"Saibou no hanashi" - One Shot Collection

Neither a life as short as his, nor the constant danger he was facing while doing the task he was created for, were so hard and cold as the looks of disdain and disgust he was receiving from cells of other types. His profession was quite frowned upon by the rest of the cells who didn't belong to the immune system. What an irony, considering the fact that, as a white blood cell, he was dedicating most of his life to keeping the world safe for them, and not to mention, that, as a neutrophil, he was the first one at the front line. And still, not even one tiny bit of gratitude. It was a ridiculously short life, so short that he didn't even bother wasting precious minutes fighting with his coworkers. Every time he was seeing the always useless screaming about to begin, he put his hands into his pockets and walked away, since wandering around was still better than listening to them. Due to this, he reached places others perhaps never would. He liked learning about the organs' functions, since he had almost no one to talk to. But, then again, not a lot of cells would stop to have a conversation with a neutrophil. He had taken the habit of reading the informative posters, yes, he had really learned a lot. A few times he had tried to talk to a cell, who was reading some interesting fact, say something to start a conversation, but was either ignored or just got an "Ah, okay, I have to go". They didn't even try to hide their fear or disgust. It was fucked-up, it was hard, but this was how his life was, there was nothing he could do. There was something strange about their universe, and sometimes he was wondering for which cause they were even living in the same world, if they didn't even look at each other. From time to time, he was writing down these thoughts, into a small notebook he was keeping in his pocket. If no one wanted to hear his questions, then he would at least write them down for himself. "We have one single world for everyone. So why can't every one of us be there for each other?" "Is the white color maybe meant to mitigate the red one covering us?" "Why is our existence so empty?" "What is the meaning of our existence? Breathing, moving, living... what meaning does all of this have?" His walkie-talkie started to sound, while he was looking with a certain melancholy at his task card. One more and his lifespan would end. Any other cell would feel sad, but he didn't care about it. What would be the point, anyway? He was ordered to go to the kidney, which was a warzone, as it seemed. Cancer had been sighted there. The neutrophil looked at a poster with a map of different parts of the body hanging on the wall. He realized that he already had visited that place before, but by another route, so maybe he would learn something new before he would have to part. He looked for his pencil to write down a thought, but couldn't find it. Maybe he had lost it during a battle. "Excuse me..." He kindly approached an erythrocyte to ask to lend him one, but the latter looked like he had seen the devil and ran away. "Ah, hey, I don't want to bother you, but..." The common cell, however, completely ignored him. "Would you have a...?" Ignored once again. It was hard, and he was silently lamenting the fact that absolutely nothing had changed, even towards the end of his lifespan. "Perhaps I should tell them: 'You know, I'm going to die soon. And I spent my whole fucking life hurting myself and taking risks so idiots like you can live longer and better. So would you be so kind as to lend me a damn pen? And if possible, without looking at me as if I was a monster, I'm just doing my job like everyone else.'." He sighed deeply. No, he would never do this, it wouldn't have any sense, either way. Now, a young woman with short hair walked by in front of him, pushing an oxygen cart, alright, he would answer her as well. She stopped. "Why am I even bothering, she'll either get scared or ignore me..." But it was still worth a try. "Hey, you, lend me your pen." However, she didn't flee, instead giving him that pen. Without looking at him with disgust. "Of course, here you go." Not a hint of repulsion in her voice. For the first time ever in his meaningless existence, a cell of a different type had treated him with respect, like an equal. She continued her path. He took the pen, realizing that she hadn't even asked to get it back. "She really gave it to me?" The neutrophil took out his notebook, but had forgotten what he had wanted to write into it. He felt stupid: so much insisting for a pen and all for nothing. It had surely been something cold and melancholic, and he had forgotten it... but, to be honest, it was kind of pleasant to forget something like that. "Shit, the kidney!" But instead, he remembered his last task and took his leave, after having guarded the pen in his jacket's inner pocket. Interestingly, that girl was heading there as well. But he wouldn't address her again, of course, after all, it wasn't like red blood cells and white blood cells had a lot to talk about. She was walking with quick steps ahead of him, pushing her cart. And he, well, was behind her, his hands in his pockets and observing her from a distance, thinking that it had never occurred to him before to wonder what being a red blood cell was like. "They live longer and are very fast and strong. But useless in combat... I wonder how it feels like to not have a nucleus. The red's looking good, on her uniform, at least. And her hair is red too, I've never seen someone with red hair before." "Are you following me?" That question took the neutrophil out of his thoughts. In some way he was, but not just without any reason, it was because they were going to the same place. "I'm just going to the kidneys." "Huh, me too." "You shouldn't, it's a warzone now. Cancer." The albino found it tragicomic to watch the delivery girl getting scared and asking for a different route. Her face took on such a funny expression of fear as her request was declined. He could hear that her name was "Ae3803" or something like that. "Nice to meet you, I'm 1116 from the neutrophilic U-squad," he thought. It was a habit he had acquired while listening to conversations of other cells, imagining what he would have replied if they had been talking to him. "So scary..." "Don't be afraid, I'll protect you." He didn't know why he said it out loud. It had been almost something like an automatic reaction. "Really?" "Of course, you lent me your pen, after all." She looked him in the eye, without running away in fear. And on top of that, she had really beautiful eyes. Or was it because her gaze was lacking any kind of malice? Whatever, it didn't really matter. Her eyes were precious, no doubts about that. If she hadn't been looking, he would have written it down. Written down how beautiful he found a woman's eyes, how he would protect someone who had been nice to him, how he had talked to a red blood cell. How he had given someone an interesting information about the body's functions, and how that someone had appreciated it. "It's fascinating to see someone's eyes after they have learned something new," thought the white soldier, looking at the delivery girl, who was observing the world around her. She was a rookie. But each journey was bound to come to an end. He held his promise and protected her. His last task had been completed, and his lifespan was over now. Life was so cruel, now of all moments when he had wanted it to last a bit longer. For the very first time, he had a lot of questions for his notebook that weren't sad. "Why is her hair red?" "Why is it short?" "Why is her voice so pleasant?" "Why is she kind to me?" "Why couldn't we get to know each other earlier...?" "Why does my life come to an end... precisely at the moment I want to live it?" "So you are going to die now... Why do you have to die, now that we could become friends?" she had asked him, and, despite all, there had been something in her words that had made him feel happy: they could have become friends. "The impact you caused me was so huge that I'm sure I will remember you in the next life or even the one after that," he replied with a smile. The first honest one during his entire existence. "Don't forget me." "I won't. See you..." "I swear". *** Having reached the waiting room, he had to hand over his weapons and everything he was carrying, except for his clothes. He did, but hid the pen. While walking to the place where he would be disintegrated, he took the pen out of his pocket, waiting until the necessary document would be filled in order to proceed. He lifted his sleeve and wrote on his palm: "Going to see each other again?" Then he entered the room and looked at it. Erasing the question mark with the thumb of his other hand. After all, it is said that everybody "writes their own destiny".