Ookie. So you probably don't care, but this is a story thing I started writing. :| I don't know how much of it I'll
write, because I don't have much of a plot, but I enjoy writing it, and I hope you enjoy reading it. D: Depending on
how good people's reactions to this are, I will probably write more. :D xD I know the prologue is short. :| Oh, and all
my chapters and stuff will be put here. :D And stuff about it will be here too. ^0^

Prologue
My life had had no affect on the world. I did not matter. I was not important. Thousands of people, walking past me
every day; no one ever turned their head, no one ever stopped to look, no one ever flicked their eyes casually in my
direction. I was no one. To the people of Japan, I did not exist. I was never spoken to, never named. I knew little of
the ways of people, I didn't know about such trifle things as names. So many humans, nameless to me and the rest of the
world. Strangers. No one. One person was nothing, just a part of the crowd. The Public, they called it. No person on
their own was The Public: The Public was everyone. But they might as well have been robots, ignorant as they were,
going about their daily lives. I did not consider myself part of them, I do not now. They had as little affect on my
like as I had on theirs.
 Although one could say that was not true. It was more the lack of affect they had on me that made a difference. Anyone
might have thought, that in the time I spent there, someone would have spoken to me, even looked at me, just once. For a
while I was under the illusion that I was invisible, merely another gap in the great crowd to the passers by. But that
could not have been true. I was human, was I not? If I could see them, then surely they could see me just as clearly. I
began to think that perhaps I was not human. I was certainly somewhat apart from the rest of the world, which seemed to
revolve around simple, unimportant things compared to what I considered high priorities. Eating, finding a place to
sleep, staying warm. 
 To get these things, I had to break rules no one ever taught me, take risks I didn't know existed and try things that
most people would shy away from. Perhaps it was instinct that told me I required these simple things to live, and if it
had not been for that instinct, I expect I would have died. I was not and never have been afraid of death, for no one
told me what it was. I never knew I would die one day, or that I would experience pain. I never knew kindness, or love,
but neither hate, nor fear. For this, some might say I was not human, because I lacked the life that so many had. I
hadn't longed for a life like that. Though I suffered, I was not aware of it at the time, and was content with what
little I had.
 At times, I wondered how I knew certain things. Things that were permanent, like the ability to speak. With no one to
teach me, how could I have learnt? Though it was a skill I rarely used, with no one to talk to, I still knew how to
form words. Though my ability was somewhat basic, if I listened to a stranger's conversation, I would understand the
general gist of it. While at first, I believed language to be something I was born with, I began to hear words I did
not understand, and so came to the decision that someone must have taught me the words I knew. The question was simple.
Who?
 With no one in my life to have given me these skills, I was at a loss at how I had gained them. I could not remember
anyone, and I remembered everyone. Everyone I saw, I remembered them. As the nagging question became more urgent each
day, I began to look at people in a new light. Did I know any of them? Were they somehow entwined with my past, and
therefore my future? The present became less and less important as I began to wonder where my life was going. The
realization was not a decision, it was as natural as anything. It did not scare me, or excite me. It was something I
had to do, and it was not a choice. To ensure my future, I had to uncover my past.
 But where to start? As far back as I could remember, my life had been the same, a repeated routine that never changed.
I had always been no one, and if I did not recall my past life soon, I would remain that way. I lapsed into a phase of
thought, stirring only from wherever I sat to eat. My mind was tormented by memories, slipped away before I could grasp
them. I knew there was something, I could almost recall it, but it was just below the surface, just out of reach.
 After some time, though how long I never knew, for lack of being able to count, I remembered. The vital thing, the one
thing that seemed to matter. No one else cared, no one else knew; but to me, it was important. I needed to know it, and
I had finally found it.
 My name.
 I was Hikari.

This isn't all of Chapter One, but this is what I currently have. :| Hisakawa annoys me.

Chapter One
“Hikari! Hikari!”
 I glanced up from my work and spun around on my chair to face the doorway, which was now occupied by my husband
Yutaka. I stood up and took a step towards him.
 “What is it?”
 “There's some guy here to see you.” He replied, a slight note of sympathy in his voice.
 “What about?” I inquired, as if I didn't already know. I sighed, resigning myself to an interview with another
nosy member of the world. Yutaka pulled me into a gentle hug, and I rested my head on his shoulder, breaking apart only
when I heard the sound of impatient pacing footsteps downstairs. He took my hand and squeezed it encouragingly as I
began to make my way towards the living room. I smiled back, but only for a second.
 'Some guy' turned out to be a tall, dark haired, middle aged gentlemen, dressed in a grey suit, accompanied with a
frighteningly brightly coloured tie. He positively beamed at me when I entered the room, and made a gesture as though
asking me to sit down. While this was probably intended to be simple manners, I found it slightly offensive, after all,
it was my house.
 “Hello!” He said, with perhaps a little too much enthusiasm. He held his hand out to me, which I shook and smiled
politely. “I'm Hisakawa Katashi, I've come from Mukashimukashi Publishers.”
 He paused to shake Yutaka's hand too, before carrying on.
  “Erm, well... Lot's of people have heard of your remarkable story, Miyamoto – San.” He said, directing the
“Miyamoto – San at me, rather than my husband. “But not many people have heard the whole story, and I,
personally, think it's important that they do, don't you? I mean, the last thing you want is people getting a false
impression of you. I think they need to know everything, partially for your sake more than anything, and -”
 “Mr. Hisakawa, can you please just get to the point?” I interrupted, in an inoffensively bored tone. I was
becoming sick of these people, constantly bothering me, all wanting the same thing, all burbling nonsense about how it
would help me, and that I would be making myself known. All that rubbish.
  “Oh, uh, yes, of course.” He stammered, a little put off by the lack of enthusiasm on my part. “Basically, what
we at MukashiMukashi Publishers want is a book of your life. A biography. We just need your permission, and of course
your cooperation. Obviously, we want to interview you about it and-”
 I cut across him yet again.
  “Surely, Hisakawa – San, if you want a book about my life, it would be best if it were written by the subject
themselves, in this case, me?”
 I wasn't really sure why I said it, it had just come out, a spur of the moment sort of thing. 
  “An autobiography, you mean?” Hisakawa said slowly, considering my proposal with a thoughtful expression on his
face. “Well, if you would be up to writing it, then I'm sure that would be great. You would be using us as
publishers, yes?”
 He glanced at me, rather like a dog looking at it's owner. I felt strangely important.
  “Yes, of course.” I replied, slowly.
 His expression changed to that of delight.
  “Excellent! I'll, er, let you get started then! Come and see me sometime, you know where the building is,
right?”
 I nodded, rising from my seat on the sofa and heading towards the door. Hisakawa followed me, still rambling on as I
opened the door and showed him out. Once I'd shut the door, I turned around and leant back against the wood. I sighed
and closed my eyes briefly, and when I opened them again saw that Yutaka had emerged from the living room. He smiled at
me and took my hand and once again pulled me into a hug. I don't know how long I stood there, in his arms, but I was
aware of crying at point. I wasn't sure why, I don't think I needed a reason. But the memories were flooding back, some
of them that I had tried desperately to forget. Did I really want to bring them all back up again so soon?

* * *