June 1st, 2010

Call this a diary or whatever, but I was always the kid who wasn't good at expressing himself in speech but good at expressing himself in writing. I don't care if you call me girly or some other shit, but this is something I have to get out because I don't know what the hell just happened. God my hands are trembling.

Normally, the small town of Namimori is quiet.

Well that would be a blatant lie now a days. Ever since last year around September, the town went especially crazy. Noise littered the streets and neighborhood, it was strange and hard to adjust to; and yet, no one else seemed to notice.

But I'm not abnormal, not too abnormal. I mean, everyone has at least one difficult moment in their life.

Namimori is a small town, with not too many people; but enough in which not everyone knew each other. We had three elementary schools, two middle schools, two high schools, one private academy, and one college. It took a few hours to get to Tokyo and shorter than that to get to the farming lands. Yet we weren't some rural town randomly placed in Japan. We had department stores and markets with the hottest products.

But like I said, no one seemed to notice the new noise.

Whether it was because they chose not to hear it or because they didn't have the ability to, was unknown to me. But it brought me to question how could someone ignore the noise of grenades going off.

It had been reaching about a year since the noise had started. The school year I had spent at Midori Academy ending with a flash and it was into the summer days.

To get to the point, the noise didn't bother me, not until it came crashing into me.

I was walking down the street, heading back home from parkour practice...

"Are you Song Mamoru?" a high-pitched taut voice asked.

I turned towards the source of the voice only to be greeted by a meek red haired teen that was younger than me by just a few years. He was noticeably nervous, biting his thin pink lips and rocking back and forth on his heels. His green eyes shifted back and forth anxiously, leaving me hesitant to respond. To be short, I had never seen this kid before in my life.

'Who is this kid? What does he want with me?' I had thought.

I continued to look over him. The redhead was scrawny, sadly so. His arms and legs were sticks and his waist fit the ideal size for female super models.

'I can take him on if he ambushes me, doesn't seem like the type to anyways.' I reassured myself.

I watched over him with sharp eyes, "Who wants to know?"

He stopped for a second before exclaiming an ear breaking, "I'm sorry!"

Those words entered my ears the same moment the boy jumped at me, throwing a purple ball into my face. I raised a hand to whack it away but as I touched it, it exploded into pink smoke with a loud unrealistic, comical pop.

For awhile, I couldn't see, the pink smoke was easy to breath through, but impossible to see through.

As it cleared, I realized the place I was in was unexpectedly dark. I wasn't in the dying dim light of Namimori anymore, as cliche as that sounds.

My eyes adjusted to the darkness and I took in my surroundings. I was in a traditional Japanese style room, but I was tucked into an extravagant silk covered regal tuscan bed placed smack in the middle of the room that seemed out of place with the theme of the room. The room was decorated with elegant Japanese fans along with porcelain decorative plates and pottery, shodo written onto washi. Even a small sitting table with two cushions were in the room, an European tea set for two on it. A dim candle flickered, causing the shadows to accentuate around me.

Problem was, I didn't know where the hell I was and how I got into this bed.

I apprehensively slipped out of bed, feeling a rush of cold wind hit me. I hissed as a small draft brushed against my sweaty skin, feeling goosebumps pop up on my arm. The room was relatively small, not too much bigger than my bedroom in my cheap one room apartment. There were however, exits on both side of me. Both were rice paper shoji doors. I looked to my right, and then to my left, both doors looked exactly the same.

"What the hell…?" I muttered. The sweat from my earlier work out at the parkour place told me I hadn't passed out or been knocked out at some point. It was like I was magically transported from one place to another. "Where the hell am I?" I breathed, disbelief in my voice as I could hear my heartbeat echoing in my head.

"Get your shit together," I scolded myself, gripping my shoulders tightly. It helped me calm down a bit, feel more grounded. I walked towards the door on the right, the one closest to me. I held my breath as I put my hand on the door.

At the moment, I didn't realize it. But now as I think about it, it was like something was pulling me towards the doors.

I opened it carefully and took in my surroundings. The rooms were incredibly similar as they were both a traditional Japanese, however this room stuck true to it's theme. Much more calligraphy hung from the walls of this room and many lavender purple candles were lit around the room. Placed near another set of doors was a lacquered low table with four cushions and a traditional japanese tea set. In the corner there was a small organized desk with calligraphy equipment and many pieces of papers marked with things I couldn't distinguish from far away.

A creak met my ears and I immediately tensed as I looked towards the large tatami bed, seeing a tall black haired man slipping out of bed, rubbing the sleepiness from his eyes. As the man composed himself, I took him in. He looked to be in his mid to late twenties, and his face was well crafted and shaped by his slightly long hair. His pale skin contrasted against the dark purple kimono the man wore, rustled by the sleep he had been awoken from. His defined collar bone and muscular bones peeked out from the kimono. I felt my breath hitch.

The man didn't seem to notice, looking so relaxed and calm that I was stunned with surprise.

Then, he spoke. He spoke in a deep velvety voice that melted every iceberg on earth, concern lacing his voice, "Are you having troubles sleeping again?"

We were the only ones in the room. My throat closed up, enabling me unable to answer.

"Mamoru?" he asked, finally looking up, meeting my eyes, only for his violet eyes to widen.

"Who is he? How does he know my name? What is going on?"

He stared at me for a few seconds before asking, "Song Mamoru… what year is it?"

I swallowed, looking at this man, unsure of what to do.

"What do you mean what year?!"

He screamed danger, his movements and sharp eyes proved it, but I had a strange feeling, a feeling I couldn't identify.

He stood up and walked closer to me. He raised a hand to my face and I focused on it immediately, my body tensing.

"What… WHAt ArE yOU DoInG?!"

The hand reached out, and caressed my cheek softly. "What year is it?"

I met his concerned eyes, "2010." I don't know what compelled me to answer him, but it felt wrong for me to not.

He sighed deeply, opening his mouth to say something, but pink filled my vision again and I found myself in my shitty apartment, my bag placed neatly against the wall and a small meal prepared.

My knees buckled as I gasped for breath.

My mind was working a mile per second after that, it didn't logically make sense that I would be in Namimori, then at some strange room with a strange man, then at my apartment in a puff a smoke! For a second I thought I had been going crazy, but the man's aura brought me back. Surely his aura wasn't fake, it made me unable to breathe! My brain couldn't think of something so terrifying could it?

After composing myself, I searched my apartment for abnormalities, but the only change was in my kitchen, the source of the food set out for me.

I immediately trashed it, my overly paranoid mind claiming it was poisoned. I also opted against calling the police. They would call me crazy anyways.

I think I recognize that feeling the man seemed to make me answer him, and it surprisingly wasn't fear. Safety, protection; like he would never dare to hurt me.

I don't know anymore. I think I should sleep it off.

God...

P.S. Google about strange transportation involving pink smoke.

P.P.S. ...how did that man know my name?

This is a different way of formatting a story that I decided to try. After each first person entry from the main character, there will be a chapter following from either one or multiple perspectives that pertain to the events that happened in the entries. It'll make sense as time goes on.