn never to say. She put on her boots, lined with wool, which she paid for from the money her father had given her. She liked them because they were brown, not just any brown, they were reddish brown. So were her eyes, which this time, spit fire with anger. She grabbed her already four-year-old coat, which she didn't want to get rid of, off the coat rack and stomped towards the door.

'I hate you mom! I hate you! She screamed.

She unlocked the door and ran outside.

'You'll come back on your own!’ Her mother called after Mizore, but Mizore paid no attention to that at all.

She ran away and tears started to run down her soft cheeks. She didn't want to, but she couldn't stop it. The salty tears kept coming from her eyes. Somewhere, a few hundred yards away from the house where her mother lived, she stopped and had given up trying to hold back her tears. She burst into full on crying. She fell to her knees and held her hands in front of her face. She didn't know why she was crying. Didn't matter either she just wanted to cry.