TRIGGER WARNING: This story contains suicidal thoughts and suicide ideation. While these thoughts are occurring because of an alien influence (in this case, the effect of Kirsten's Witch's Kiss on Hitomi), but the story also portrays a character who was depressed to start with, and might have entertained these thoughts in the past. I suppose there should also be a warning for mind control.

This is meant to be a spiritual successor to a Hitomi-centric oneshot I wrote last year, called Retrospective Days. You don't have to read it to understand what's going on here, but it would probably help.

I own nothing.

It occurs to Hitomi one day that she should kill herself.

The thought comes on her suddenly, as she's walking alone down an oddly deserted street. The sun brushes the treetops lightly, a cool breeze plays with her hair, and Hitomi thinks 'I should just kill myself.' All things considered, it seems very much like a good idea.

Hitomi would like to say that she's never considered such a thing before. She'd like to say that she's lived her life as a cheerful girl, and that this thought has only entered her head like a wild thing that appeared completely out of random. The opinions of the people around her on suicide, the opinions of the students, the adults and the media, all seem to be rather mixed—some say it's a perfectly reasonable and responsible thing to do if things get bad enough, and others say that it's thoughtless and selfish. Either way, Hitomi knows that her parents would be devastated if they lost their only child.

But right now, the opinions of others and what her parents would think doesn't matter quite as much to Hitomi as it used to. And she's had these thoughts before.

The last time actually wasn't so long ago. Hitomi had been in the shower, looking at her razor, turning the pink handle over in her hand, eyeing the blade pensively, and thinking about her life.

All her life, Shizuki Hitomi has done her best to be a "good girl." She's always obeyed her parents, even when doing that entailed agreeing to do things that she wasn't comfortable with, or just didn't want to do, and did so with a smile. 'Oh yes, Mother, oh yes, Father. Of course I'm alright with another after school class. Of course I'm alright with it. I'm sure I'll love it.'

She's done her best to be a "good girl" for her parents, and does her best to be the proper lady she knows they want her to be. Hitomi always knows what's proper to wear and what's not proper (and follows the strict guidelines of ladylike fashion even when she'd far rather wear something else), always knows how to act in any given situation, how to modulate her voice just right so she always seems polite, demure and non-aggressive. All who look upon Shizuki Hitomi agree that in dress and deportment, she is well on her way to becoming the perfect lady.

Hitomi wants to make her parents happy, wants them to be proud of her. But she doesn't feel real anymore. All of her emotions and actions, the way her eyes crinkle when she smiles and her head tilts downwards slightly when she walks in a group, all of it feels manufactured. To Hitomi, it all feels like nothing more than affectations she's adopted to make someone else happy. No matter how deep she looks inside of herself, Hitomi can find nothing that seems spontaneous or genuine. She's nothing more than a doll stuffed full of warm, gushy viscera, viscous blood and spongy tissue, that can walk and talk.

And this doll, in the attempt to please her makers, has almost completely lost track of her friends. Between all of Hitomi's after school classes, and the parties and functions she attends with her parents, she can never spend time with them anymore. With Madoka and Sayaka, Hitomi has grown apart. She looks upon the pair of them and sees two girls who don't need her anymore. They share secrets and jokes with each other, and barely seem to notice Hitomi's presence when they horseplay. Hitomi has been relegated to a third wheel within this group, and can not come up with the words to say that this is wrong, because she has been apart from them so often that they no longer know each other. And as for Kyousuke…

Kyousuke's plight, her feelings towards him and how this simply further complicates her life gives Hitomi still more reason to despair. For nearly as long as she's known him, Hitomi has felt her heart jump every time Kyousuke smiles, and felt it leap into her throat every time he smiles at her. Time spent with him was even harder to come by than time spent with Madoka and Sayaka, thanks to his violin lessons, and to Hitomi, it was as precious as any rare jewel.

She likes Kyousuke, has a crush on him, would like to be able to date him, and maybe more. But even this can not be a joy to her. Sayaka has a crush on him too, and Sayaka has known Kyousuke for far longer than Hitomi has. Hitomi can not seek her own happiness without mashing Sayaka's beneath the heel of her shoe. Never has Hitomi ever wanted to hurt her friend, not even in her darkest moments, but this middle-place she finds herself in is purgatory. She's forever waiting, for one of them to either reject each other, of for them to get together, so Hitomi can move on with her life, or at least try to. Even that would be better than this.

Then, Kyousuke was hit by a car.

Now, he sits in the hospital, and Hitomi has not seen him smile a smile since that day that's not hideous in its falseness. The doctors told him that he'll likely never play the violin again, and with that, all the life seemed to go out of Kamijou Kyousuke; his light gray eyes grew dull. All he can do now is stew in his own deep despair, falling further down the line with each passing day. No one can help him; his dreams have deserted him utterly.

And I… Look at me. I claim to like Kamijou-kun, but I can't help him at all. I can't even go visit him all that often, thanks to all these classes. Some friend I am. Sayaka-san would be better for him; at least she can find the time to go speak with Kamijou-kun and take care of him. So why can't I just let go? If I know I wouldn't be good for Kamijou-kun, why can't I just let go?

Why can't I find anything in me that's good?

That day in her shower, Hitomi had held her razor close to the skin of her wrist, hands trembling. She had tentatively pressed the cool metal down on her wet, warm wrist, and raked it downwards. A bead of blood bloomed on her skin, as dazzling bright as a garnet, and Hitomi had stared at it, suddenly light-headed and giddy, a strange, bubbly feeling gushing in her chest. But the moment had passed, and Hitomi lost her nerve. The razor clattered to the shower floor.

Hitomi's quite confident that she won't lose her nerve this time. But she wonders how she'll do it.

She imagines throwing herself off of a high bridge. The moment of death could come at impact, at the breaking of her spine, one vertebra after another; her ribs would curl into each other like fingers curling into a fist, and all her spirit would leak out through her shattered skull. Or, Hitomi muses, she could meet her end in the water, drowning, every inch of her filling up with water and sinking to the bottom. How would that feel, to become a water-logged corpse, catching one last distant glimpse of the sun, before being swallowed up by the murky blackness?

Or she could swallow all of her mother's sleeping pills at once, Hitomi muses to herself. That would be an easy death, she imagines. A painless death. Like going to sleep, like that last moment of consciousness before slumber, enveloped in warmth, only she would never have to wake up.

But when Hitomi thinks about it, she realizes that she doesn't want her death to be painless. If she dies without any pain, she'll just go into the afterlife with all the pain of her living existence still clinging to her bones. It should be painful. A baptism by fire. There will be pain, great pain, and I will be clean. But how?

Oh well. Hitomi's sure she'll think of something. Here's the important part: It will all be over soon. Hitomi won't have to hurt or hurt anyone else anymore. In death, she won't have to be perfect, won't have to be a "good girl" or a "lady" or anything else. There can't be piano lessons or dance lessons or tea ceremony lessons in heaven. There can't be anyone who forces girls to take those classes in heaven. Her fake, manufactured existence will give way to the cool embrace of death, and wherever she's going, it has to be a better place than here.

Yes… Hitomi's going to a better place. And she's not the only one. There are others, here with her, who feel the same way.

They'll all go to a better place.