Disclaimer: Shojo Kakumei Utena belongs to Chiho Saito, BE-PAPAS, and Software Sculptors.

It's a story that's become all too common on the news these days.  Some guy goes off his rocker for whatever reason, and decides he might as well take a few people with him on his way out. So he shows up at some office building like Rambo and just sprays the lobby and everyone in it with bullets before turning the gun on himself. It's sad, it's tragic, but it's always someone else's problem. Just another news item.

And then it happens at my office.

Even then, it still doesn't touch me directly. My little cubicle is so many floors and so many security checks removed from the action that I find out about the whole thing only because one of my colleagues has his radio constantly tuned to the all-news station.  It actually takes us a minute to realize it happened (was happening?) in our building. And as it turned out, no one in our office was involved in the incident, for which all of us are grateful.

But it was our building, after all, and maybe some of the guilt rests on us. So the company president decides to pay funeral expenses and what-have-you to the victims' families, as a gesture of sympathy and goodwill.

I issue the checks. It's my job, and I'd like to think I'm pretty good at it.  This is routine work for me, even if the circumstances surrounding it couldn't be further from the routine. I know what I need to do and I do it. Until I come to two names on the casualty list:

Himemiya, Anthy.

And further down: Tenjou, Utena.

This just isn't possible.

I just sit and stare at the names for what seems like an eternity.  Finally, I make a decision. My job done, I ask my boss for the rest of the day off. It's granted without question.

I grab public transportation to the county coroners' office. I have to know.

It's the sort of place that you've seen in detective movies and television shows. But they can't prepare you for everything that confronts you when you walk into the morgue. The smell, especially.  Not that of death, to be sure, but the disinfectants are strong enough to make you think a little too hard about what they're covering up.

I actually work up the nerve to ask one of the lab coats if I may see the bodies. There is a hesitation, and after some confusion (one of them finally asks if I'm claiming the two of them… evidently no one has up to now), they let me in.

A cabinet is opened, and the sheet pulled back. Brown skin, just barely starting to take on the blue-gray pallor of death. Short, curly, vaguely purple hair, but of a shade that somehow looks natural for her.

Her face looks odd without her glasses, but the disquieting expression of peace on her face is unmistakable. Even in death, she is content with her lot. It's just like Anthy.

My voice cracks as I turn to the lab coat. "…and Utena…?"

Her hair looks more strawberry blonde than the deep pink I remember, and I can barely stand to look at her face, ruined as it from the effects of several bullets, but she, too, could not be recognized for anyone else. Gods…

I close the cabinet with shaky hands, and get the hell out of there.

Nightfall finds me still wandering the streets of the city. I am still aghast at it all. All this time, I thought they were fiction, imaginary creations of the animator's mind. And even before I discover otherwise, they cease to exist on this world after all.

Fate giveth, and fate taketh away…

Webmaster: Larry F
Last revision: May 21, 2007