Tuesday at Midnight

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Chapter 2

Misaki's POV

Seven years ago, at Kuriyama Children’s Orphanage, I met Eriko Terajima. I would say she was the most unusual person I’d ever seen at first sight.

She had curly purple (yes purple) hair that went to just past her shoulders, one dark purple eye and one eye as white as snow with a scar running through it. She didn’t talk much, in fact in the first two weeks I knew her, she probably spoke about 3 full sentences and a bunch of one quiet worded answers.

Most of the other kids at the orphanage thought she was creepy. They nicknamed her “Ghost Girl”. She ignored them. She ignored pretty much everyone. And yet for some reason I couldn’t leave her alone.

She would sit by herself every day, reading a book, drawing or writing in a small book she owned or just staring into space. She never tried to play with the other kids. She never asked to join in. It was the same at school. Always by herself. And the strangest part was, she was okay with it.

I tried to be her friend on multiple occasions. She ignored me like everyone else. Mistress said it was trauma and she would open up in time. I didn’t believe her. Almost an entire year passed. I’d gotten to know her better. She would talk to me sometimes. She kept a small stack of books next to her bed. And more on the small bookshelf she bought with money from jobs. But it filled up fast.

So I decided that I would do something that would maybe make us better friends. I built her another bookshelf. Okay I lied. I got some of the others to help me. The ones that didn’t find her creepy. We painted it bright blue. And somehow on the exact day she came to the orphanage, one year later, it was finished. The only problem was, where to put it.

Mistress said she couldn’t keep it at the orphanage. We didn’t trust the other students to leave it at school. We decided to let Eriko find a place for it. And she did. In the corner of the library, where no one would notice it. She loved it.

Eriko was a sweet girl. She may have seemed cold and uncaring but on the inside she was just hurt. And little by little she was coming out of her shell. We became close friends. We’d buy books together, even though I wasn’t that much of a reader. She always managed to find a book that actually sounded interesting to me, even if I took 5x longer to read a single book compared to her speed reading ability.

We were so close to filling the bookshelf. We didn’t get much money but we slowly were filling it regardless. It probably would’ve taken longer if she hadn’t let me put my few books on it too.

But then five years ago something changed, which meant that bookshelf would never be filled, no matter how much I willed and wanted it too.

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