Kakyoin's Imaginary Friend

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(image credit: directly from the show)

I'm not sure about myself.

I love my mother, and I love my father. They're the reason I'm alive; they shelter me, they feed me, they've raised me all my life. But isn't that just the job of a parent, the same way any other animal would raise their young? The success of the next generation of any species is what determines the future of its survival, so having young is usually the number-one priority to them in order for the animal to continue to exist. Of course, I'm extremely grateful for my parents. But I have a different role.

The human is known to be a very social creature. Apparently, sometimes it's thought that social interaction is a life necessity next to food, water, and shelter; however, if this were true, I would have lost my life by now.
It's not like I don't want friends. I'm just a normal human. I want to be successful, rich, and I want to live comfortably. Any person like that is bound to make a few friends along the way, right? Other people like to be around people that have bright futures... right?

Ever since I was born, I've had an imaginary friend, my Hierophant Green. The way I see him, his elastic body is mostly green and luminous, like the surface of a clean, polished emerald, along with silvery, metallic patterns that adorn his shoulders and arms. His face reminds me of a stereotypical alien, with his round head and large eyes, but the eyes are bright yellow like the headlights of a car. The metallic patterns on his face and mouth make it look like he's wearing some sort of gas mask. But I'm not exactly sure, since I am the only one who knows he exists. To everyone else, he's merely the air we live and breathe in.

Sometimes I think to myself, "Maybe if I tried harder, I wouldn't have ended up like this." But this was not the case. I was initially just a shy person by nature, so when it came time to attend kindergarten, I was always the odd one out when it came to picking partners and groups. I was too afraid what other kids would think of me, since the only friends I've ever had were Mom, Dad, and Hierophant Green. Somehow, the thought that friends were unnecessary invaded my outlook all year. I thought my family and Hierophant were enough. I thought that all there was to life was learning, playing, and eating cherries. I saw how the kids who got punished, mostly for talking in class, had a plethora of friends. I made the connection, as I wished to not get into trouble, and was further driven away from any desire of social interaction.

In first grade, my reservedness eventually gripped ahold to my soul so tightly I would never talk about anything personal with my parents. I loved my parents very much, I trusted them, but they were not my friends. They were my parents, with their only sole purpose to support the family. The only one I could ever be myself around was Hierophant Green. He and I would play video games together, and with my Hierophant's increased speed to aid in my controls, I quickly became a video game master. I beat every game I had on maximum difficulty, including any hidden levels or DLC that may have come with them, and I felt proud of myself-- a feeling I hadn't really felt for a while. My parents always praised me for my incredible grades, but I always thought that was what I was supposed to be doing anyways. I felt happy that they took pride in me, but I did not share their pride. I only felt that I was doing what any other successful person should do.

Besides video games, I also tried many different hobbies, having no friends to hang out with and all. I tried violin, piano, woodworking, and a few sports that didn't require other people to play with, such as archery. The activities that truly stood out to me, however, were creative writing and visual arts, as I discovered I could truly express myself through these. Because I was only in elementary school, I was not very talented with neither writing nor art, but the fact that I finally had something to lean on besides Hierophant Green when I had time in the solitude of my room is what truly brought out my appreciation for them. My works were quite simple: I wrote about my day at school and my dreams and aspirations, which I had plenty of; and I drew pictures of me and Hierophant together playing video games, chilling at the beach, and swinging through the city like Spiderman. But when I experienced an emotion worth expressing, I got a bit more abstract. When I was angry, perhaps from a broken crayon or if my mom wouldn't give me cherries for dessert, I would scribble harshly and jaggedly everywhere on a paper so that any shape that I tried to make would be indecipherable, and I wrote about whatever incident that happened to make me angry. When I was tired and bored, I lazily dragged the crayon across the page with no idea of a shape in particular, creating a depressed-looking spiderweb, and I wrote about any simple topic. Cherries, donuts, hollies-- whatever I liked and I thought could entertain me. When I was sad, I drew the dark blue night sky, with me and Hierophant gazing into the distant universe, and I wrote about how Hierophant was the only true friend I had, even if he might be imaginary. I mostly became sad when I got lonely. I have dozens and dozens of pages of night skies and writings about Hierophant, all telling the same story.

By the time I reached the fourth grade, I started to open my eyes a little bit. I saw how much those same kids who always got punished for talking but had many friends were enjoying themselves and their lives. I had finally learned that friends have the ability to make someone completely alive, feel loved and supported, and feel that any secrets could be shared with full trust going in all directions. I watched and observed, and I saw how many of people's friend's names were written in their address books. Maybe fifty, maybe even a hundred? I assumed for sure that popular stars and TV celebrities had thousands and thousands of friends worldwide. Even my mother had my father, and my father had my mother. But I'm different.
I realized all I needed to make my life the way I've always wanted it was a friend, a single friend, I could depend on and feel completely comfortable around, but my Hierophant Green is the only obstacle. If no one can ever see him, no one will be able to understand me. No one could possibly be a true friend to me. I probably won't ever have someone who sees me for who I am.
So I gave up once more.

Eventually, one of my teachers in middle school started to worry about me. Maybe, I thought, the reason he decided to talk to my parents was because he thought I was going through something traumatic. I felt grateful to him for caring about me, but he's just a teacher. He should only be worrying about what he's supposed to do-- teach.
"Your little Noriaki doesn't try at all to make friends," he had said to my mother, both sitting in desks in the center of the cold, empty classroom. It interested me that during the day, this room was buzzing with life and carefree conversation.
"It's not that the other kids don't like him," he continued, "he just doesn't open up to anyone." His glasses reflected a glint of the cold light as he looked to set down the paper he was holding on the surface of the hardwood desk.
"As his teacher, I'm very concerned."
I had presumed they were all of my worksheets that I hadn't completed because they required partners. As my duty as a student, I felt guilty for not doing them, but I simply couldn't. Even if I didn't have to be friends with my partner or open up to them in any way, I always felt as if Hierophant Green didn't trust them, and so I didn't either.
"I'm his mother, yet I still don't know why he's like that," my mom seemed to whisper. I could tell she was worried about me, but apparently she wasn't worried enough to talk to me in person. I've always been this way, and I knew she knew it. But why would it have mattered, since I wouldn't have told her anything anyway?
Ah, of course. A parent's job is to provide necessities. Emotional support is optional.

Ever since I was a child, I thought that living in a city meant meeting lots of people. But how many people meet others they can truly understand, and who understand them?
If I just had someone I could truly understand, someone who truly understood me...

I would do anything for them.