Portrait Of Makarov: Part 1

Nov 14, 2018 By Christina, 14
Airaphta's picture

If you found this note, then congratulations! You’re probably the first person to read this.

I didn’t really plan on sharing this with anybody, but for some reason I think it’s exciting that somebody out there, a complete stranger, will come across this note and read my story. So I guess that I’ll start by introducing myself. I am Thanh, a first-year student in college, and until a few months ago, I led a pretty unspectacular life. I attended in regular, middle-class middle school and high school in Japan, with decent teachers and decent grades. Back at college, before I dropped out, I used to study in psychology.

Now that I have introduced myself, I think I should clarify the contents of this note. Some of you may have caught some of the words in my introduction such as “until a few months ago” and “dropped out.” So I guess that it’s fair that I should tell you that I am living in seclusion in my parents’ old house. I assure you there is a good reason for this. A reason that scares me so much that I can feel my body stiffen up as I write it down.

After all, you never know where she might pop up. Who is she? I’ll tell you soon, unless she finds me before I can send this note away to you, random lucky stranger. In that case, we’re both doomed.

So now that I have clarified some things, I think it’s time I told you exactly happened.

It happened in April, a time where the trees are in bloom again, and the birds are singing. A time where if you were to take a stroll outside, there would be a colorful array of flowers wherever you go, and happiness hanging on doors like festive wreaths.

That’s what made what happened even more terrifying.

I had been sitting on the terrace of a cafe in Akihabara run by a friend (if you ever travel down Yura Lane, check it out, it’s the only cafe there) when I ran into a girl who looked about my age.

We had met by pure coincidence–or so I thought at the time. I recognized the book she was holding and started a conversation with her immediately. We had a lively discussion about the book, and she agreed to meet again tomorrow to analyze another. And so on Tuesday, after class, I strode eagerly to the cafe in my regular spot in the corner of the terrace, waiting for her. This time, she sauntered holding a hardcover book with an eerie red eye on the front cover, a book I had never seen before, one that she called Portrait of Makarov. Her brief description of it seemed pretty carefree…

“Basically, it's about this girl in high school who moves in with her long-lost sister... But as soon as she does so, her life gets really strange. She gets targeted by these people who escaped from a human experiment prison... And while her life is in danger, she needs to quickly and desperately choose who to trust. No matter what she does, she ends up destroying most of her relationships and her life starts to fall apart…” She was thrilled to show me the handwritten summary that she materialized out of her bag. However, when I flipped the paper over to see more messy, scrawled writing on the back, she stopped me and insisted we change the subject.

After that meeting I learned her name was Lissa, she was a second-year at a nearby private college and she was studying criminology. We exchanged emails and social media content with one another before departing...

(To be Continued...)