Chapter II

✧Trapped✧

Saturday, April 6th 2019 appr. 0500 am JST, Tokyo, Japan

Saturday morning again? I cannot really tell if it is or not, but the nurses have not been in to check up on me yet, so it must be a Saturday. They are usually never late on the weekdays and show up an hour later on Saturdays and Sundays. 

I can never exactly tell what day it is, and the reason is that I am trapped. Trapped in a perpetual stillness, locked away within the confines of my own mind. See, for the past eight years or so, I have been confined to this hospital bed, my body unresponsive, my consciousness held captive. I feel like a ghost in this sterile room, day in and day out, a silent observer of a world continuing down the passage of time without me.

I watch from my hidden vantage point as my loved ones come and go, their visits filling this bland and boring existence with a blend of joy and sorrow, a reminder of what I am missing out on. When they enter, their faces are etched with concern and longing for their friend, sister, daughter, niece, or granddaughter. 

Continually, I watch as they age, almost becoming strangers to me with each visit. Once small and innocent, my younger siblings have grown before my invisible eyes. In some ways, it is blatant, but in other ways, it is subtle, like how my brother now laughs or how my sister’s demeanor has changed from a bright and bubbly girl to some emotionally mature young woman. They visit sporadically, their lives moving forward, their memories of me becoming faint echoes in their minds.

Family and friends bring flowers and vibrant blooms that wither and fade with the passage of time. I witness the cycle of life and death, the fragility of existence encapsulated within those delicate petals. When they pass, my mother and grandmother collect their wilted remains, disposing of them with heavy hearts, never realizing how much I yearn for their scent to fill my ethereal sense that I yearn to feel being held by them.

Cards come and go, tokens of love and well-wishes. I observe as my mother reads each one aloud, her voice choking with emotions as she tries so hard to hide her pain. They provide solace, a tangible connection between those who visit and the voiceless being that resides within this comatose shell. But when she leaves, the cards go with her, leaving me once again in the lonely embrace of silence.

In this state of suspended animation, boredom has become my closest companion. The days blend into weeks, the weeks into years, and I am left to witness the world without me being a part of it. I yearn for movement, for the warmth of the sun on my face, for the touch of a loved one’s hand. 

I desire the memories and milestones that have been stolen from me during all these years: the school festivals and cultural events, the chance to top my class, and opportunities for a high school romance I will never reclaim.

It all would have been nice, but I am trapped, an invisible specter condemned to watch as life unfolds around me.

Sakurai Maho is a name that once held so much promise and vitality. Before the accident, I was a spirited and determined young woman, just fifteen years old, residing in Yamagata, Japan. My heart brimmed with hopes and dreams, and I thrived on pursuing excellence in every aspect of my life, which was expected of me at home.

As a Miko, a shrine maiden, I found solace and purpose in the sacred traditions of my ancestral shrine. I performed rituals and ceremonies, connecting the mortal realm with the divine. It was a role that bestowed upon me a sense of reverence and duty, one I embraced with unwavering devotion.

Academically, I excelled, proudly occupying the top spot in my class. Knowledge was my ally, and I eagerly absorbed every lesson and every piece of information that came my way. But my pursuits did not end there. I was an active participant in numerous extracurricular activities, always seeking to challenge myself and broaden my horizons.

In addition to my academic accomplishments, I also enjoyed life to the fullest. I kicked off every summer with my birthday on June 1st, celebrating with my many friends. Sports provided an outlet for my boundless energy and competitive spirit. Whether it was running across the field or diving into the pool, I reveled in the thrill of physical exertion and the exhilaration of victory. But it was not just about the personal triumphs; I relished the opportunity to prove myself against those who underestimated me. Those older boys who dared to make unwanted romantic advances quickly learned I was more than capable of defending myself and kicking their butts.

Bullies, as well, felt the weight of my determination. I had no tolerance for injustice and refused to be a silent victim. With unwavering resolve, I confronted them head-on, ready to fight for myself and others who were subjected to their torment. I stood tall, unyielding in the face of adversity, and sent a clear message that their actions would not go unchallenged.

But life has a way of testing our resilience, even amid our triumphs. One fateful day, a bully crossed a line, resulting in me being pushed down a flight of stairs with callous intent. My body collided with a harsh ledge, and the impact reverberated through my being. The world around me blurred, fading into darkness as my consciousness slipped away.

That moment marked a tragic turning point in my life. The accident claimed my vitality, leaving me trapped in a coma, my dreams and aspirations suspended in time. The vibrant young woman I once was became an intangible presence, invisible to the world that continued to move forward without me.

And so, here I remain, a dormant spirit, waiting for the day when I can reclaim my place in the world. In this ethereal existence, memories of my past accomplishments and aspirations mingle with the silent yearning for a future yet to be realized. In the depths of my comatose slumber, I hold on to the hope that one day, I will awaken, and the indomitable spirit of Sakurai Maho will once again shine brightly.

In the endless stretches of time of my comatose existence, the only real things I have time for are my thoughts and dreams. I find solace in the memories of a recurring dream that once filled my nights. It was a vision that unfolded with relentless intensity, etching its vivid details deep within my consciousness every night before the accident.

In that dream, I embodied the essence of a pregnant woman, her body heavy with life, as she trailed behind a gallant knight in shining armor. Our steps echoed with urgency as we fled from the clutches of wicked men who relentlessly pursued us and sought to capture us. Together, we ventured through a treacherous and darkened path in the shadow of night.

My knight, my valiant protector, fought with a ferocity and determination that ignited a flame within me when I was very young. With each swing of his sword, he displayed a raw, untamed strength that defied the limits of mortal endurance. Even as his body bore the burden of multiple wounds, he refused to yield, rising time and again to continue the battle. Even after being stabbed multiple times, he fought on.

His resilience became a beacon of inspiration, a testament to the indomitable spirit which lies within us all. The memory of that brave knight’s unwavering fighting spirit serves as a reminder that even in the face of insurmountable odds, one must never relinquish the will to fight. It is a lesson etched into the fibers of my being, a guiding force that whispers, “Hold on, keep striving, for there is strength within you that surpasses all limits.” I based my life around that: no matter how hard I get beaten down, I must rise up and fight back. If I am honest with myself, it is likely the one lesson that has kept me going through this coma.

Though his face remained concealed to me from beneath his helmet, I felt a profound connection to him. Admiration, respect, and a deep well of love flowed within me, intertwining my heart with his unyielding resolve. In the depths of my being, I yearned for my knight in shining armor to appear now to rescue me from the stagnant prison of my comatose state.

I still cling to the hope that one day, my knight will find his way to me once more, piercing through the veil that separates our worlds and somehow save me from this endless nightmare I have been unable to rescue myself from. Until then, I dwell in this realm between consciousness and the unknown, cherishing the memories of his valor as I continue to draw strength from his unwavering spirit. 

All I can do is sit and wait, praying that he will please save me.