II

A peek into the life that Aito lived before that fateful night.

“Hey, kid. Boss wants you outta bed. Says you’re pushing it at one o’ clock.”

I didn’t look up from my pillow, but I was able to stop the prick’s incessant rant with the pistol lying on my nightstand. Lucky me, too, cause I had no f****n’ clue where I was aiming.

“Then go tell the fatass to wake me up himself, instead of sending his hoes in to do it for him.”

Not too fond of having a gun pointed at him, the man promptly did as he was told, though I was certain he hesitated a moment out of fury - my head was still buried in my pillow, and with the Persian rug carpeting the floor, I had no way of knowing when he actually left the room. Nonetheless, the guy had fulfilled his orders, as my actions following his departure were to kick the comforter off of my overslept body and roll over on my back in order to get a good view of the painted ceiling - yeah, it was basically a rip-off of the Sistine Chapel, but what prick has the nerve to try and top that in this modern age? I found kinda ironic, to be honest. It was a painting of Man and God, but the fat b*****d who owned this gigantic estate was no closer to the latter than any non-believer I’d ever heard of - and I would vouch for that any day of the year. …They say that good deeds never go unrewarded. Hmph, well I have news for whatever ignorant guy conjured up that horseshit. Bad deeds have a way bigger pay-off, and when you run the largest yakuza organization in the States, …you tend to make quite a living for yourself, to say the least.

Yeah, that’s my life in a nutshell. Aito Ryokudan, mobster child - or child of a mobster, hell, I dunno. It sucks on so many levels, I can’t even count ‘em all. For one, the a*****e who runs this whole shtick is just that, both in appearance and in attitude, and not only do I have to live with him, but I have to live with his name, too. I don’t know if you’ve ever tried it or not, but it’s not exactly easy to build a nice reputation for yourself in public when your father runs a criminal empire - not that I spent much time IN public. The nice lifestyle’s alright, I guess - it’s Hawaii, after all - but why have style when you don’t really have much of a life, y’know? …And such was my usual thought pattern immediately after waking up. It never really underwent any drastic changes from day to day, nor did my overall routine. Speaking of which, this is right about the time when the old man would be here to make me answer for that remark I made to his henchman. …Speak of the devil.

“So, what’s this I hear about a ‘fatass’ ordering you to get outta bed, Aito?” he asked as he barged into the room, acting as though he owned the f****n’…oh, right.

“Not a clue. Whoever said it certainly hit the mark, though.” I said half-assedly, not looking at him or really caring about the consequences of my words for that matter, even if they did entice me to clench my forehead as a loud “f**k” escaped my lips.

“I’m gettin’ sick and f****n’ tired of havin’ to pop you every day after you wake up, you little s**t! Start respecting the man who bothers to house and feed your sorry a*s!”

He quickly exited the room once he had finished, knowing that if he stuck around any longer, he’d be there whipping my a*s all day, cause there was no way in Hell I was gonna let him think he had won. …This was my entire morning, basically - at least since Mom died. I don’t know why he even bothered waking me up anymore. It’s not like I left my room very often, whether I was asleep or not. I couldn’t stand more than a second of seeing that giant blob of flesh whose sack I was unfortunate enough to have shot out of, but I was still forced to put up with it at least three times a day - mealtimes, for those of you too dull to catch on. …And speaking of dull people…

“Hey, uh, …you okay, Aito?” my older brother asked me as he made his way into my bedroom. He must have gotten lost in the halls when he realized I was nearby.

“…Yeah. …I’m fine, Seishin.”

Seishin was about two years older than I was, his hair the same dark-brown color as my own, though much shorter. His blue shirt was inside-out, as I recall - the poor guy could barely dress himself - but our father couldn’t give less of a f**k, let alone bother helping him out. As far as he was concerned, Seishin was legally retarded, rendering him completely useless to the yakuza and, therefore, to himself. He didn’t see what Mom saw in him, or what Mao and I saw in our big brother. He was capable of more than he ever realized, and being forced to help him after Mom’s death, I saw this firsthand. I don’t recall ever having to give him more than four or five pointers a day, this being one of those times.

“You know you got your shirt inside-out, bro?” I pointed out to him, causing him to stare down at it before looking up again.

“Yeah, but…I-I do that so the tag doesn’t make my neck itch.” he answered. I couldn’t help but chuckle at him for this. …He said the strangest things at times.

“…We stopped buying you shirts with tags a long time ago, Seishin. Remember?”

He looked up in thought for a minute before his eyes widened slightly in realization. See, a little slow, but he always managed to catch up with everyone around him.

“Oh, …yeah, that’s right.” he said dully. I heaved a sigh of minor irritation before standing up, still in the boxers and gym shorts I had slept in the night before.

“Alright, let me help you out real quick.” I offered, at which point he took his shirt off and handed it to me. After turning it right side out and making sure he knew that the front was the side with the brand symbol on it, he took it back from me and put it back on properly before turning to me with a grin on his face.

“Thank you, Aito.” he told me, his cheerfulness leaving me incapable of suppressing a small smile of my own.

“Don’t worry about it. …Where were you planning to go, anyways?” I asked as the thought entered my mind. He hesitated to answer, having clearly forgotten what his destination was before stumbling upon my room, at which point I heaved another sigh.

“Alright, then. Where were you coming FROM?”

“Uhhh, I came from my bedroom.” he answered, at which point the sound of a low growl filled the room. Now understanding, I closed my eyes and chuckled softly before opening them again.

“Were you heading to the kitchen, Seishin, is that it?” I asked to confirm my beliefs. Another growl filled the room shortly after I said this, and the poor fool was feeling around his stomach as though it were carrying an unborn child.

“Uhh, yeah. Heh he, I’m kinda hungry.” he said gleefully, at which point I was forced to lower my head as laughter overcame me. It was wrong of me, I know, but Seishin was just too funny to ignore at times. I looked back up at him again after nearly twenty seconds of hilarity, still trying to regain my composure.

“Alright. …Just give me a sec and I’ll go there with you, alright?”

“Okay.” he replied, although he apparently had no idea what my request entailed, since he didn’t leave the room. I was ultimately forced to push him out the door before shutting it behind him and locking it, heaving a sigh of relief once this rather tedious task had been completed. I met him out in the hall roughly seven minutes later, now dressed in loose-fitting jeans and a roomy, green t-shirt, my gun tucked into the back of my pants for good measure. I’ve never once loaded it - with live ammo, at least - but in this house, amongst some of America’s biggest fuckups and lowlifes, even an empty heater was better than not carrying one at all. The identity of their leader made no difference as far as that logic was concerned.

The size of the manor made the walk from my room to the kitchen well over five minutes, but thankfully, no one made an attempt to hassle us the entire trip. I wasn’t particularly hungry at the time, despite having just woken up - the old man had a habit of making me lose my appetite - so I simply stood next to the entrance of the room as Seishin dug through the cabinets in search of the Kappa Ebisen - his favorite snack. Once he found them, he sat down at the counter located in the center of the relatively spacious room, smiling gleefully as he popped the shrimp-flavored morsels into his mouth one after the other. I could only shake my head as I watched him, finding it hard to believe that even a man of his intellectual caliber could find that kind of happiness in a place I had no problem describing as “Hell on Earth”. The man who entered from the opposite side of the room would end up answering this question for me, in that it was possible, …just not for long periods at a time.

“Out here prowling for a mid-day snack, are we, Seishin?” he asked my brother as he walked up beside him, his obvious intentions arousing my hatred for reasons too numerous to list. The man was roughly three inches taller than him - placing him nearly half a foot over me - and he was wearing shades in an evident attempt to look cooler, despite being inside. Adding to his “douchebag” persona were his excessive tan, the white tank top beneath his open Hawaiian shirt, light-brown cargo pants help up by a shoelace, and red Chuck Taylor sneakers, not to mention the Ed Hardy he was wearing on top of his curly black hair - sideways, no less. I’ll be honest, this wasn’t the first time he had dressed in this exact outfit, and I wanted to knock the m**********r out every time I saw him wearing it. Unfortunately, though, that just wasn’t an option, since he was one of the old man’s favorite underlings - mainly because he had no restrictions and no sense of morality. …He was picking on a handicapped man, after all.

“Sure am, Roku. I’m eating some Kappa Ebisen.” Seishin replied, completely oblivious to what I was already well aware of. He didn’t bother looking up at him for more than a few seconds before reaching into the bag for another chip, only to have it swiftly snatched away before he could toss it into his gaping mouth.

“Certainly look good. Think I’ll take a few for myself.” Roku replied as he held the morsel over his head before dropping it between his patiently waiting jaws. Although expressing a little disappointment, Seishin didn’t seem to mind this and simply reached into the bag for another, only to have this process repeat itself once more. This continued for another minute, Seishin becoming more and more frustrated with each attempt. By the time I had finally had enough, I was clenching my fist so tightly that, had my nails been longer, they would’ve undoubtedly drawn blood.

“Hey, Denashi. You can stop being a f****n’ a*****e any time you feel like it.”

The small-timer was just about to steal another piece from Seishin’s hand, giving the latter some relief when he halted his progress in favor of turning to face me.

“Mind repeating that, you little s**t?” he asked condescendingly, holding his hand beneath his shirt in an effort to scare me. Yet another indication of how stupid he was, since I knew damn well that he kept his gun tucked in the back of his pants, same as I did.

“My pleasure. Stop…being…a…f*****g…a*****e.” I replied �" slowly, just to make sure that he heard me this time around �" before pulling out my own gun and pointing it at him for good measure. Despite practically living under the same roof as him for almost six years, the dumb prick was still completely foreign to my own habits and customs, since he seemed to honestly believe that it was loaded.

“Whoa, Aito, whoa! What the f**k are you planning on doin’ with that!?” he shouted, holding his hands up in order to show that he was unarmed and he meant no harm. Regardless of this, I still cocked my gun.

“Get the f**k outta the kitchen, Denashi. …Now.” I ordered him, neither blinking nor lowering my weapon. The aggravation on his face was clear as day, but nonetheless, he slowly began making his way towards the exit to the kitchen, keeping his eyes on me the entire time as Seishin stared blankly from the sidelines, still munching down on his Kappa Ebisen. Roku was apparently waiting for something to happen, though at the time, I didn’t know what it was. I was much more fixated on that piece of trash sitting on top of his head.

“Wait a sec.” I called out. He obeyed this without hesitation �" I told you he was waiting for something �" but what I asked of him next wouldn’t be nearly as easy for him to comply with.

“Gimme that damn hat.”

…Told you.

“Say what?” he asked, his aggravation now replaced by utter confusion. I held my hand out in front of me, so as to grab the hat when he finally decided to give it up.

“Just gimme the f****n’ hat, Roku. I can’t bear to look at it for another ten seconds.” I told him, gagging slightly in reaction to having accidentally used his given name. He was still hesitant to hand it over, enticing me to yell at him to “hurry the f**k up,” at which point he finally submitted. Catching the hat in my outstretched hand, I proceeded to stare at it for a second or two before looking back up at Roku with a disgusted expression.

“Ed f****n’ Hardy…for God’s sake, Denashi, you’re Japanese. By natural law, you’re better than this douchebag-y s**t. …Same goes for the tan, too. Holy f**k, you look like you’re covered in caramel.” I explained, prompting him to tighten his fists, which were still hoisted up in the air. Smirking in light of this, I walked over to the nearby trash bin and stepped on the lever at its base, opening its lid. I dropped the hat inside, not taking my eyes off Roku as I did, then reached into my back pocket for my lighter, which I proceeded to open before igniting the flint inside. By this time, even his small mind had caught on to what I was planning to do, producing an expression that melded horror with rage. I opened my mouth to speak in reaction to this, a moment too early it seemed, …otherwise I might’ve seen his scowl gradually morphing into a devilish smile.

“Don’t gimme that look. I’m doing your stupid a*s a fav-”

I don’t know what happened at that exact moment, but in the next one - of those I had spent conscious - I was lying on my chest in the middle of a field of grass. The first thought to creep into my mind concerned Seishin and his well-being, the second revolving around the fact that my body was aching like crazy, and the third being a loud “f**k” as the answer to my second inquiry hit me - literally. It seemed that another one of my father’s small-timers had knocked me out cold back in the kitchen as I was about to set Roku’s hat aflame, then carried me out to the front lawn with the help of the aforementioned douchebag and one other. From there, they must’ve been taking turns kicking me for God-knows-how-long, with Roku undoubtedly sneaking in a few extras just cause I made him s**t his pants.

“Oh, look! He’s finally up! Now, ya see what happens when you f**k with me, you little s**t!? You get stomped into the ground, that’s what!!” he shouted upon realizing that I was awake - in truth, I wouldn’t be surprised if he spent the entire duration of my unconsciousness thinking up that retort. This thought brought me some sense of satisfaction, but it didn’t help the fact that my body was sore all over, the fact that they were still kicking me helping it even less. I was just moments away from passing out a second time, and to be honest, I wish I had done so sooner, …just so I didn’t have to see HIS fat, ugly mug step out onto the front lawn.

“HEY HEY HEY!!! WHAT THE F**K ARE YOU ALL DOIN’!!?” Yatsumi called out to them, prompting them to stop their assault almost immediately. I have to admit, half of me expected that he was just trying to prevent them from getting blood on his grass, but the other half of me genuinely believed that he was looking out for his son. …Guess for yourself which half was more outspoken in my mind.

“Boss! Your boy here pulled a f****n’ gun on me while I was grabbing a bite to eat!” Roku tried to explain, causing me to instantly forget that his shoe was right next to my face.

“You were f*****g with Seishin, you assh-”

I couldn’t get the last word out before the prick drove his heel into my nose, sending my head crashing back to the ground as my breathing deepened. I set my sights on my father next, and he set his on me. I was desperately hoping, praying that there was at least one ounce of pity for the boy he raised in his black heart, some tiny speck of a conscience calling out for him to stop this ruthless beating. …I found none.

“Don’t leave any blood on my grass, you understand me?” he called out to them before turning around and heading back inside, taking both my hope and all the color in my face with him. Everything around me suddenly became silent, including whatever hacky remark spewed from Roku’s mouth when he turned back to face me with a s**t-eating grin plastered on his face. The first kick that followed was to the face. How many came after it, I have no idea, cause I lost consciousness shortly afterwards.

I awoke after two hours - my best guess, since the sun was just now beginning to set - and feebly rose to my feet. My first thought was to find a mirror and see the extent of the damage, while the second thought told the first one to f**k off. I couldn’t help but comply with the latter - God knows how terrible it must’ve been. Thankfully, my bones were all intact, though just barely, the strain bringing the duration of my walk back to the front door up to nearly four minutes - I was only thirty yards away. When I finally made it, I plopped my aching a*s down on the top step and sat there, my head buried in my arms, and my eyes buried beneath my tears.

“M**********r…goddamn you…”

I looked ever so slightly to my left to find an old friend sitting beside me - the gun that ultimately started this entire scuffle. Roku must’ve left it there as an invitation to “try and pull that s**t again.” Rage quickly overcame me, but it was almost immediately replaced…by a desire to know what the barrel of that gun tasted like. I looked around the immediate vicinity for some sign that I was still needed in this world, or that there was something even remotely worth sticking around for. As expected, though, I found nothing.

“…F**k it.”

I couldn’t recall whether or not the gun was loaded at the time - or, if it was, whether or not the bullets in the magazine were genuine - but as far as I was concerned, it was a win-win situation either way. Besides, I had always thought that I was already in Hell, so surely the real thing couldn’t have been much different. I was hardly a fraction of a second away from pulling the trigger and finding out…when the word “brother” - spoken in the most innocent of voices - entered my ears and practically forced my finger away.

“Why are you doing that?”

Removing the gun from my mouth as though I had just been caught drinking sake, I turned around in a small fit of panic to find myself greeted by the sight of a young boy, about six years and one-and-a-half feet my junior. His appearance was the most sophisticated I had seen all day, as if the classiness of the manor actually matched that of the people who lived in it. A crisp, white suit fitting for Colonel Sanders, topped off a matching bowtie and dress shoes, and short, brown hair combed off to the left side, so that not an inch of his blemishless forehead was left hidden to the naked eye. His face showed hints of concern and curiosity, but even this didn’t let me know what was really on his mind. …It was kinda strange, I thought. I knew him better than anyone, yet at the same time, his expression was the one I had the most trouble reading out of all of ‘em. …Such was the wonder of my little brother.

“No reason, Mao. …No reason at all.”

Author's Note

As I mentioned before, I change viewpoints regularly, and this is one of those times.

Hopefully, it gets your approval. And if something about it didn't, by all means, tell me what it is. I'm all ears.