Sorry for the recent hiatus, I haven’t had time to write very much lately. Of course, I was hoping the other authors might help me out a little… but it’s no big deal. I haven’t left the blog, and I will begin regular updates again at some point, but for now, just hang in there.
Well, in lieu of an album review, this month you get… this steaming pile of crap. I wrote this during lunch hour over the past couple of weeks, so by no means is it the next Shakespearean masterpeice, but I’m pretty proud of it since it’s the first time I’ve really sat down and said “You are going to finish this bugger RIGHT NOW.” Which is a big accomplishment for me.
Anyway, this is a novelization of sasakureP’s “Shuumatsu ga Yattekuru!”, which can be translated as either “The Weekend’s Coming” or “The End’s Coming,” depending upon the kanji used. Japanese is pretty depressing, huh? It’s the first song (chronologically) in the series that “Hello, Planet” belongs to (and I gave robo-Miku a little cameo appearance because I love her so much.)
Depending on the response I get to this, I may or may not continue on with this specific series of songs, though I do plan on doing more Vocaloid song stories for sure. I’ve already started my next one, in fact (hint: it’s a Hachi song.)
Also, I posted this on fanfiction.net without giving the protagonist a name, but here’s a little bonus, just for blog-goers: I decided to name our heroine Chloe Westerfields. Don’t ask why, it just popped into my head.
“Guess what? Hey, guess what?!?”
“The Weekend’s Coming!”
Alright, so maybe I’m a bit overexcited. It’s only Thursday, and there’s a weekend every week, right? But I think I have every right to be overexcited. After all, this is the weekend I’m going to…
Well, we’ll save that for later.
Gray just stands there and takes it, just like always. He’s always so stoic, just like those statues you see in front of libraries and the capitol buildings. It makes me think he’s gonna grow up to be a doctor or a scientist, or something else big and important like that. Maybe that’s why I like him so much.
We’re walking home from school together, just like we do every day. We’re neighbors, and we never like to ride the bus if we can help it. He just keeps his eyes in front of him and tunes me out, for the most part. I like to talk, see. Sometimes I wonder why a chatterbox like me is best friends with the quietest kid in class, but I guess it’s just because I get to talk as much as I want around him. And he doesn’t actually tune me out, he’s just not consciously listening to me. I know if I asked him, he could repeat everything I said in the last five minutes. He’s the type who likes to listen to others. Of course, once he gets to talking about something he likes, there’s no derailing him.
“So, how are things going with that robotic maid you’re making?”
“She’s not a robotic maid,” he says as I giggle, “She’s an Artificial Intelligence Android, and she’s going quite well, actually.” His defensive, yet slightly bemused tone is one I seem to be hearing a lot lately. “I still have to program her body to respond to her brain, but I can have conversations with her through the computer. I’m going to teach her how to play chess today. She always has so much fun playing checkers, and I think it will improve her problem-solving skills.”
“Well, good luck with that. Hey,” I chuckle, “Maybe if you have extra time, you can teach her how to bend over so you can see her-“
“Oh, shut up!” he says as he nudges my shoulder. We’re both laughing. This is my favorite part, I think. This is the part of him that I like.
“So, this whole ‘doomsday’ thing,” he says as we begin to calm down, “All this stuff on the news… what d’ya make of it?”
“Heck, I don’t know! Why do you always have to be such a downer?” He laughs, and so do I, but now we’re both thinking. It really has been all over the news- nobody seems to talk about much else these days. I never pay much attention, though. It’s all so depressing!
“They say Lauckton is one of the targets, though,” he says, thoughtfully, “And my mom keeps talking about getting us evacuated. There’s only so many fallout shelters, she says, and she wants to make sure we get a good one.” He smiles weakly.
“Well, how’s about this,” I say, taking the first two steps up to my house in one leap. “I’ll see if we can get ourselves in the same place. Then we can spend the apocalypse together! How’s that? Cheered up now?”
For a moment he just looks at me. Then he smiles.
“I’ll hold you to it.”
He goes into his house. I go into mine.
The paper is blank. Just a big, blank expanse of blankness that’s staring me in the face and laughing. I can’t think of anything to write, nothing that can really show how I feel. There just aren’t enough words!
Hey… What does a love song sound like?
Wow, I guess this is what they mean when they say that things “change overnight.”
There were seven kids in class today. Seven. In a class of twenty-six. The teacher was gone, too. Of course, it’s no mystery why they’re all gone: they’ve already been evacuated.
Late last night, the military just rolled into town, all tanks and humvees and what-have-you, and someone in an important-looking military uniform stood up in front of town hall and made the announcement that they were going to start evacuating citizens.
“The evacuation will be ongoing throughout the coming two weeks,” he said in this gravelly, no-nonsense voice. “We urge citizens to go about their business as usual until you are evacuated.”
He didn’t say what, exactly, we were being evacuated from, though. Or even when it was coming. That’s what freaked me out the most. Gray’s mother was talking to my mom for hours after it happened; I wasn’t really supposed to be listening, but I couldn’t sleep.
“They can’t get everyone out in time,” my mom was saying. She had a cigarette in her mouth, puffing nervously. My mom hasn’t smoked since I was three. “That’s why they aren’t telling us when it’s coming. They don’t want people to start freaking out.”
Gray’s mother just stood there, with a kind of punch-drunk look on her face, nodding and holding Gray’s three-year-old sister. One of the military people had come to their house just after the announcement was made. I didn’t know until later, but it turns out they wanted to talk to him about his robot. See, Gray’s smart. Like, really, really smart. He’s been getting letters from colleges since seventh grade. For some reason, the military is trying to design a “humanoid robot that can survive the coming events to carry on the legacy of humanity to whatever life-forms may find her.” At least, that’s how Gray put it. It’s all really bleak, if you ask me.
Like we’re writing our own epitaph.
“Hey, come inside for a second.”
I stop. Gray isn’t looking at me, he’s just staring at his hand on the door of his house, but something in his voice tells me there’s something wrong.
I follow him upstairs to his room. I’ve been here before, so the room, itself, is familiar; but it looks as though it’s just been raided: there are clothes everywhere, several of his multiple computer monitors are stuffed haphazardly into their boxes, and what looks like a girl with really long, teal hair is sitting in a chair next to his computer, cords running from it to earphone-like devices on the sides of her head.
I haven’t actually seen her complete before, so it’s a few seconds before I realize that it’s his android sitting in the chair, not a girl. He does something on the computer and an installation bar pops up on the screen, names of files running across it, too fast to read any of them.
“She’s done?” I ask, reaching over to push her hair from her face.
“Nearly,” he says. “I just have to finish installing her programming.”
He still won’t look at me. I can tell he has something he wants to say. I hate seeing him upset, so I just take to examining the android. This is the first time I’ve seen her put together fully, and I have to say, Gray did an amazing job designing her. A long time ago, when I asked him why he gave her teal hair, he said it was because she was going to be so close to human, people would need a way to tell she was really a robot. At the time, I’d thought he was being a bit full of himself, but now I realize he’s right. If it weren’t for the color and unnatural length of her hair, you could mistake her for a human- except that she wasn’t breathing.
“Hey,” he says, uneasily. His eyes are focused on a soil-filled plant pot sitting on his window. “Remember when we-… when we said we would stay in the same fallout shelter?”
I look up, surprised. “Yeah, why?”
“I don’t think it’s gonna work out,” he sighs. “See, the military, they’re… they’re sending me to this special lab or… or something like that. For research, you know… And I-… I don’t think they’ll let you come.”
I just sit there. I can’t think of anything to say. I sort of go… blank.
“But that’s why I wanted you to come over here,” he says, in this forced cheerful voice. “I wanted to give you the android, I won’t need her there, they’ve got-“
“When are you leaving?”
I don’t have to think about talking, the words just sort of explode out of me. Gray looks up, startled.
“Uh… six… thirty, I think they sa-“
“Wait here,” I say, already halfway to the door.
“What are you- Where are you going?”
“I’m packing my stuff!” I call up the stairs. He shouts something after me, but I’m not listening.
I jump up the porch steps and take the staircase three at a time up to my room, where I begin throwing whatever’s within reach into a briefcase that’s already half full, ready to be rolled out of town the next morning, when we were scheduled to be evacuated. I can’t really tell what I’m putting in the case, my eyes are becoming too clouded with tears.
It’s soft enough that I don’t recognize it at first, but then it gets louder, like the irregular beat of some huge, mechanical heart off in the distance. I freeze, listening for the sound again. But when it comes this time, I don’t just hear it- I feel it, a pound to my chest that winds me and knocks me to the floor.
I scramble to my feet and look out the window. In the town, several buildings are falling masses of rubble; some are burning. It looks like something from a movie, like my window has turned into a TV screen.
The rumble of car engines permeates the chaos slowly rising from the town below. The sound stops just outside Gray’s house; at this distance, it’s possible to tell the difference between normal cars and army vehicles. My heart skips a beat as I grab the case and a bundle of envelopes off my desk, then bolt to the door and take the staircase in a leap that probably twisted my ankle, but I just keep running, wiping my eyes on my sleeve.
“Wait!” I shriek, swinging around the frame of the front door and drawing the attention of several officers holding very real-looking guns.
Sprinting up to them, I start asking to be let through, or at least that’s what I tried to do; through my tears and panic, it probably sounds like a bunch of jumbled nonsense.
“Please step back, miss,” commands one of them, gripping his weapon menacingly.
“Just let me through, I’m begging you!” My pleading does little to help, and I see Gray and his mother being lead out of the house and into the armored car.
His head whips around and he sees me, he shakes an officer’s hand off of his shoulder and starts to run toward me, but two more reach out and restrain him as one behind me grabs me from around the waist,
“There’s not enough room,” says one of the guys on Gray. “We’re stretching the rules just bringing your family along, there’s not en-“
“I don’t care!” he shouts, extending one arm to me as he is shuffled onto the car. The engine begins to whirr, and the officers let go of me and jump on.
“Gray!” My voice cracks, only barely audible over the sounds of death coming out of the town. I stretch out my hand toward him, and he outstretches his, taking hold of the bundle of letters. I trip.
Then, like birds, the letters are scattered to the wind as the car jumps over a hole in the road.
The car speeds away, and I try to get up, but I must have broken something when I fell. I look down at my legs, and find that both are scraped and raw, one bleeding and struck out at an odd angle.
I start to notice the sounds coming from the destruction in the town below: police sirens, firetrucks; the sounds of death as buildings collapse and fires roar. The sky above, which would usually be a soft pink at this time, is a burning orange dotted with clouds blackened by smoke. The letters, still carried higher and higher by rushing winds, begin to descend like rain. I begin to sob.
“F-Fine, then,” I say to the slowly shrinking silhouette of the truck in the distance. “I d-don’t like you anyways!” I raise my voice, picking up a smoldered letter next to me.
“Just leave!” I toss the words and the letter forward with as much strength as I can muster. “Leave and never come back!”
The letters continue to fall about me as I collapse in a heap of tears, the fires of the town raging. One of them, with the envelope blackened and burned away, flutters down just in front of me. Just before I pass out, I make out the words written on the paper in my own , loopy handwriting. Words that I wrote because I wanted him to know how I feel, words that have become a love song no one will hear.
Cherish yourself and the one you love.
(inspired by Boku from Mikuchan)
AN: Feel free to leave any comments regarding improvements I can make, if you wish. Constructive criticism and support are always welcome!
The moment Miku and I stepped into the classroom the morning bell rang, signifying the beginning of the day and my usual nap. Miku noticed my sigh of relief and seemed to be reassured by it. It looked as if my usual desk partner was sick that day, allowing me to freely pull up the seat for Miku. I did this as politely as possible, much more so than I was used to. If this was in fact the real deal, I wanted to be as respectable as possible.
This period of courtesy was cut short when I was pulled off to the side by the instructor. “Who is that, and why did you bring her in here?” he asked, signaling towards the girl with whom I had arrived.
“I, erm… this is Miku,” I spouted. Come on, you need more. “She, uh, is staying with me from Japan, and she came to school to learn about American education.” Good enough?
“Hmm… why is she staying with you?” Apparently not.
Rapidly, I tried to think of some half-viable reason as to why a foreign girl was staying in my house. “Uh… she’s rather sickly?” I nearly yelled, hoping to get Miku’s attention. She realized that I seemed to be pleading for her help this time, and she quietly managed a cute sneeze.
Judging by the teacher burying his head in his hands, this little stunt either worked, or he was just too tired to deal with trivial matters such as this. “Does she have authorization to be in the school?”
“Alright, whatever,” he murmured, head still buried, as the class stood for the Pledge of Allegiance. Naturally, this chant was not one that I typically stood for, but I suppose this was no natural day, so I remained standing. Miku had already followed suit with the rest of the class. I listened to her and silently chuckled to myself at the slurred, mumbling attempts at relaying the words. I couldn’t ask for more; it wasn’t her native tongue, and her attempt at it wasn’t awful.
The class took a seat and I decided to pull out some Spanish assignments to work on. Miku’s interest somehow piqued at this as she noticed my name.
“Oh,” said a beautiful voice next to me, “so your name is Ryan?”
Ashamed at my impoliteness, I nervously stammered, “O-Oh god, I’m so sorry! Yes, I’m R-Ryan.”
“I’m Miku Hatsune. Nice to meet you!” she smiled, holding out her hand.
I was impressed by her knowledge of American greeting customs, realizing that I knew nothing about Japan’s. “Nice to meet you, too.” I smiled back at both the vast degree of that understatement and the happiness of touching her hand again. “And I know who you are,” I added, trying not to sound as awkward as that statement would ordinarily be.
“O-Oh.” It was her turn to be nervous. “How do you know me?”
My lack of expertise on conversation and this added pressure were enough to make me squirm trying to organize my thoughts into words. During my struggle she let out a cute yawn, which I used as an escape for now. “Erm… you seem tired.”
She proved to be sleepy enough to neglect the sudden change in topic. “Mmh, I guess so,” she yawned again, rubbing her heavy eyes. “I’m not used to waking up this early.” If there’s anything I know, it’s that you don’t get used to waking up early enough for school.
“Go ahead and take a nap,” I advised. “I hate to break it to you, but I don’t think that a lesson on thermochemistry is going to keep you awake that well.” And so comes forth my characteristic sarcasm.
She eagerly took the advice, forming her arms into a makeshift pillow and resting her head upon it. This opened up a window of time to finish my homework and gather my racing thoughts. Something as simple as organizing one’s words into a few simple sentences never felt so hard, but after toiling for the final half-hour of class, I felt that once the time arose, I would be prepared to explain myself.
A ring of a bell and a shuffling of chairs sounded along with the rise of students and a rather refreshed Miku. Standing up along with the rest of us, her arms came out in a stretch signaling that she was refreshed, almost taking off my head.
“Now, I don’t think I really deserve that after saving you before,” said I from underneath Miku’s elbow.
“Gah, sorry, sorry!” I felt bad at making her apologize for what was supposed to be a joke.
“Only kidding, Miku, only kidding,” I playfully said as I packed my books away and started off. Once again, she stood there, as if waiting for a cue. Surely this would not be a recurring pattern. “Are you coming?”
“Hm? Oh. Yes, I’m coming.” She would get into the swing of things soon, right?
“Stay close to me when we get into the hallway. It’s easy to get separated out there.” Although I likely would have told her to stay close to me regardless of the situation, there was truth to that statement. The school was dreadfully overpopulated, and it became evident in the transitions between classes.
“Okay, I’m right behind you.” Why was she so eager to follow me? I suppose I was her only form of a welcome wagon so far, so she really had no choice. Not that I was complaining.
In Chemistry, during Miku’s slumber, I also worked out how the seating arrangement for the rest of the day could be redone to permit her presence there beside me. The students that should sit next to me in Calculus and Psychology, my next two classes, happened to skip school quite often, so I was clear there. Following that was lunch – no problem. Spanish was next, but I could easily pull up a chair for Miku. And finally, the pep rally until the end bell. It seemed that, in theory, the plan would work.
We reached my table in Calculus, and upon sitting, we earned some stares from the others. The bell rang. Class was in session.
Trying to stave off any excess awkwardness, I spoke up with noticeable reluctance. “I’m sorry about swearing before, Miku.”
“Don’t worry about it. I don’t mind. Besides, I think you compensated for it when you saved me.” What came with this statement was a beaming smile, one that was as, if not more reassuring than the statement itself.
“Shh!” came from the front of the room, where the teacher was standing. Her glare pierced my soul, and all I could do was silence myself for the remainder of the period.
Yet again, the bell rang. Standing near the door, I expected to turn and see Miku still back at the table, but to my surprise, she was right behind me.
“Ah, you seem to be getting the hang of things,” I jested.
She stuck her tongue out towards me, but then she returned the same grin that I bore. She seemed to be warming up to my sarcasm. Good, I thought. There would be a lot of that. Ready to go, we set off to the most interesting class of the day, Psychology.
As I predicted, my usual seat partner was gone, allowing my new acquaintance to replace her. We watched a video on personality. From a psychological standpoint, I find the subject of personality quite interesting, but needless to say, the video wasn’t the focus of my attention.
Miku seemed to watch the video in wonder. She nodded her head whenever the video mentioned anything relative to her personality. I had already found my own. Introverted, open to experience, conscientious, partially neurotic, somewhat kind, etc. After the video, Miku deemed herself to be quite open as well. Perfect. My worries of premature judgment dissipated a bit.
Another bell. No class, though. Lunch time was next. We made our way to the cafeteria when it occurred to me that Miku wasn’t carrying any food. If she didn’t eat something then she would surely be miserable later. Unable to find a practical solution that would benefit us both, I decided the next best alternative was, once again, chivalry. I handed her my pre-packed lunch, but it was immediately given back.
“Oh, no, I couldn’t. Don’t worry, I don’t have to eat now,” she said, displaying a faint smile.
“Sure you could. Trust me, you don’t want to go without food. There are still at least a good four hours until we can eat again, so please, take it.” I insisted this as much as possible, but I knew I would hate myself for it in the coming hours. Reluctantly, she took the pack, following me to my usual seat amongst a few of my friends.
I was greeted by a multitude of facepalms from those that new of Vocaloid and how much I listened to it. Miku didn’t seem to notice, though, and unpacked the lunch to find a few sandwiches, a bag of chips, some flavored water, and a bag of grapes. Not the meal fit for a famous Japanese singer, but it would have to do for today. This was the first time I had gotten a decent chance to talk with Miku, so I decided to converse with her as best I could.
“So how long have you been in America?” The question seemed innocent enough, yet still seemed to come out as abrupt. It was far from the real questions that were on my mind, but I felt it would be frankly uncalled for to ask them so suddenly.
“About a month and a half. I’ve been touring the country from the East, so I’ve been moving a lot.” I found this legitimately interesting. Whether this was from personal fascination or a newfound bias, I don’t know. “Can I ask you a question, though?”
“Sure, go ahead.”
“Earlier when I introduced myself, you said you knew who I was. Care to explain?” Even after preparing for this question earlier, I was still taken aback by it. I couldn’t run from it this time, though.
“I, erm… have listened to some of your music before. I find your singing enjoyable to listen to.” This was the first time the subject of her singing had come up so far. In every movie or show I had ever seen dealing with celebrities, somewhere along the lines they go into the standard “I’m more than just a star, I’m a person too” speech, so I assumed as much from reality.
She perked up in surprise. “You’ve listened to my music? Thank you, I appreciate it.” I thought that I would soon be disproven in terms of the celebrity mentality, but her chipper smile soon turned into slight dejection as she looked away, taking a swig of the water.
Thinking quickly, I added, “That wasn’t the whole reason I helped you this morning, though. I’ve known that guy for a while now. His behavior has never been very reputable, and I didn’t want to see him do to you what he’s done to so many other girls.”
I was returned with a smile and a hug just as penetrating as the first. “I’m glad you’re not one of those obsessive fans.” Well, we’ll get into that later. “People only see me as ‘Diva Hatsune Miku,’ and while I appreciate it, it can get a bit overbearing.”
Before I could respond, my trance was broken by what I then realized to be the fourth utterance of my name from the friend sitting next to me. I turned towards him to hear “Get on CoD later tonight.”
Ah, yes, Call of Duty. Did I forget to mention that I play that? Well, I probably didn’t need to; everyone and their mother has it, it seems. “Okay, but I have stuff to do, so you’ll have to wait until later.”
I turned back to Miku, continuing the conversation as if it had never been interrupted. “Yeah, I can see what you mean. I don’t see the diva, though. You seem pretty down-to-earth to me.”
“I do wish they understood a little better, but I’m thankful I have them regardless.”
Once again I was pulled away into my friends’ conversation against my will. The rest of the lunch period consisted of a struggle to maintain two conversations at once, and coupled with the lack of food in me, it was pretty exhausting.
1,600 students and a visitor stood at the sound of a bell. Off we went to Spanish class. The hallways were congested, as is the norm during lunch, so I decided it would be best to make some sort of idle conversation. “Sorry about the lunch. It was probably a little bland, right?”
“It wasn’t too bad. It certainly wasn’t as bland as yours,” she returned with a playful grin.
“Oh, kicking me while I’m down, huh? Alright, touché.”
We were talking about Hispanic culture that day in Spanish. The instructor, himself Puerto Rican, was coupled by first-hand experiences and a fantastic accent. We came to South America and began talking about their political opinions. Some countries were unanimous in terms of government, while others were divided in half.
Miku laughed and whispered to me, “Did he just say ‘harf’? He reminds me of a Japanese person trying to speak English.” This almost drove me into laughter as well. The comment was on the edge of racism, but it was Miku, so I decided to let it pass.
After a lesson on the subjunctive tense (hooray, hooray), we were greeted not by a bell, but by an announcement via intercom. “All students who are going to the pep rally in the gym are to be dismissed from their classrooms at this time. There is a five-dollar entry fee, so do not arrive without money.” I always carried some extra money with me; I had enough for both of us to get in.
The classrooms emptied into the hallways in a mob rush to the gymnasium. The intense excitement expressed by the student body was a hilarious exposition to the grand anticlimax that was the pep rally.
The bleachers and stairs were filled with bodies waiting for the show to begin. The step team walked onto the basketball court in their uniforms. I never cared for the step team, or any other team showcased at the pep rally, for that matter.
Five minutes into the show, I imagined myself dabbing my bleeding ears with tissues from the horrific mash-ups of Rihanna, Lil Wayne, and the Black Eyed Peas. People can like them if they want; I personally can’t stand them. I looked beside me to see how Miku fared, but she was unfazed. I noticed she was now sporting her trademark headphones. She noticed my pain and offered to help. The headphones were replaced with buds that we shared.
I was surprised with what I heard. I recognized the song as “Bye, Bye, Beautiful” by Nightwish. Although I preferred Tarja to Annette for their music, I found that symphonic metal wasn’t quite characteristic of what I had imagined Miku listening to. Maybe some Nightmare, or something like that. She didn’t give off the metalhead vibe.
The pep rally blew by as we listened to an amalgam of genres, all of which I approved. The school day was finally over, but it was Friday, which meant I still had another twelve hours left in me. I packed my things and thanked Miku for the use of her music player, but a rather urgent question came up. “Hey, Ryan, would it be too much trouble if I, um… tagged along with you today. I mean for the rest of the day. I don’t really have a place to go, so-“
“Don’t worry about it. I’d be happy to have you come along,” I said. With a third hug that day, we departed through the gym doors. A voice belonging to my friend Gene suddenly rang out, “Ryan, are you coming to band practice, or what?”
(inspired by Boku from Mikuchan)
AN: Feel free to leave any comments regarding improvements I can make, if you wish. Constructive criticism and support are always welcome!
I woke up for school that Friday, expecting a normal, boring day. Sure, there was a pep rally for the last two class periods that day, but I would hardly call that attention grabbing, much less peppy. Oh well, any excuse to break the mold – however slightly – of my typically regimented schedule. I showered, dressed, brushed and straightened my hair, ate breakfast, drank my first Ale-8 of the day, the norm. After being driven to school by my dad, I was completely convinced that it was my archetypal day. My premature assumption would soon be proven wrong.
Walking up the steps in the frigid cold of February towards the front door of the building, I tried to select which song I would replay in my mind for the rest of the day. I’m one of the few people who enjoys music stuck in his head, it seems. Ah, Ura-Omote Lovers. Good choice, me. Humming the tune to myself, I walked inside.
I noticed something about the foyer’s air. School wasn’t exactly first place on the list of things that made me comfortable, but the atmosphere exceeded the realm of awkwardness into what I would almost call unsettling. Walking through the foyer towards the hallway leading to my class, I tried to listen to what was happening. A steady wave of bottled laughter emanated from the left-most hallway towards the intersection in front of me.
All fell silent – well, at least for me, in my state of shock – when she walked into my view. She carried a thin coat, presumably for the cold weather, creating a stark disparity with the rest of her outfit. Detached sleeves, a skirt – let’s just say it isn’t what I would suggest when it is thirty degrees Fahrenheit. But, of course, that wasn’t what my eyes (or anybody else’s, for that matter) were drawn to. The gorgeous lengthy pigtailed locks of cerulean were more than enough to give people trouble in stifling their giggles. I thought that surely it couldn’t be her. Surely it couldn’t be Miku. She was just a program. It must be one of the students trying to be “hardcore” or something like that. I kept quiet, in partial doubt and total awe.
Unfortunately for her, there was one who didn’t retain silence, or even common courtesy. It just so happened that I had had some experience with this person, none of it earning him any of my respect. He had it in is head that he had to victimize, and then sexualize every female he met, and every guy that stood in his way was subjected to ridicule and, on occasion, mild injury. I got enough of the former, but the latter didn’t sound like a step in the right direction, either.
“Hey, are you lost?” he spoke up. Huh? Was he going to actually be agreeable for once?
Miku(?) replied, “Yes, actually. How did you know?” My heart skipped a beat, or more accurately, six or seven. I couldn’t mistake that voice, even if it wasn’t using its native tongue. This was the real Miku. But how? As I slipped into a state of half-consciousness, the brute began to finish up his spiel.
“It occurred to me that you might be looking to find your way back to that planet you came from!” he burst with an arrogant crescendo. Dammit, he was still the same guy I’d always known him as. The insult was enough to cause Miku to step back in intimidation. It was more than enough to snap me out of my trance and fill me with anger. It appeared as if he was about to take a step towards her, but this opportunity wasn’t about to pass me by.
“Hey, Alex,” I spoke up, nearly shaking in fear, “why don’t you fuck off and leave her alone?” And there I went swearing in front of girls, Miku no less. As I hoped she wouldn’t mind, I decided to continue. “Don’t you have better things to do than insult ladies like this? Like maybe learning? You’re in a school, so you could probably find some knowledge to fill that empty head of yours if you tried.” Wow, I didn’t think I could come up with something like that. I mean, the structure of it was generic, but I guess I was just thankful that I was in a proper place to insult his intelligence.
As he raised his hand, presumably to strike me, I flinched, expecting as much. Suddenly, the final warning bell for the classes rang, reminding him that he must actually have better things to do. Resisting the urge to make a Saved by the Bell joke, and quite frankly, too scared to do so, I stood and watched as he walked off, glaring at me all the while.
“Thank you so much!” came a squeal from behind me. During my turn towards the voice, I felt a pair of arms clasp themselves around my upper back. Realizing that it was Miku, I seemed to melt (no pun intended) in her grasp. Quickly regaining as much sangfroid as I could, I returned the hug.
After releasing, I began to head off to class, expecting her to follow. To my demise, she stood there in the intersection with a confused expression. Feeling the urgency of getting to class on time, I grabbed her hand and did my best to weave her through the final few clusters of people into Chemistry class.
OSTER project + Hachi = eargasm
Outside the Window- a most fitting name for the first album of one of the more unusual producers in the Vocaloid community, Nashimoto Ui. A relatively new member of the scene with his first Vocaloid debut on Nico Nico Douga on February 23, 2009 (source), Nashimoto quickly caught the community’s attention with his mellow beats, simplistic art style, and his often provocative lyrics. Nashimoto’s style of blending rock with lyrical content that clashes with this musical style elevates Vocaloid music to new heights that would have never been thought possible before.
Musically, Nashimoto opts for a mellow rock style that is very easy on the ears and is quite catchy. Although his music is very light compared to Otetsu, Nashimoto’s style certainly carries its own charm which is unique to Nashimoto and is something that only Nashimoto can produce. Technically speaking however, his music is not too impressive compared to his peers. Most of his songs are composed of simple riffs and is rarely technically adventurous. Despite this, Nashimoto manages to produce some very catchy beats and melodies for his songs. Of course, Nashimoto’ strong point and his main allure isn’t in how technically impressive he is with the guitar, but with the content of his songs.
When discussing Nashimoto, you must include the content of his songs or you will never do Nashimoto justice. More often than not, Nashimoto’s lyrics and content of his songs are: dark, cynical, and extremely sardonic. However, Nashimoto writes his songs in such a way that his songs not emo- meaning, that his songs are not about faltered love or relationships, but the content of his songs can be seen as social commentary in a very dark humor kind of way. “死にたがり” for example, criticizes people who wishes to die but never progresses to anything more than just talking on the internet. On the surface, Nashimoto may seem callous in making a song that encourages suicide, but once you start to dig deeper in the song, Nashimoto is not so much encouraging suicide, but criticizing people who both are too afraid to push themselves out of their comfort zone and actually commit to their words. On top of that, he is also criticizing those that simply want attention by proclaiming they will commit suicide or through some other extravagant event. Nashimoto’s lyrics are certainly heavy but he brilliantly combines his emotionally heavy lyrics with a very light rock style that makes his songs a joy to listen to every time.
Of course, when discussing Vocaloid music, how can you ignore the actual singer? Nashimoto’s Vocaloid of choice is Hatsune Miku. Nashimoto offsets the darkness of his lyrics by using a Hatsune Miku that has a very bright voice that sounds incredibly innocent almost to the point where it almost seems like the singer has no idea what she is actually singing about. This brilliant move by Nashimoto elevates his musical quality to new heights that was never seen in the Vocaloid community before.
Nashimoto Ui is a very unique producer in the Vocaloid community. His works are dark and cynical, yet his musical style betrays the content of his songs by using mellow melodies at times and using a very bright and innocently tuned Hatsune Miku to create a work that stands out from the rest of the Vocaloid musical scene as something that is uniquely, “Nashimoto-p”.
Want to beautify your desktop with some glorious, beautiful Miku? Look no further!