I opened my eyes for what seemed like the first time.
I was laying on something hard and off the ground. Hands clutching wipes cleaned my ass. The woman attached to them was speaking in a soft tone. But her words didn't follow the cadence of my native tongue. She then looked at me, her eyes catching mine; sclera and iris pitch and lifeless.
I knew something, everything, was off. But I had yet to develop thought that didn't rely on emotion, so I reacted the only way my mind could to what little information it gathered.
There were many kids here, which made sense since it was an orphanage. And being the youngest one there I was often separated from the others for my own safety. A five year old should only be in contact with a child as young as me under supervision, and the matron and her slowly diminishing employees often had their attention divided between the other 18 children in their care. When not being fed in the kitchen or read to in a warm lap, I was in a crib. Alone. In a room shared by the matron. When they got too busy that was where I was put. And they were too busy too often.
So too often I was left alone in my crib. Too often I laid there looking at the door across the room.
Too often I phased through the bottom of the crib to the floor below.
I would get confused for a moment with the vantage change before accepting what happened. With such an undeveloped brain I couldn't think back, only forward.
So forward I went.
This having not been the first time I'd fallen there was a pad beneath the crib for me to land on, so I was only stunned, not injured. Then getting over that, I began to roll. Rolled right out from under the crib to the middle of the room then sat up. The journey jostled my brain a bit so it took me a moment to decide what to do.
But then the door creaked open and the woman with the unnatural eyes walked in. I looked at her and she looked at me.
I don't cry anymore from her eyes.
I cry when she calls me by the wrong name.
"Majiko, did you use your quirk to escape again?"
And she does just that.
I knew I shouldn't be crying so easily but I didn't know why. She picked me up and cooed softly in a tone meant to soothe, swaying her body gently side to side. I didn't stop.
Being a child, my neuroplasticity was soft and ready to absorb information, which means picking up the language, which I now knew was Japanese, fairly easy.
Which in turn made it easier to understand the world around me.
The orphanage was run full time by the matron, and had two workers working part time during the week. A boy with dark orange hair and an underbite that lived nearby, and a woman with moderately speckled skin in college that wanted to go into childcare. Ikamori and Shimiko respectively. The matron had her void eyes, long light brown hair, thick horns that jutted out of her head and curled forward, and knobbed fingers with sharp, black nails.
She told everyone to call her Machi-san.
I just called her Machi.
I was a difficult child to deal with. As a baby, I was very selective with who touched me. If Shimiko asked one of the older kids to grab me they couldn't. Their hands and arms just passed through me, giving both of us a chill at the passed contact. I also was very averse to noise. When the other kids were playing too loud indoors I screeched as loud as I could, wanting to stun them for just a moment of silence. Sometimes it worked. But I often just tried to leave the room, toddling as fast as I could. Only to be stopped and scolded for wandering off on my own. So in the end I just cried, for it was what I am best at.
Adults looking to adopt came by at least once a week to check out our stock of kids. Everyone crowded them, trying to show off their quirks and skills at once, quickly overwhelming the prospective parents. Until Machi dispersed the crowd and steered the adults into her office. They would tell her their story and what they were looking for or if they were just browsing. Then they would all leave the office and Machi would introduce them to the kids that would be most compatible. But it seems like no matter what they were looking for, they would stop and look at me. A small moldable toddler. But after learning my name they balked and carried on, deeming me not worth getting to know. A name I would learn the meaning to and loathe with my entire being.
But that's ok, I didn't want to get to know the strangers anyway.
I was two now, or so I've been told.
"Why am I two?"
I asked Ikamori one day while he was getting me a snack.
Without turning from the pantry he answered, "because you were born two years ago".
That didn't seem right, but I just nodded my head and let it go. Only because I saw him get out some cereal and started bouncing in my high chair in excitement.
Being called by that name, Majiko, still bothered me. I knew it wasn't my name but I couldn't remember for the life of me why it wasn't. My mind still had trouble thinking backwards.
"Machi, that isn't my name. Don't call me that," I tried to tell her one day. I swiped a takeout menu from the kitchen and was looking at the different orders. Their names were written in kanji, romaji, and english.
Machi walked in the kitchen to find me sitting on the floor under the large table where the older kids ate. She crouched down to get at my level and called that name to get my attention. After I told her that name was wrong, she asked me in that tone reserved for children, "then what is your name?"
And I just sat there; menu held limply in my hand as I stared into space. Straining my brain as much as I could to remember my damn name. But the answer never came. I kicked my legs out, heels grinding against the linoleum floor.
A whine rose from my throat, "I don't know." Tears of frustration brimmed forth and my chest tightened.
"It's ok, it's ok," Machi assured me, scooting underneath the table as much as she could with her horns and pulled me to her side.
Smartly changing the subject in an attempt to calm me down she asked, "what are you doing with that?" One talon pointed to the takeout menu. I looked down at the line I was reading before Machi walked in.
I was looking at the desert menu on the last page, when the word 'ice cream' in english popped out at me. It was called mochi ice cream, but was that? Mochi flavored ice cream? Why would a takeout place offer ice cream?
"What is mochi ice cream?" I asked her, an audible hiccup in my voice.
"It's little bits of ice cream covered in mochi," the frown in her voice was evident, "when did you learn to read kanji? You can hardly follow along during story time."
I pointed at the line written in english, "I can read this one," turning my head up I looked at her face, and answered a question she had not asked, "and of course I can read; I'm not a child."
It was so natural it honestly felt like I was using another limb.
I was currently sitting by Machi in the living area. While she read to some of the kids I had a plethora of blocks in front of me waiting to be stacked. My fingers were clumsy and had trouble grasping the wooden cubes, so it was a slow work in progress. Because of this I would often get distracted from the task at hand and move my hand through the blocks instead, as it was decidedly much easier to do. Even though it was something I could always do it felt so new and exciting. Each time my hand went through the block I would feel a chill where it passed through my body. The longer I was 'in' an object the longer the chill would last once I was out of it. But sometimes the chill left so quick I wasn't sure if I was just imagining it or not. Such as now. Will the cold last longer if I'm in an object longer? I wonder if it did. So with all the determination my small body could muster, I set my hand through the block, and waited.
But with a little body came little patience. I just managed to leave it in the block long enough for Machi to read three pages of the picture book. I took my hand out with relish, excited to see if my little experiment would bear desired fruit.
It also bore pain.
The chill had been replaced with bitter cold that burned being next to my warm, unphased flesh. I barely saw that my hand had turned pink before tears blurred my vision. Then came a sharp shriek from my lips, effectively silencing Machi and grabbing everyone's attention. Though I couldn't see it I felt Machi close her hands around my outstretched injured hand and rub them slightly. My shrieking had morphed into sobbing as her hand helped warm mine, bringing the odd sensation of pins and needles.
After a few agonizing minutes the cold had been warmed to an acceptable temperature, and my sobs had reduced to the occasional hiccup. It had gone wrong so fast; I wasn't in the block for more than two minutes, how had it gone from cold so slight I wasn't sure if I was imagining it to blinding pain? Machi picked me up and sat me in her lap, my exhausted body relaxing against hers easily. She then picked the book back up and started reading to the irritated kids like nothing had happened.
After she finished that book and read another as an encore, she told the kids it was getting late and that it would be bedtime soon. With a collective groan the kids got up and left to get ready for bed. They knew Machi wouldn't have any if ands or buts about it so they didn't beg for ten more minutes of playtime. They were growing boys and girls and needed their sleep. I was picked up by Machi, who settled me on her hip, and she started towards our bedroom. But all the movement was waking me up, and I asked a question that had been on and off my mind for awhile now.
"Why do people have quirks?"
She opened our bedroom door as she answered, "I don't know, little one; one day people just started being born with them," I liked how she stopped calling me Majiko. And being referred to as 'little one' made me feel special and giddy.
She settled me in my crib, and as I got comfy I said, "I think it would be better if we didn't have quirks," I heard Machi hum, then ask why I thought that, "because then we wouldn't all be so weird and different," I answered in such a serious matter of fact tone that she laughed. There was something else I was wondering too.
"What's your quirk Machi?" it was just an innocent question, but her face flushed and she broke eye contact, "it's a secret little one. It's time to go to sleep now."
The amount of japanese I was learning here had trickled to a stop. It had gotten to the point where I could understand the older kids talking about their homework and Shimiko talking to her friends on the phone about the latest history test being convoluted as fuck. Hell, when I watched tv I clicked on the news because I wanted to learn more, much to the distress of the other kids. But they knew if they tried to take the remote from my hands I would hit them so they left me be. Machi or Ikamori would sometimes watch with me. Machi would often ask if I understood everything and tell me the definition of words I couldn't figure out by context clues. While Ikamori sat silently, just watching with me while he looked up colleges on his computer.
But one day these words kept being passed around by the older kids when they came back from school.
All Might is so cool. All Might is so strong. All Might is the perfect hero.
Now hero. That word has been tossed around liberally for as long as I could remember. People donning suits and aliases fighting bad guys with their quirks. It seemed so fake until I started watching the news and actually seeing them fight.
So All Might is a hero; whose cool, strong, and perfect for the job.
I bet he's on the local news right now. Maybe he saved someone locally and that's why he's a hot topic. Wanting to learn more about this All Might guy, I started walking into the living room, but stopped once I saw a group of kids chilling around the tv for some after school cartoons. Of course. So I changed my destination to the kitchen, where I knew Ikamori was ordering dinner while Machi was out getting groceries. He would tell me who All Might was. And lo and behold, there he was. Watching something on his bulky laptop. The kitchen phone was next to him so he must of ordered out already.
My train of thought stopped then I heard what was coming out of his computer.
"Did you see that?!" No, I did not. So I started walking around the table to see the screen, "he has alre-" Ikamori paused the video.
"What are you watching?" I asked once I was next to him, eyes trained on the screen. The video was full screened, and was paused on absolute destruction of a city street. Cars overturned and crushed, concrete walls broken and revealing their steel supports. The dust from the debris hovered in the air, making it difficult to see more than 20 feet forward. But through the dust, there was a shadow.
"I'm watching an old debut video," oh, "is it All Might? I've been hearing about him all day," Ikamori smiled as much as his underbite could let him at my question, "yep. Do you want to watch it?"
I nodded my head and he helped me climb into his lap. Once I was settled, he started the video from the beginning.
"Did you see that?!"
"He has already saved 100 people! And it didn't even take 10 minutes!"
The shadow in the dust was growing larger.
"Really, what a monster!"
The shadowed figure broke through the cloud, a dozen injured on his back and in his arms. A large grin plastered on his face.
He was chuckling heartily.
The camera zoomed in on his face quickly, losing focus.
"You no longer have to worry! Why, you ask?"
The picture regained focus, All Mights grin filling the screen.
"Because I'm here!"
The rest of the video was of All Might double checking to make sure no one was too injured, and working with disaster relief. I have seen action figures of him around the orphanage, but I'm so used to tuning out the other kids I guess I never learned the name. Maybe that is where this sense of deja vu was coming from, even if it made my stomach churn in unease.
Ikamori grabbed his glass of water and finished it, then took a bite out of the plastic cup and started to chew. I kept my attention on the screen, but I heard him chew twice then mumble 'shit'. Half a second after that Shimiko walked in the kitchen.
"Ikamori, why aren't you watching the kids?" She huffed with a pout, placing her fists on her hips. He swallowed, "they're all either watching tv or chatting about All Might stopping that local robbery today. Why aren't you watching the kids"
Shimiko rolled her eyes, "it started raining so I brought them in," Ikamori started to open his mouth again but he was immediately cut off, "and I'm in here because Akari wanted some juice" as she was talking she walked to the refrigerator. But that, in turn, got her closer to us. And closer to seeing what was on the computer.
"What are you letting her watch! She's not even four! She shouldn't be watching something like that," All Might was currently helping a lady with a head wound into the back of an ambulance. There was quite a bit of dried blood on her face. And that was where the video ended.
Ikamori sighed, "she's seen worse on the news, this is nothing. Besides, it's All Might. What could be scary about him?" Letting out an exasperated sigh, Shimiko shook her head and went back to getting the juice. Since the video was over, and I now had a good impression of All Might, I jumped off Ikamori's leg and started towards the door.
"! Did you take a bite out if that cup! Just because you can eat anything doesn't mean you should!" He groaned in exasperation as I left.
Kids were loud, and annoying. And stupid. So they were easy to tune out. But the older orphans here spoke at a normal speaking volume and sometimes had interesting things to say. So on occasion when I was preoccupied doing something by myself, their conversations would catch my attention and I would quietly listen to them. Like now, while I was 'attempting' to read this picture book. Kanji was so hard to read. It was just a bunch of lines that kept blurring together. Sure, I could get the gist of the story though the pictures, But the words were what made a story captivating.
"He says since his name is Kaeru he can come and go as he pleases. Like, sometimes he will get up in the middle of class and just leave. He won't be back for two to three periods. And sometimes he just leaves school for the day. Once he came to school at the end of last period. The teacher was a substitute that day and asked if he had permission to arrive so late. He told her since his name can mean to come or to go he is a permission slip."
"Wow. his parents must be kicking themselves for naming him that."
Kids were often named with intent. With expectations shoved on you with the first utterance of your name. If your name means docile child and you were outgoing people are going to wonder what went wrong. Ikamori's name means under the forest because his parents thought he would have a plant based quirk like them. But he was an outlier; his quirk had mutated away from his parents, so his namesake is moot. I was never interested in knowing what Majiko meant for that reason. What if the name was also just a big expectation to who I am as a person. What if I am incapable of living up to it? The thought made my stomach squirm. The name felt wrong but I was still referred by it. People would judge.
But, what if it was something as silly as Kaeru? Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. I know ko meant child. A third of my name was safe, since I was in fact a child. Maybe…
"Do you guys know what Majiko means?" I asked them. The two boys shut up immediately and looked at me. Then looked at each other. An awkward silence permeated the air as the seconds ticked by.
"You tell her"
"Me? I don't wanna make her cry. You do it!" the teen kicked his friend in the leg to accentuate his order. With a silent 'ow' he slapped his friend back lightly, then turned to me, "uh...your name kinda means…" he side-eyed his friend friend looked back to me, "cursed child?"
...What. Cursed child? That can't be right. My stomach sunk. Why am I named that. What did I do to be named that? Why would someone name someone that. Why, why, w-
"Your parents must of hated you, kid," I heard the speaker get punched by his friend.
Then the waterworks welled up and I started crying.
"See! You made her cry!"
It was gradual, but noticeable.
I had really enjoyed watching the leaves change color last year. Loved stepping on the dried fallen leaves and hearing their crunch. When the snow finally came I was sad that the leaves were now covered and damp, not to be seen again till the first warm front came around. By then the leaves would be ruined. But there was always next year. Even though that time was unimaginably far away for a child, I couldn't wait. But fast forward to now. Seeing the first leaves turn orange and brown once again. The excitement was there. It was. It was just...muted.
After much practice I could run and jump on the leaves without losing my balance. An accomplishment I knew I should be ecstatic about. But I only felt mild pride at this achievement. I knew it was odd I wasn't feeling as strongly as before but that thought was quickly brushed aside. I had more leaves to break.
The snow had long since swallowed the colors of autumn, and I was inside to hide from the cold. The toys I normally gravitated to no longer held my interest, and the thought of drawing with the donated crayons filled me with so much indescribable shame that option was tossed aside, so I was forced to look for something else to do to stave off the boredom. Or I would have, but laying spread eagle on the carpet staring at the ceiling seemed like an equally good idea. Because in the end my decision didn't really matter.
It wasn't until the first signs of spring that I realized that while feeling positive emotions was difficult now, it felt familiar. It felt right. As right as my name felt wrong. It wasn't how a human was supposed to feel but it was apart of what made me me.
So I welcomed the indifference with open arms.
A little while after I turned four I was old enough to get moved from Machi's room to a bedroom with the other young females. Something I was decidedly not happy with. Every morning when the sun streamed through the curtains the tykes would excitedly get up to face the day. The world was new and exciting to them; they couldn't wait to play and learn and experiment with their quirks. I, however, woke up everyday feeling more confused, more out of place. There was something in the back of my mind that was waiting to break forth. Everyday the feeling got stronger.
I could think backwards easily now. I could remember stacking blocks so high until it collapsed upon itself. I could remember tasting fresh rice from a rice steamer for the first time. I remember watching only one twin get adopted while the other was left to cry and wonder why those new parents were so selfish and cruel to take only his sister and not him.
But I couldn't remember why I could read english. Had no idea why I felt like a sensitive child and an aloof adult in turn and all at once. No clue how I knew I was missing something. Something big and important.
But it wouldn't come to me.
So I just got out of bed and went through the motions of the morning; dressed, breakfast, teeth, playtime. Alone of course. I could never even feign interest in the other kids, which worried Machi to no end. Everyone was so loud it was borderline grating. But I guess it was my own fault for wanting to play outside, the domain of screaming kids. It was because it hadn't rained for a few days, an uncommon occurrence here, so I wanted to at least attempt to enjoy it while everything was dry.
I was playing in the sandbox, trying my best to make a grandiose castle with only dry sand at my disposal. The bare bones of the structure were complete, which meant now I would have to use my inept fingers to carve out the details. My gaze left the castle and wandered to my hands, fingers flexing. I knew my fingers weren't that clumsy, but I knew they were better than what they put forth. But again, I couldn't remember a time when they weren't like that. Wonderful. Another mystery to not solve.
During my musing a shadow fell across my lap. Looking up, I saw that it was the new kid who had arrived days earlier. His posture was loose, eyes curious and bright. Voice ready to get on my nerves.
"Can I make sand castles with you?" He asked, hope for a friendly foothold in this place evident by his tone. My eyes swept over to my castle, which almost sat dead center in the sandbox. The sand box was roughly 7x7 feet, while my castle was 2x3. If this boy built his castle along the rim then our castles and bodies may not intersect. But I wasn't going to take that chance. I have worked relentlessly to tame my young forms natural clumsiness, while this child will most likely trip and ruin not only his own castle, but mine as well.
I will not let a stranger bust in and let 30 minutes of my life go up in flames.
"No," I flatly replied, turning back to my castle and away from his crushed expression. Seconds ticked by and he didn't move. Pointedly ignoring him, I began the process of carving out the windows with my nail. Slowly. The tiny granules were threatening to fall at the smallest disturbance. Then a foot crashed through the eastern side of my castle. The tiny knick in the sand for the first window collapsed into a divot from the vibrations. I sat there in shock for only a second, stomach plummeting.
The boy, believing he made his anger known, bent over to pick up my shovel. But I was ready and grabbed it first. Standing up, I stepped away, shovel grasped tightly in my hand. Eyes narrowed and full of tears, he grunted, arms extended, aiming to push me to the ground. And it worked. I didn't know why my phasing didn't work sometimes. Throw a ball at me it zips right through. Throw a person, however, and we're both on the ground playing keep away with a hunk of plastic.
The fall was hard. I landed with an audible 'oof', shovel dislodged from my grip. But it didn't land far. Thankfully I smacked my head on the grass and not the wood encasing the sand. But my vision swam nonetheless. The boy fell too, his momentum upsetting his weak stance, and landed to my left. He recovered quicker, and climbed over me to grab the shovel. My eyes widened, the word 'no' loud in my head. I moved my hand, but my fingers only just brushed the shovels shadow when his hand was right on top of it.
Then the shovel was gone.
His hand slammed onto the place where it once laid. But the shovel was really gone.
We both stared at his hand, momentarily stunned into silence. Then he turned his eyes to meet mine, disbelief melting into accusation. On his knees now he turned his body to face me, fist clenched, eyes watering from anger.
"Bring it back," he demanded.
But had I really done that? Sure, in that moment I wanted nothing more then this newbie not grabbing the shovel. But as far as I knew my quirk was moving through objects. Not making them disappear. And I don't know this kids quirk. For all I know he could be trying to pull a fast one on me. Sitting up I glared right back at him, "how do I know you didn't do it? My quirk doesn't do that."
His lower lip quivered and tears started flowing freely, "be-becau-se I'm quir-urkless. Stop-p be-hing mean!"
Hands shaking, he hit me in the sternum with a loose fist. Or tried too. His hand sunk in an inch before retreating, the chill of phasing in my body shocking him out of his weak punch. As he cradled his hand in his chest my mind was reeling. Mean? Me? I'm not mean. I just don't want to talk to anyone, especially some brat who thinks that since he's new I have to bend to his will. It's his fault for coming up to me. His fault. Not mine, his.
What ever patience I had for the situation had vacated my body. How dare he. I stood up, those three words circling in my mind. How dare he. How dare he. How DARE he. My sudden movement startled him, his coal eyes widening.
Made a larger target to hit.
Through my assault of hits and scratches he shrieked in panic and pain. The noise attracting the attention of the other children outside that weren't already watching our scuffle, and of Shimiko. At hearing her hurried footsteps I stopped and felt a wave of shame and apprehension. Not for attacking the wailing child in front of me, but for the guaranteed punishment awaiting me for acting upon my righteous anger. Shimiko went to the boy first to asses the damage and console him. Hand pressed against his hurt eye, he buried his head in her chest, leaching as much comfort as he could.
My mind blanked as I remained frozen in place. I wanted to get as far away as I could from this whole situation, but there was no where to go. I would be found, and if I ran I would be punished more for not facing the consequences of my action head on. My thoughts refocused when Shimiko turned to look at me. The boy had quieted down, one eye red and closed. He had calmed down to just heavy breathing and sniffling. Shimiko wore an authoritarian mask that thinly hid how angry she was.
"Majiko, why did you hit Ryouta?"She asked me with a calmness that didn't match her eyes.
I inwardly flinched at my name, and with budding tears and great effort I looked at her face, "I wouldn't play with him so he ruined my castle and pushed me. We fought over the shovel but it disappeared," she gave me a look that I couldn't distinguish and my words came out faster, "He blamed me but my quirk doesn't make things disappear so he must of done it. I got mad when he accused me of doing it so I hit him, I-"
"Stop," the sheer command in her voice stopping me flat, "Ryouta is quirkless, he couldn't have had anything to with whatever happened to the shovel. And despite the reason, you know better than this Majiko," stop calling me that, "we have told you before that hitting is never the answer to your problems," she broke eye contact for a moment to recall something, then her daggers were back on me, "This in the 7th time you've acted violently to another child right? Majiko?" please, stop. Shimiko continued with her lecture, but my attention wasn't fully there.
That name that wasn't mine kept repeating in my mind. And with each syllable my stomach dropped more and more. My chest felt tight. I felt myself starting to flush up in reaction to my unease. Unfortunately, Shimiko noticed that my attention had diverted from her scolding.
"Majiko!" she shouted, angry that my eyes had glossed over. But with those three syllables my attention snapped back. Looking back at her eyes I saw finality. Nothing I would say would matter because she had made up her mind long ago that I was a 'problem child'. I was beyond redeeming. And within myself I found an anger so cold the anxiety retreated.
"Stop," my posture stiff, eyes wide and angry. I was done, "I have told you, you specifically, not to call me that terrible name many times. Machi and Ikamori stopped as soon as I asked because they understood what you are having trouble understanding," my eyes narrowed, the cold in my chest clenched, as well as my fists, "I don't care what my name is; I don't want to be called 'cursed child'," Shimiko sat up straighter, affronted by my behavior and bitter tone. I barely registered in my peripheral Ryouta looking at me with unrestrained shock.
"You say you want to help less fortunate children," I continued, "but you are horrible at it. You don't go out of your way for children you don't like. Only kids with quiet and joyful personalities receive your attention. The rest of us get labeled 'ungrateful' and 'troublesome' and you give us almost no attention. When Genta lost his sister you were nowhere to be found. But for this kid," I gestured to the boy in question, eyes still not leaving Shimiko's, anger slowly gaining heat as I continued, starting to get very huffy, "who is too new for you to know him, you come running at the first sign of trouble. Why is that? Why are you go mean?" the volume of my speech had plateaued at shouting, "these kids have been through so much. You don't just get to decide who is worthy of love when all of them are."
I broke off when I realized that, besides me, it had gotten rather quiet outside. My eyes darted left and I saw that every child that was outside had stopped what they were doing, eyes trained on me. With all of the attention my courage disintegrated. My anger waned to a dull pulse. With cheeks flushing even further, I turned back to Shimiko. Through my sudden discomfort and with a cracking voice, I finished my monologue.
"You are a d-disgrace to Machi and everyone who truly cares about us."
Through her tight frown and clenched jaw I could tell she was keeping a lid on her anger. Only just. I may have gone a tad overboard.
Without a word, Shimiko pressed the tips of her fingers of her right hand to the ground in front of my feet. The speckles on her skin from the wrist down moved down her fingers and onto the grass, where they enlarged in a kaleidoscope of orange, brown, and purple. I was now at the epicenter of her quirk, and I knew I would be unable to leave the circle until she had decided I had learned my lesson. Whatever it was. She picked up the silent Ryouta and rested him on her hip.
Before turning to make her leave she bestowed upon me some biting words, "It's your name. And it's the only one you've got."
And she left me there. With all those kids watching me. Why was my chest so tight? My stomach in knots? This feeling has never been so bad and why won't they stop staring? Why did their staring bother me so much? I know I lost my cool I know I messed up stop looking at me. I crouched in the circle and buried my head in my arms, a soft whine escaping through my pursed lips. Something wasn't right this wasn't right Shimiko wasn't right. My name is wrong this name is wrong they are all wrong. I'm not mean. I'm not troublesome. I'm not Majiko.
I'm not Majiko.
I'm not Majiko.
My throat tightened and my eyes began to leak as I continued this mantra I have been telling myself for over a year. My body stiffened up as I tried to outwardly gain my composure.
I'm not Majiko.
I'm not Majiko.
Then it hit me. Not harshly, but with a feather light touch. With a caress and a murmur flashes of before flickered by like a film reel. My first time sledding. My first detention. My first time wearing fuzzy socks. Though not everything was shown everything was remembered. But what was most important in that moment was I knew who I was; and that wasn't Majiko.
With that revelation my body untensed.
I was an adult.
I am now a child.
I don't know how.
But I am still me.
I am Tay.
I'm always a slut for self inserts, and there aren't nearly enough for this series. So what better way to help fix that then adding my own to the selection?
This story was partially made to challenge myself as a writer. I have trouble writing first person limited perspective, and this will hopefully help with that.
So buckle up, keep you hands inside the vehicle at all times, and enjoy!
IMPORTANT: Any time words are italicized when someone is speaking the words are in English. This will be consistent with the rest of the fic.
EDIT: So, added and reworded some things on suggestion of my impromptu beta, 3VAMM3! She also has a My Hero Academia SI fanfic if you want to go check it out.