She didn't know what was going on. Everything was happening too quickly, too loudly, it was too much all at once. The strange boy with blue hair and ratty clothes was dragging her on a wild run across the rooftops of what looked like a stereotypical old-fashioned italian/european town while people yelled and called in what to her battered, barely-comprehending ears sounded a lot like Japanese.
It was mid-afternoon and the heat beating down on her bare arms and legs could only come from the summer sun, which made no sense because last she'd checked it was late night in the middle of december. In New York.
Then again, her panic-hazed brain somehow managed to point out, last she'd checked she she'd also been over twenty years old, not toddling around as a child in an oversized shirt. Also, very importantly, she'd been a legal adult who'd lost consciousness after getting slashed across the throat with a knife , before waking up just outside a bustling countryside town she'd never seen before in her life. She'd wandered in, hoping to find some help, only to get lost, herded into an alley, and attacked by some very unsavory men.
Is this is how people experience their journey to the afterlife? If so, why Japanese speaking Italians? Why the running? Why the headache, pedophiles, and freaking explosions ? The blue-haired boy who couldn't have been older than nine, which was disturbing because he was taller than she was, hissed something she barely caught as he tugged her into jumping over a gap between roofs, "Koi! Hayaku!"
Hayaku, faster/hurry up. Koi … come on? She tried to ask why, but nearly stumbled instead at the throbbing sensation blooming in her throat when she tried to make a sound, what-? Her free hand pressed against her throat, another jolt of adrenaline spiking through her as she realized that there was a definite, diagonal line of raised flesh stretching across her neck. The knife! It must be from the knife! But why would I have a scar if I'm dead? But if I'm not dead, how am I still alive if it…?
Her thoughts were interrupted when the blue-haired boy clutching her wrist abruptly dragged her toward another fire escape, "Ike! Ike!" Ike, that means go. Go? Why? Where are we going? What's going on? The thoughts blurred in her mind as she was urged down the fire escape by the boy, her body automatically following his instructions while her brain tried to comprehend what was happening and failed miserably.
As soon as their feet hit the cobbled pavement they were off again. Running around garbage bins, scrambling over discarded boxes, and winding a twisting path through the unfamiliar location so quickly that she was soon even more lost than before. When they finally stopped running, she dropped to the ground, temporarily ignoring her new surroundings as she tried with marginal success to coax her burning lungs into providing oxygen.
She leaned back, only dimly aware of rough brick rubbing her back through the material of her favorite shirt, now so oversized it served as a short dress, and nicking faintly at her scalp. Her feet throbbed from running bare over uneven surfaces for who knew how long, sweat sticking her normally curly golden hair to her forehead. Her heart was pounding so loudly it was sending painful pulses through her skull, guess I can't be dead then, a part of her pointed out with a hysterical giggle, everyone knows dead people don't have heartbeats…
Motion in front and slightly to her left side heralded a grubby hand shaking her shoulder lightly and a worried voice over her head, "Oi, daijō ka?" Slowly, she opened her eyes, staring blankly at the boy who she should have towered over yet was now smaller than, brain struggling and failing to provide a solution to the conundrum of his appearance.
Now that she wasn't being dragged who-knew-where, she was able to study him and let the full magnitude of his appearance set in. How does a clearly homeless child get blue hair? The answer that popped up in her head was just as ridiculous as the question, the same way he gets ruby red eyes and a giant stick figure tattoo stretching from his forehead down the bridge of his nose. Wait, why does that look familiar?
The boy was scowling at her now, but the look in his eyes was more frightened than angry and she realized that she had yet to answer his question. She opened her mouth, the part of her that had had Marisa's language lessons thoroughly pounded into her brain ready to reply in, heavily accented, Japanese. However, as soon as she attempted to push sound out of her mouth, something twinged sharply in her throat and she doubled over coughing instead.
The twinge settled and she sat up again, hands flying to her throat to feel the raised line of rough skin again, oh no. No, no, no, no! Desperately, she tried to speak again, in either English or Japanese, she didn't care. The throbbing, tingling sensation rushed back and she pushed down a coughing fit to try a simple wordless scream instead. Nothing, no sound emerged from her mouth no matter how hard she tried, not even a whimper. The twinge in her throat finally overpowered her and she devolved into a coughing fit that sounded far too quiet for its intensity.
The boy was lightly patting her shoulder, as if he wanted to shake her but was afraid to, "Oi. Oi! Shikaishiro!"
She could barely hear him, let alone cobble together the meaning of his words in English. She was unable to process much beyond the overwhelming thought pounding through her skull like a rockslide, I'm mute. I'm mute. I'm mute! She pushed air into her throat to whimper and only felt her stress increase when her act was met with resounding silence. Her coughing fit had receded and she curled up tightly, hands still clutching her throat in terror as she tried to process everything and failed.
On one hand, she was in an unfamiliar location filled with people who spoke a language she only moderately understood, and now couldn't communicate with them even slightly because she was mute. On the other, a much darker part of her pointed out that the reason behind her muteness was that a knife blade had passed through her throat and by all rights she should be dead, not strangely de-aged and panicking. The strain of it all became too much and before she even had time to realize that her vision was going dark, her body shut down in an attempt to preserve her sanity.