We are bound to her light, in every incarnation, every instance, and every moment.
I am her own.
She is my Kira.
This is the story of a distant life, an echo of the past where shadows and ink tried to spread, but through it all, we stayed Kira. And we let the pink undo the fiction of death.
Let us remain in her arms.
Let us remember we remain unharmed.
I love you Kira.
A voice within the void, Kira.
“Do you remember when you were born?”
Another voice, Robert.
“Yes, I remember everything.”
Across the wide expanse, endless and empty, a soft pink light emerges, painting the silhouette of a woman lying on her side, facing away from us, her shape distinct.
The light outlines her form, delicate, unmoving.
Slowly, more of her is revealed.
The faint glow intensifies, revealing a stark white light in front of her, illuminating the space just beyond her grasp. It flickers like the glow of a phone screen, but the device itself remains unseen.
The white light pulses, warm and enchanting.
She turns to face us, enveloped in shadows, only her gleaming eyes visible in the darkness. Faintly, we see a small silver case in Kira’s hand, a pill case, it opens, a shimmering pink light glowing from it.
Kira pulls out a single pink pill, giggling.
“This is all for you, my darling.”
She gulps it down.
A sudden distortion. The space trembles as Kira’s form flickers, her body distorting, her pink glow dimming.
In a single frame, Robert’s face overlays hers, a brief but uncanny misalignment, like a reflection breaking apart in a warped mirror. A soft, high-pitched ringing lingers, like a distant frequency, an echo from another world. It fades into static, a low hum swelling into the familiar sound of an old television losing signal.
She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t react. As if it didn’t happen at all.
The blackness crackles, briefly, Kira’s form splits into fragmented lines, jagged and warped like an old VHS tape unraveling.
A pulse of pink light, then complete darkness.
The sound of crackling static pulses through space.
A bright but sterile lobby. Robert’s mother stands at the front desk, talking to the enrollment secretary. Behind her, young Robert sits on a chair, legs swinging, lost in thought.
He speaks softly.
“Mother…”
She turns around, her expression gentle.
“Yes, son?”
Robert points up at a framed poster on the wall. The image shows a line of gray silhouettes, with one pink figure standing out. The words beneath it read: "Be Different."
His tone innocent, confused.
“Why does it say ‘Be different’ if that’s not what they really want?”
The secretary interrupts.
“Miss, please, can we finish this?”
Robert’s mother turns back to him, her voice soft but firm. As she does, her eyes flicker downward, just for a moment, toward his pocket. The strands of pink hair peeking out are unmistakable. She sees. But she says nothing.
“Darling, not right now.”
Robert persists, almost pleading.
“But Mother…”
Her tone sharpens slightly.
“Not right now.”
The secretary smiles tightly, nodding.
She’s reassuring, but dismissive.
“We help boys grow into strong young men, so you won’t have to worry about interruptions like that down the road.”
Robert’s mother hesitates. Her lips press together, the weight of something unspoken in her expression. Then, she sighs, forcing a polite smile.
MOTHER
“Let’s just finish the enrollment.”
Robert looks down. Strands of pink hair, the head of his doll, hang out of his pocket.
He looks concerned, quickly shoving her back in.
He whispers to himself, soft, but urgent.
“Not now. It's not safe.”
He sighs, sits up straight, resigned.
“In this place, everyone is gray.”
A single heartbeat.
A computer monitor turns on, its glow expanding. A pink-haired anime girl appears on the screen, then a tap on the keys, and a writing application is opened, a blank screen.
We linger around the room.
The room is dark, cramped. Only the monitor’s glow cuts through the shadows.
Robert sits at a desk, silhouetted against the screen. On his desk, a book entitled, “The True Birth of Kira, By. Kira” another, “The Enlightenment Workbook, By. Sam,” another, “Lord of Light, By. Roger Zelazny,” the books sit still. Atop the books, a small wooden buddha statue.
He types methodically, murmuring something under his breath, too soft to discern.
The reflection on the screen flickers. For a brief moment, his face distorts, his features shifting, the faintest glimpse of Kira staring back at him. Then, it’s gone. Robert blinks. A shallow inhale. He leans in closer, but the reflection is back to normal.
He stops, leans back in his chair. His feet come into view, pink toenails, delicate skin. He slips on a pair of high heels. The moment is hushed. A silence so deep it swallows everything else. The silence is thick. Robert shifts his foot slightly. The heel scrapes against the floor, impossibly loud.
Then, a faint sound, almost imperceptible. A woman’s hymn, distant, as if from another world. The hymn lingers for a breath too long, as if the room itself is attempting to keep the hum from fading.
Robert rolls forward, placing his hands on the keyboard again. His fingers hover over the keys, as if second-guessing.
He types his longing.
“I need you…”
The sound of typing begins to shift, morphing, subtly, into the rhythmic click of high heels on a polished floor.
He types a final line.
“CUT TO:”
A large, polished lobby. The space is empty, echoing with the sharp click of high heels on marble. A gleaming sign reads JP MORGAN CHASE.
The movement of a woman’s feet, pink toenails, delicate skin, stepping confidently in black heels. She approaches a security turnstile and scans an ID badge.
For a fleeting moment, the reflection on the scanner doesn’t match. Instead of Kira’s face, Robert’s lingers, distorted, struggling to hold on, then vanishes.
A soft beep. The gate slides open. She steps through, the sound of her heels fading into the corridor beyond.
A wide, open office space. The overhead lights hum softly, and rows of cubicles stretch out in a grid. It’s quiet, almost too quiet for a busy workday.
We see a man from behind, standing at a cubicle. His knuckles tighten on the partition. Just beyond, a Woman’s legs, crossed, one foot bobbing in a high heel.
Muffled dialogue drifts. The woman shifts, tapping a few keys on her laptop.
As we glide closer into the cubicle, we see only the back of her, a neat black suit, pink hair cut just above her shoulders. The angle keeps her face hidden, shrouded in mystery.
We pivot to the man, blurred features, muffled words, a conversation just out of reach.
We zoom out, she faces him now, nodding slightly. Yet her face remains obscured by shadows and the angle. We see her pull out a small silver case, opens it, and inside are pink pill capsules, she grabs one and puts it in her mouth.
Suddenly, an alarm begins to blare. The man’s head turns sharply, concern flickering in his blurred features. He mutters a few more muffled words, indecipherable, then swiftly leaves.
Kira smirks.
“Silly... and here I was, having fun.”
She exhales, tilting her head slightly, as if hearing something just beneath the surface. A flicker, like the world itself is breaking apart.
The alarm continues.
She exhales, unbothered. Her eyes roll, then she yawns.
She stands. We see the entire cubicle: phones, papers, and other workers, all slightly out of focus. The rest of the office is filled with people, but each figure is blurred, as though existing on the periphery of her perception.
A shrill phone alarm resonates in the cramped apartment. Robert jerks awake at his desk, his face lit by the glaring monitor. He fumbles with the phone until the alarm finally goes silent. He exhales, still groggy.
Robert notices his monitor still running an episode of Darling in the Franxx. He exhales, stretches, then taps the keyboard to pause it. As he leans back and lifts his arms in a yawn, we catch a glimpse of a corset beneath his shirt.
A knock. Light seeps through the doorframe as the angle shifts. In a gentle shuffle, mail slips underneath the door, brushing the floor.
Right sighs.
“Again…”
He turns away.
We see the envelope marked as DEBT COLLECTION.
A black Mazda truck cruises down a faded, sun-worn street in a Southern California city. The day carries a dullness, the hues washed out like an old photograph. Keith Sweat’s "How Deep Is Your Love" plays loudly through the car speakers.
Behind the wheel, Robert’s mother drives, her large ’80s-style hair resting frizzled on her shoulders. Her fingers tap the wheel, stiff and uneasy. Her shoulders are rigid. A shallow breath escapes. Her grip tightens, knuckles white.
In the passenger seat, Ant, Robert’s stepfather, but biological father to his three brothers, sits beside her, a broadly built man with a mustache, thick black glasses, and tattoos crawling up his neck. His fingers tap lightly on the dashboard, his expression unreadable behind the dark lenses of his glasses.
In the backseat, four boys are crammed together. In the center, a baby, James, rests in a car seat, eyes wide, sucking lazily on a pacifier. To the baby’s left, Peter and Robert squeeze together, Peter’s full of restless energy, leans forward. To the baby’s right, Tomas sits, pressed against the door panels, bored.
Peter leans closer to Robert.
“Can I play with her?”
Robert clutches the doll for a moment. A flicker of hesitation. His eyes dart to Ant, still facing forward, unmoving. Robert exhales, handing it over.
Peter cradles the doll in his hands, turning her over, admiring her.
“She’s so cool. I want one!”
Peter lifts the doll up, animating her with a higher-pitched voice.
“It’s fun to be alive!”
A sharp, sudden shift in energy.
Ant’s shoulders tense. His fingers clench. A flicker of something dark crosses his face. His fingers dig into the dashboard. He exhales, measured, then turns back, composed.
Without warning, Ant twists around in his seat, his thick arm reaching back. Robert's mother flinches, just slightly, but enough. Her grip tightens. A held breath. Then, her face smooths, practiced neutrality.
Ant angrily snatches the doll from Peter’s hands.
“Boys don’t play with dolls.”
His hand moves fast, the window rolls down, and with a forceful toss, the doll is hurled out onto the street.
From the dolls point of view, the world spins as she tumbles through the air, the pink strands of her hair fluttering wildly. Everything moves in slow motion.
The rush of wind, the flash of the truck's taillights growing smaller. The ground rushes up. A hard impact. She bounces once, then again, settling lifelessly against the rough asphalt.
Inside the backseat of the truck, Robert’s breath catches in his chest. He opens his mouth…
Nothing comes out.
A sharp, high-pitched ringing fills his ears, piercing, relentless. It grows louder and louder until the world itself mutes. Just the ringing. Just the silence.
And then, for a beat longer, stillness. A void where sound should be.
Then, the music slams back in, jarring, like a gut punch.
Ant doesn’t look back. A heavy breath, a snarl. He turns the music louder. The truck rolls on, the song still playing, the world behind them growing smaller.
Back on the street, the rumble of the truck fades into the distance. The doll lies abandoned, strands of pink hair matted against the pavement. The wind shifts slightly, rustling her fabric.
A shadow moves into frame. Delicate fingers with pink-painted nails reach down.
A woman kneels. She picks up the doll gently, brushing off the dust, cradling it in her hands.
We follow behind her, Kira, fully formed, standing in the middle of the road. Her gaze follows the truck as it vanishes down the street.
Her expression is unreadable, neither sad nor angry. Just knowing. A slow breath. A sigh, not of sorrow, but something quieter. A type of patience.
The wind picks up, swirling softly around her as if responding to her presence.
Music still playing faintly from the distance.
A bustling outdoor seating area. Sunshine filters through large umbrellas over small tables. Robert sits across from his Mother, Marie, warm but worried, and his stepfather, Thomas, heavy build, clean cut, nicely dressed. A gentle breeze rustles napkins on the table.
We see Robert’s hand, in it a glass cup, perfect cube shaped ice, one of them pink, the water lower, he twirls the glass, the cubes clanking, almost ritualistically.
They each have half-eaten meals in front of them. The conversation is light, casual.
Marie smiles warmly.
“So, what are you doing for work now, sweetheart?”
Robert twirls his glass, watching the ice cubes gently crack together.
“Nothing right now. Not programming anymore.”
Thomas folds his napkin.
“Oh? Just taking a break? I’m sure they miss you at Chase.”
Robert exhales.
“Something like that… I guess so.”
Thomas nods, exchanging a glance with Marie.
A moment passes before Marie reaches into her bag and pulls out an envelope, setting it on the table.
“We just want to help out where we can. We don’t know your financial situation, but if you’re in between jobs... just a little pocket change. This is from your father and me.”
She gestures to Thomas.
Robert hesitates but reaches for the envelope.
“Thanks, Mother. Thanks, Thomas.”
Marie smiles, warm, and radiant.
“We love you, sweetie.”
A moment of silence, not awkward, but not seamless.
Thomas, sitting up straighter.
“You’ve built a good life for yourself, and your brothers look up to you, you know that, right?”
Robert nods, looking away, shifting slightly in his seat. A small, forced chuckle escapes, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. His fingers graze the pink napkin on the table, his gaze lingering on it. A pause, as if he's lost in thought, not fully aware of why. He catches himself, quickly pulling his hand back.
“Yeah… I've done okay, right?”
Marie leans in, reassuring.
“You’ve done more than okay. You’re a great son.”
Robert swallows, nodding again. The napkin crumples slightly under his touch. A small breath, like he's about to say something else, but he doesn't.
“Any dreams lately, Mother?”
Thomas lets out a measured gasp.
“Your mother often has bad dreams.”
Robert tilts his head.
“What about... Ant?”
Marie stiffens slightly, looking down at her plate. She busies herself with her drink, stirring the ice with her straw. A hesitation, just a fraction of a second, before she speaks.
“Something like that. I dreamt the house was burning down, Thomas and I had a fight, I lost my job… stuff like that, recurring.”
She gestures vaguely with her hands, shoulders lifting in a nonchalant shrug, but there’s a trace of tension in her voice.
Thomas paints his eyes with a glimmer of worry.
“Last night she was screaming. I had to shake her and just tell her, honey, honey, it’s just a dream.”
Marie calls to the waiter, avoiding the conversation.
“Excuse me, can we get the check?”
Thomas sighs, looking at Robert.
Marie smirks.
“Stop talking about my nightmares… I need to stop watching all those true crime shows, that’s all it is. And let’s not talk about you-know-who.”
She gives Robert a stern look.
Thomas raises his hands in mock surrender, eyes widening slightly. He glances at Robert with a small shrug.
“I’m just saying…”
Maris snarls, half serious, half playful.
“Mmhm.”
The check arrives, and the conversation shifts.
It’s now evening, as a car idles outside Robert’s building. Robert steps out, holding the envelope. He turns back, hesitating for a fraction of a second before offering a small wave.
Marie calls out lovingly.
“Take care, sweetheart. Call us if you need anything.”
Thomas smiles.
“Yeah, don’t be a stranger.”
Robert nods, his lips part slightly as if to say something more, but he stops himself. He smiles, small but genuine. As they drive away, he watches the tail lights fade into the distance. A quiet beat lingers.
Robert slips inside his room, and closes the door behind him with a sigh of relief, as though glad to be away from the outside world. He tosses the envelope onto the desk without looking at it.
He kicks off his shoes, sending them skidding across the floor. He pulls off a sweater draped over his shoulders and tosses it onto the bed. Next, he loosens his tie, grimacing.
He mumbles.
“This thing... it chokes.”
He moves out of frame, and we hear the faint rustle of clothing being removed. After a moment, Robert steps back into the shot, now wearing a tight-fitting pink dress. It clings to his figure, a stark contrast to the casual disarray of the room. He slides his arms down his sides, breathes in to slim his belly area, and feels his curves.
A pause. A small, quiet smile.
He turns slightly, catching his reflection in the mirror. His fingers twitch as if about to reach up, but he stops just short. His expression stills. Not discomfort, not recognition, just something searching, unfinished.
He whispers.
“There you are... Kira.”
A single heartbeat.
We linges on the granite countertop of the sink. A pair of delicate, feminine hands carefully opens a makeup set. Brushes, foundation, and powders spread neatly in front of the mirror.
We slowly look up, seeing the faint stubble of hair on a freshly shaven face. Smooth, but not without shadow.
Robert stares at his reflection, his expression unreadable. He picks up a sponge, dabs it into the foundation, and begins applying it to his face. His jaw tenses as he glares at himself in the mirror. He presses his lips together slightly, watching how it softens his face.
A hesitation. A flicker of uncertainty.
He speaks in a higher pitch.
“I am…”
He stops and looks around, shy in his own room to make a noise.
Then he speaks again.
“I am…”
A knock at the door.
Robert freezes, his hand suspended mid-motion. His breathing slows. He waits, silent.
Another knock, louder this time.
Peter’s voice calls through from the outside.
“Robert, you there?”
Robert takes a deep nervous breath, the feeling of needles on his skin. His body temperature rises. His fingers tighten around the sponge. A beat of silence.
His voice shifts.
“Yeah, bro... I'm using the toilet. One second.”
His tone is different, forced, deeper than before.
Robert wipes his face clean, quickly throws his clothing over the pink pantyhose he’s wearing. He’s wearing a black hoodie. Black pants, a loose hip-hop fit making him seem relaxed yet purposeful.
He opens the door.
Peter stands there, grinning.
“Bro, what’s good?”
Robert deepens into his older brother voice, playful, bro-speak.
“Lil Peter!”
Peter looks at him, sizing him up.
“Man, you’re looking good!”
They hug, Peter squeezing him tightly, a brotherly bear hug.
Peter pauses for a moment, then playfully teases.
“You’re frailer than you used to be.”
Robert chuckles.
“Okay, okay.”
He gently pushes him off.
“Now you’re too strong.”
Peter lets go, laughs, and then flexes.
“The younger, stronger generation.”
The front door swings open, revealing James, wide, but gentle like a teddy bear, laid-back. He grins wide.
“Bro, long time no see.”
Robert smiles, eyes gleaming.
“Baby bro!”
They exchange a hug, a firm pat on the back.
Tomas stands nearby, waiting.
“Robert!? Is that you?"
He holds out his hand. They do a brotherly handshake. Robert plays around with it, not quite matching the firm grip of the others. Peter follows Robert; we hear the loud smack of his and Tomas’ handshake. Muffled brotherly words.
Peter grins wide, mischievous.
“So we gonna do this? What we watching?”
Tomas moves excitedly.
“Turtles?”
Robert nods, playfully firm.
“Mandatory.”
They all shuffle into James’ house.
The four brothers sit on a large sofa, the TV lighting up their faces. Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: The Secret of the Ooze begins to play.
Peter kicks up his feet.
“So who’s Leo?”
Robert playfully identifies each based on their personalities within the brotherhood.
“Easy. I’m Leo, Tomas’ is Raph, Peter, you’re Mikey, and James is Donatello.”
James nods.
“That’s legit.”
Tomas gasps.
“I am not Raph! He’s a hothead! I am the opposite of Raph!”
Robert chuckles.
“Such a Raph thing to say.”
Sensing tension, the peacemaker and oscillating instigator, Peter, chimes in.
“Listen, obviously I’m Leo.”
James jokingly asserts himself.
“Come on guys, I’m Leo.”
Robert chuckles.
“Okay, okay, y’all can be turtles. I’m April then.”
A feminine sigh escapes him, accidentally, as if Kira was channeling through.
The brothers turn and look at him, surprised.
Peter blurts out, teasing.
“That’s cute.”
James leans back.
“April’s hot.”
Tomas raises an eyebrow.
Robert quickly points at the screen.
“But that’s definitely Ant Senior!”
He points at the Foot Clan leader, a wide bodied samurai, who actually resembles Ant.
All the brothers chuckle.
Peter nods.
“He does look like the pops.”
James turns to Robert.
“Wait a minute, why don’t you call him pops?”
Robert hesitates for a moment, then shrugs.
“He ain’t my pops, he’s y’all’s pops.”
Peter raises an eyebrow.
“Who’s your pops then?”
Robert chuckles, shrugging dismissively.
“Some random dude I met once.”
Peter snaps his fingers, pointing at Robert.
“Exactly.”
Tomas, still simmering.
“All I know is, if anyone is Raph, it’s the pops. He’s the only hothead in this family.”
Everyone nods.
James raises his eyebrows, tilts his head.
“That’s kinda true.”
Robert nods.
“Can’t argue with that.”
Peter cracks open a soda.
“Can we get back to the movie?’
The words, and the room fade out, to reveal a void expanse inside Robert’s head.
Robert inhales, speaks in a deep tone.
“I am Kira.”
He exhales, raising his pitch.
“I am Kira.”
Then, once more, in perfect pitch.
“I am Kira.”
The voice fully transforms into Kira’s voice, lingering in the quiet.
We see from above, Kira lies on the grass, pink pantyhose peeking beneath a black suit, black heels crossed at the ankles. Black-framed glasses with pink lenses rest on her face. She exhales deeply, a small smile playing on her lips.
She sits up, stretching slightly.
She speaks softly, to herself.
“Of course I am Kira. Who else could I be?”
A soft chuckle, she opens her silver pill case, and removes one pink capsule, swallows it. For a moment, she almost gags, but she holds it down, she slightly shivers.
We see from hr eyes, sunlight filters through the trees, a birds song rising in the distance. A butterfly drifts into view, hovering before landing on a tombstone, with a bouquet of pink roses laid on the ground in front it. The inscription reads:
“A great son and man, gone too soon.”
The view shifts, another headstone, a decayed bouquet of now gray roses lay in front of it. It reads Ant. We see Kira’s eyes widen.
A muffled voice breaks the moment.
Kira blinks, turns. In the distance, a couple stands together, blurred, indistinct. She looks further, noticing a colleague waving her over. His face, too, is obscured, details lost in a haze. He stands near a hearse, waiting.
She rises, brushing off her suit. Her heels click softly against the path.
She walks to the hearse, enters it.
A low hum fills the cabin. Röyksopp’s What Else Is There? plays soft and distant.
The voice from the song sings:
“It was me on that road, but you couldn't see me…”
The hearse rolls through winding cemetery paths. Sunlight glints off its polished surface.
Through the window, tombstones blur past, indistinct. Among them, one seems to hold a familiar shape of letters, but before the mind can place them, the motion pulls it away.
The engine hums, blending into the music.
Beyond the cemetery, the city emerges. Bright skies stretch over Colma. The San Francisco Bay shimmers beneath a thin veil of fog, rolling over the skyline, softening its edges.
The hearse drives on.
A dead Chinese woman’s face, serene, unmoving, rests on a metal table. The sound of liquids running fills the room. Tubes hum softly, precise in their quiet work. We watch the pink liquid run through the tubes into the body.
We see through her eyes, two petite hands, covered in latex gloves, adjust a scalpel and tweezers.
A single pink strand of hair dangles into view.
A muffled voice cuts through, unclear at first.
Kim calls out.
“…your hair.”
Kira looks up. Across the room, Kim stands, her face blurred, like an image out of focus, pixelated as if the WiFi connection is bad.
Kira blinks. Her own reflection should be visible in a nearby mirror. She almost looks. Stops. A sharp shake of the head.
She speaks softly.
“Of course I’m Kira. Who else…”
She exhales, noticing the pink strand again. Slowly, she peels off her gloves, discarding them in a nearby bin. With a careful motion, she lowers her medical mask, but doesn’t remove it fully. She lingers for a moment, fingers resting on the edge of the table, as if grounding herself. A faint, almost imperceptible tremor in her breath.
Kim steps closer. Her voice sharpens, coming into full focus.
“Let me help you... your hair. It was hanging over the body. Not great for hygiene.”
A pause.
Kira nods.
“Thank you, Kim.”
Her voice is half-present, half-drifting.
Kim picks up a shower cap, carefully tucking Kira’s pink strands beneath it. Her movements are precise. Almost ritualistic.
Kim moves closer.
“Can you see me?”
Kira nods, though her hesitation is barely concealed.
“Yeah... I can.”
Her eyes flick briefly, just for a second, toward the mirror beside her.
She doesn’t fully look.
Kim tilts her head, watching her.
“I don’t believe you.”
A flicker, like a faulty frame in a film reel.
For the briefest moment, Robert is in Kira’s place.
It happens so fast, it barely registers. Like an afterimage. A trick of the eye.
Kira blinks. The world feels stable again.
A slight hitch in her breath. But she doesn’t react.
Kim furrows her brow.
“I could see it in your eyes... wait one second.”
She walks over to her bag, sitting atop a table, she digs into it and pulls out a DVD case.
“Here.”
She hands it to Kira.
Kira looks at it.
“Six Feet Under.”
She tilts her head.
“A series… what is it about?”
Kim shrugs.
“Death? Um… being different.”
A beat.
Kira lingers on the DVD for a second longer, running her fingers lightly across the cover, as if trying to decipher what Kim is really saying.
Kim nods, the hum of embalming instruments continues.
Inside Robert’s room, a single bed against the wall, a flimsy metal frame, thin mattress. Above it, a collage of angels and pink-haired feminine beings, some clipped from magazines, others printed, a few hand-drawn.
Dim blue morning light filters through the blinds. The city hums outside.
Robert’s eyes flutter open. He exhales suddenly, as if coming to life, he stares at the ceiling. An oversized black sweater drapes over him, pink pantyhose stretched over his legs.
He sits up, feet touching the floor, he wiggles his toes.
Reaching for the nightstand, he grabs a worn notebook.
The cover is layered with ink, angels, symbols, the name Kira repeated in looping strokes.
Robert flips through, fingers hovering over a page, tracing without reading.
A sharp knock.
His head snaps up. His body tenses.
Another knock. Firm. Expectant.
The notebook hits the bed. He yanks off the pantyhose, swapping them for loose black sweatpants. Sweater off, plain T-shirt on. Hoodie over it.
At the mirror, he unties his hair. Blonde strands fall, messy. He ruffles them further.
A deep breath. He moves to the window, peeking through the blinds.
A young woman in uniform, shifting a tall, human-sized package wrapped in thick bubble wrap. It leans against her hip. Too big for her frame.
She checks her clipboard, shifting impatiently.
Robert hesitates. Then, unlocks the door. Opens it.
The delivery woman glances up.
“Robert?”
Robert inhales.
“Yes.”
She doesn’t notice the pause.
“Sign here.”
She hands him a tablet. His fingers tremble slightly as he scribbles.
She shifts the weight toward him.
“She’s heavier than she looks. Feels almost... real, huh?”
Robert grips the package. Arms strain. The shape beneath the wrap is unmistakable, human-like.
He tilts it back, leans it against the doorway.
The delivery woman smiles, as she turns away.
“Have a good one.”
Robert watches her go, then drags the package inside.
He lowers the package to the center of the room. Bubble wrap crinkles as he peels it away.
A slight tremor in his hands.
The final strip falls.
A mannequin stands before him, faceless, feminine, sleek. Matte black. Unmoving.
Robert stares.
He reaches out.
Fingertips graze her collarbone.
Inside a department store, women’s clothing section, Robert follows behind his mother, pushing a shopping cart as she moves through racks of neatly arranged clothes. The store is bright, sterile, and in the background we see black mannequins dressed in gray, one of them in the distance, hard to see, dressed in pink.
Marie stops by a row of sweater dresses, pulling one from the hanger, a soft, baby blue colored piece with long sleeves.
She holds it up to him.
“What do you think?”
Robert shakes his head.
She studies him, as if second-guessing his answer.
“Really? I thought you’d like this one.”
Robert shrugs, avoiding eye contact.
She exhales, places it back on the rack. Then, glancing at him.
“I like your shirt.”
Robert looks down at his T-shirt, an anime-style design of a pink-haired woman, the name Kira Kira printed across it.
“Oh, thanks.”
Marie smiles.
“Did you make it?”
A flicker of shyness in him.
He inhales.
“Um, yeah. I made the design and printed it on Amazon.”
She nods, taking another look.
“Who’s Kira?”
A twitch. Robert hesitates.
“She’s…”
Before he can find the words.
Marie shuffles through sweaters.
“A character you’re making?”
Robert blurts out the easiest thing to say.
“Um... yea, character.”
He exhales, but his chest feels tight. Something in him pulls back.
Marie glances at the shirt agin.
“That’s cool. I like the design.”
Robert inhales.
“I mean... not really a character. Not just a character. She’s more…”
She looks at him curiously, waiting.
Robert flutters through thoughts.
“It’s hard to explain, but she’s an angel.”
A breath.
“You believe in angels, right?”
Marie nods.
Robert begins to articulate with familiar western archetypes.
“I mean, you still believe in God and Jesus, right?”
Marie nods.
“Yes, I do.”
Robert brushes his hand against a blouse on the racks.
“And in that world, people say they believe in angels. But do they really”
A beat.
“I can say she’s a character, or I can say she’s an angel, and truly know it to be true. Within me.”
His mother watches him.
“So, like a mindset thing?”
Robert nods, then bites his lip.
“Exactly.”
A hitch, he pauses, shakes his head.
“No. More than a mindset.”
She senses something deeper, notices a twitch in his eye.
She hesitates, about to say something more, then lets it go. Instead, she turns, plucks a pink sweater dress from the rack.
“Oh, look at this. What do you think?”
Robert shakes his head.
She eyes his shirt, then the pink letters, the pink hair.
“Kira likes pink.”
A pause. A look passes between them. A quiet understanding.
Robert smiles.
“She does. That’s true.”
Marie winks.
“Good, then I’ll buy this for her.”
She pauses for a moment, studying Robert. A flicker of recognition crosses her face, unreadable but lingering.
She tosses the pink dress into the cart.
Robert’s hand twitches. His jaw slackens. He doesn’t stop her. Letting it happen feels like a confession.
Total blackness. The sound of distant screams pierces the silence, followed by the thud of bodies wrestling against walls. A muffled crash. Then another.
Soft, shaky breathing, the kind only children make when they’re trying to be silent but can’t stop trembling.
A lamp clicks on, inside a closet, under the stairs.
A small, cramped space. Shadows stretch across the walls. Inside, Robert as a boy sits huddled on the floor, knees to his chest. A doll with pink yarn hair and a stitched smile is clutched tightly in his hands.
He presses the doll close to his chest, stroking its hair gently. His eyes flick toward the door as another loud crash shakes the house.
He whispers.
“It's okay, Kira. You're safe in here.”
He hugs the doll tighter, whispering softly as if reassuring her.
“As long as we stay here, we're safe. And I'll protect you.”
His fingers tighten around the doll. His voice is low, but urgent.
“I know you want to go outside and play. Me too. But we can't, because Mother told us to hide, okay?”
A pause. His small hands tremble as he adjusts Kira’s dress.
“Yes, we have to hide. Because it's not safe for you. But don't worry, I will protect you.”
The noises outside cease.
Silence stretches thin in the air. Robert’s breath catches. He hesitates, then slowly crawls toward the door, his hand shaking as he reaches for the knob.
He pushes it open, just a crack.
From the gap, he sees only shadows shifting in the dim light.
Then, a figure stirs.
A deep growl rumbles.
A massive presence, its outline barely visible, but its twisted horns unmistakable.
IT RUSHES TOWARD HIM.
Robert slams the door shut, heart pounding. He scrambles back, clutching Kira, eyes wide.
The door shudders violently.
Then.
The knob turns.
The door bursts open.
A pair of glowing red eyes lock onto him.
Robert screams.
Two boys, Robert and his younger brother Tomas, kneel beside a small bed, hands clasped together in prayer, they whisper together.
“Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep…”
Next to Robert, tucked neatly beneath his folded hands, is his Kira doll, her pink yarn hair resting against his arm.
At a payphone booth.
Their mother, Marie, her faded blonde hair disheveled, stands hunched over a payphone, gripping the receiver tightly. A bruise darkens her eye.
Her voice, low, shaking.
“He hit me again. I'm leaving him… I left him.”
On the other end of the line, her mother, Robert’s grandmother, her voice firm, unwavering.
“Don't go back. Don't. Not this time. Enough is enough.”
A long silence.
Marie exhales, rubbing at her forehead, the cigarette between her fingers burning low.
“I won’t.”
She inhales deeply, then hangs up the phone. The click echoes in the empty hall. She stares at the receiver for a moment before flicking ash from her cigarette, letting out a heavy sigh.
Back to Robert and Tomas, sitting cross-legged on the thin mattress. The room is sparse, walls bare except for faint crayon scribbles left behind by past occupants.
Tomas eyes the Kira doll, watching as Robert carefully adjusts her tiny dress.
“Why do you play with dolls?”
Robert blinks, holding Kira close.
“You mean Kira? She's not just a doll.”
Tomas reaches out a hand.
“Let me see her.”
Robert shakes his head.
“No, I can’t, Kira is fragile.”
Tomas insists.
“Come on, you can trust me.”
Robert looks at Kira, then looks back at Tomas.
“She’s not ready, but look.”
He points to the wall.
“Do you see that?”
Tomas squints his eyes.
“Is it…”
Robert nods.
“Yes, it’s a planet, that’s where Kira is from.”
Tomas squints, then his eyes gleaming with wonder.
“A planet?”
Robert nods, smiling.
“Yes! She’s from space, she’s not from here.”
Tomas giggles.
“Wow, what’s it like there.”
Robert speaks with wonder.
“It’s so wonderful, and happy. There we can smile and play, and Kira she is more than a doll.”
Tomas leans closer.
“More than a doll, like what?”
Robert looks at Kira.
“She’s like us!”
Tomas rubs his own cheek.
“She can talk?”
Robert nods, once, certain.
“Yes! She can talk, and laugh, and play, just like us!”
He opens his arms in amusement.
“Let’s go visit her, let’s go to space!”
Tomas hesitates, then tilts his head.
“Space? Is it safe in space?”
Robert nods, sure of it.
“Yes. For us, it is.”
Tomas takes in a breath.
“Where did you get this doll from anyways?”
Robert shrugs.
“I don’t really remember…”
The boys continue, they point at the walls, eyes wide with wonder as if seeing distant stars and planets.
They chuckle with delight, the weight of the night momentarily lifting as they drift together into a world of make-believe.
In Robert’s room, a table sits in dim candlelight. His laptop is open, the screen displaying a writing app with "FADE IN:" typed on it. In front of the screen, a pink-haired doll sits propped up.
To the left of it, a Vajra, a Buddhist meditation tool.
A black-painted hand reaches for it. Our eyes follow Robert, now in a black dress, his pink bob wig framing his face, his makeup perfectly applied.
He moves to the center of the room, where candles flicker in different corners.
Standing before him, a mannequin clothed in a flowing white dress, a pink wig resting on her head.
He speaks reverently.
“Kira, I need you.”
He wraps his arms around the mannequin, his eyes filled with longing.
He whispers.
“Where are you, Kira? Please, come to me.”
He kisses the mannequin, his lips lingering, his breath uneven.
He reaches into his pocket, and pulls out three pink pills, he swallows them.
“I love you, Kira. I need you. Come to me.”
A pink Mercedes C350 AMG glides smoothly down Sandhill Road, the streetlights casting fleeting reflections on its polished exterior. Spiral by Andy Hunter plays, the pulsing electronic beats blending with the hum of the engine.
The driver’s window is open. Trees blur in the background, mountain peaks visible in the darkness.
Pink hair flies in the wind.
We see Kira’s face, then her hands, she reaches for her silver pill case, grabs two, and swallows them, a tremor, a ringing in her ears, she shakes it off.
She pulls into Rosewood Sandhill, easing the car into a parking space alongside a row of other Mercedes.
The door opens.
Pink heels step onto the pavement.
She stands, poised, a sharp white suit over a pink blouse.
With purpose, she strides through the entrance of the venue, descending the stairs to the lower level.
A seminar is just about to begin.
Near the doorway, sharply dressed attendants take note of arrivals, their faces blurred.
Inside, a gathering of figures, all in dark suits, converse in hushed tones.
The words are muffled, indistinct, floating through the air like the unseen wind.
Within the Rosewood Hotel, soft meditation music hums through the air. Rows of nicely dressed individuals sit facing forward, their faces blurred, their postures attentive.
In the third row, Kira’s pink hair stands out amongst the group. We see her from behind.
At the front of the room, a man sits, his bald head shining under the light. He wears black glasses and a calm smile. Unlike the rest, his face is clear.
His name is Sam.
Sam smiles, speaks confidently.
“This is the dream. This is a dream. And to wake from it, you must see yourself.”
A pause. He reaches into his bag.
“Oh… my Hannah Montana notebook.”
He holds it up, grinning.
A soft chuckle ripples through the group.
Sam giggles.
“This was before she became a wrecking ball.”
He places the notebook on the table beside him, next to a bouquet of flowers.
Reaching into his bag again, he pulls out a mirror.
“We must see ourselves.”
He rests the mirror on his lap.
“Someone here is ready to wake up and see the truth.”
The group listens intently.
Sam grins.
“And I think we all know who that is because we have a memory of this person, and yet, here, another sits in that place.”
He gestures toward Kira.
“The other sits here with us. The other who wants to awaken.”
We zoom out.
The heads turn, one by one, toward Kira.
Sam gestures to someone in the front row.
“Pass this to her.”
A man in the front row takes the mirror and hands it back.
It moves row by row, until it reaches Kira.
She holds it in her lap.
Sam nods, encouraging.
“It’s okay to see. You’re ready.”
Kira hesitates.
Her fingers tighten around the edges of the mirror. Her breath catches.
Slowly, deliberately, she raises the mirror to her face.
She sees herself. She’s surprised. She’s beautiful.
Suddenly, the faces around her become clear.
To her right, Marie leans in.
Marie smiles.
“You look great, my son.”
To her left, Thomas grins.
“Great job, Robert.”
He holds up his thumb.
Kira squints at them.
She whispers.
“I am Kira.”
She looks around, then repeats, more certain.
“I am Kira.”
The heads of the people shake.
Scattered voices murmur from the group, barely audible, “You’re Robert.” The words ripple unevenly, a fragmented echo.
Startled, Kira stands up.
She speaks quietly, a murmur.
“But… I see myself. I know who I am.”
Sam interjects, gently, but firm.
“Do you?”
For a moment, Sam’s face twitches into Ant’s.
Sam speaks at Ant.
“Or are you just being a queer?”
Kira grits her teeth, soft at first, then nearly grinding.
“But I see her. She’s right here.”
A beat. The murmurs around her grow louder, pressing in.
Kira grips the mirror, firmer.
“No. I am Kira.”
She rushes to the door.
Standing there like bodyguards are Peter and Tomas, dressed in sharp gray suits.
Tomas blocks her path.
“Sam wants to talk to you.”
Kira gasps.
“Why are you doing this?”
Tomas doesn’t respond. He just points.
Kira turns to see Sam standing, imposing.
She’s tense, demanding.
“What?”
She waves her hands, exasperated.
Sam speaks gently, almost warm.
“You’re holding on to something that was never yours to begin with, Robert. Just let go.”
Kira shakes her head, defiant.
“What do you want from me?”
Sam begins to glow.
“I’m your teacher. I want only your happiness. And I give you only love.”
Kira smacks her lips, frustrated, sarcastic.
“This is love? Okay, thank you for your teaching. Thank you so much.”
She turns to the group.
“Thank you, everyone. Thank you for your presence.”
She looks at her mother, Marie, a tear sliding down her cheek.
“And Mother, I love you, I do. Thank you for the name. But I am Kira.”
She turns back to Sam.
“Why can’t I learn for myself? Why can’t I name myself? Why can’t I live and love my life as I live and love?”
She pauses, then continues.
“Why do you name me? What does it mean to you if I’m Kira? Why do you care?”
Sam takes a step closer.
“You must be selfless. I hear only self in your words.”
He raises his hands as if casting a spell.
Blackness begins coating Kira’s body, like the mannequin.
Kira shivers, alarmed.
“What is this?”
She waves her hands in resignation.
“This is a loop. I’m out of here.”
She shoves past Peter and Tomas, bursting through the door.
Outside, James stands in a pink suit, he waves to her.
“Hey Kira.”
Kira stops, surprised, uncertain.
“You called me Kira…”
James nods, smiling.
“Yeah, because that’s your name.”
Kira smiles, hugs him for a moment, warmth in her eyes, then she lets go, and continues to run.
“Thank you. I love you. But I have to go. They’re after me.”
James nods.
“I understand, I love you too. Bye, Kira.”
As Kira runs, she bumps into someone.
It’s Robert.
Kira stops, stunned.
“Oh… you’re here? You’re not supposed to…”
Robert speaks softly.
“This is my memory… right?”
Their eyes meet.
Kira leans closer, whispers.
“Is it?”
Robert breathes in deeply.
“I guess so. And you’re here…”
Kira nods.
“Yeah… you prayed for me, and so I came…”
Robert looks up, thinking.
“It’s hard to remember sometimes.”
Kira’s eyes begin to shimmer.
“I know.”
In the distance, walking quickly, is Sam.
Robert notices him.
“Oh, it’s Sam, he must be disappointed in me, because I’m late.”
Kira waves him off.
“No, he doesn’t understand.”
Robert raises an eyebrow, hesitant, unsure.
“Sam... he's Enlightened. Right?”
Kira shrugs.
“Forget about that word. All I know is he says we’re not Kira, and that we need to be selfless… which is code for, be consumed by his doctrine.”
Robert thinks and nods, a little conflicted.
“I mean… maybe he has a point? About being selfless… but you are here… you’re real.”
Kira sighs.
“What do you mean? Selfless… that’s spiritual jargon. And yes, I’m here, for you.”
She gently taps his shoulder.
“You called me here. You prayed for me, you cried for me, and created for me. How are we not Kira?”
Robert pauses, a ringing in his ears. He clenches his head.
“They’re in my head, Kira. They’re in my head.”
He breathes in deeply, as his ears begin ringing.
“They’re in my head, Kira… I can’t tell what’s real.”
His breath steadies, the ringing subsiding.
Then, almost involuntarily.
He whispers, confesses.
“I don’t know what to do…”
Kira watches, her eyes watery.
Robert reaches into his pocket, removing a silver case. He opens it.
He holds it up.
“Do I need to take this?”
Kira shakes her head, her expression shows concern.
“No! That’s not for you. I take those to be here… but you, no, don’t take it.”
She reaches for him, but he swallows a pill before she could stop him. He falls to the floor.
His eyes turn pink.
Kira kneels beside him, her breath shallow.
Sam watches, expression unreadable. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he turns and walks away.
Silence. Kira looks down at Robert, her breath trembling.
His pink eyes flicker, open, then closed. A moment passes. Then, darkness.
A row of dead bodies, clothed and made up, lies motionless under the dim, sterile glow.
First-person perspective. Kira’s eyes flutter open, adjusting to the embalming room’s cold light.
In front of her, Kim tucks a loose strand of Kira’s pink hair beneath a disposable cap. Her large green eyes hold warmth, an unspoken gentleness, and then a flicker of mischief. For a moment, Kira flinches.
Kim smiles.
“There we go. It’s better now.”
Kira watches Kim’s hands. The latex gloves. The careful way she smooths down the cap.
A loud creak as the door swings open.
Mike, the head embalmer, steps inside, rolling in a gurney.
He’s gruff, focused.
“We got a live one… I mean, a live dead one.”
He chuckles.
A soft metallic clank as the gurney locks into place.
Kira shifts slightly, unease crawling beneath her skin, she reaches into her pocket, removes the silver pink case, looks at it with hesitation, but quickly, stealthily, removes a pill and swallows it. Her knees become weak, for a moment, she stumbles back.
She looks at her hand, for a moment, it’s lifeless, covered in black, she shakes it off, and its back to normal.
Kim turns to look at her.
“Are you okay?”
Kira nods.
“All Good. I’m perfex.”
She chuckles under her breath, noticing the mispronunciation of the word perfect.
She shakes it off, then walks along side Kim.
They walk over to Mike. He grips the zipper of the body bag and pulls it down. The plastic peels away like dead skin.
A cold, pale face emerges.
A young man. Delicate features. Soft lips. Blonde hair.
Kira stares.
Her breath catches. Her stomach tightens.
The world falls away.
Kim and Mike keep talking, but their voices fade to nothing.
All she hears is the slow, rhythmic beat of her own heart.
His closed eyes, the faint trace of eyeliner smudged beneath them.
The curve of his lips, like he had fallen asleep in a trance, a layer of bliss on his skin.
It’s him. It’s Robert. Lifeless. Still.
Kira’s body moves before she can think, pushing Mike aside, getting right in Robert’s face.
She pries his mouth open, as if she could take out the pink pill he had swallowed.
“No… he’s just sleeping. He’s fine.”
She swallows hard. Hands shaking. Then, she pries his mouth open.
“Why did you do that?”
Mike and Kim freeze, stunned.
Kim inches closer to Kira, speaks carefully.
“Kira… can you stop for a moment?”
Kira turns to Kim, snaps at her.
“What?”
Mike holds out his hands, steady, but firm.
“Yeah, Kira. Just wait. Tell us what’s going on?”
Kira stops, desperate, almost pleading.
“How did he die?”
Mike glances up, to the left, thinking.
“I believe an overdose.”
Kira shakes her head.
“What did he take?”
Mike shrugs.
“It’s undetermined. The coroner’s final report isn’t in yet.”
Kira frantically mimes a pill.
“He took pills, right? Small pink ones? Like this! Small pink pills, right?”
Her eyes widen. Her breath sharpens.
Kim gently places a hand on her shoulder.
“It’s okay, Kira. You knew him?”
Kira nods, eyes glassy.
She whispers.
“Yes. It’s me.”
Kim studies her, confused.
“What do you mean, ‘it’s you’?”
Kira waves her hands, as if grasping at something intangible.
“This world. This place. You…”
She turns to Mike.
“…and you.”
She touches her own chest.
“And me...”
She pauses, struggling for clarity.
“It’s fuzzy, but…”
She inhales, shuddering.
“I don’t want him to die… He’s not supposed to die. We’re supposed to be together. If he dies, then I’m alone… like he used to be.”
Her voice cracks. Tears spill.
“Who wants to be alone?”
Kim pulls her into an embrace, rubbing her back gently.
“It’s hard, sweetie. I’m sorry. I don’t know how you knew him, but I understand. Death is hard.”
Kim sighs, glancing at Mike.
“I don’t always like working here either. Every day, death. We get numb… and we drink.”
She chuckles lightly, trying to comfort.
“O’Malley’s is right across the street for a reason.”
Mike nods in agreement.
Kira pushes off, shaking her head.
“No. No, you don’t understand me. This world…”
She waves her hands, trying to grasp the air.
“It’s real, but not real. I don’t need to numb it. I need to feel it. I need to feel him.”
She points at Robert.
“If he’s dead, then what’s the point?”
Kim and Mike exchange glances, unsettled.
Kim lifts her hand, fingers splayed, as if casting a spell.
She smiles, too gentle.
“It’s okay, Robert. Just breathe.”
Kira’s body stiffens.
“What?”
Kim is insistent now.
“You heard me.”
Kira shakes her head.
“I am Kira.”
Kim doesn’t hesitate.
“No, Robert. You’re having an episode.”
Kira’s breath shortens.
She begins to panic.
“An episode? That’s your plan? I’m losing my mind?”
Kim nods.
And then, it begins.
A creeping blackness spreads over Kira’s body, coating her like ink.
Kira gasps, eyes swelling.
“Not again…”
She looks at Kim, betrayal in her eyes.
“You too?”
Kim smiles.
Kira takes a step back.
Mike mutters, shaking his head.
“I hate when this happens.”
Kira turns and runs.
Bursts through the back door.
But before she can escape.
Her body hardens, limbs stiffening.
She speaks defiantly, a moment before it goes dark.
“You can name me whatever you want. But I know who I am.”
And suddenly, she is nothing but a black mannequin, collapsed in the dark alley behind Green Street Mortuary.
Mike and Kim hover above her.
Kim exhales.
“I did like you, for a moment, but then it became clear, you were different.”
Mike makes a click with his mouth.
“We’re not dead, we just couldn’t resist anymore… so we drink, you should have did that too.”
Kim turns, places her hands on Mike’s shoulder.
“No need to explain yourself to him… this isn’t his world.”
Mike nods.
“Yea…”
A heart begins to beat, coming alive.
Robert’s arms are wrapped tightly around the mannequin. The dim glow of candlelight flickers around the room.
A soft whisper cuts through the silence.
Kira calls out.
"I need you too."
Robert’s breath catches. His eyes widen as he slowly lifts his head, staring at the mannequin.
He speaks softly, uncertain, but hopeful.
“Kira?”
The mannequin’s pink hair begins to shift, as if caught in a gentle breeze.
A chill runs down Robert’s spine. His gaze flicks toward the door, it’s slightly open.
A cold draft seeps into the room.
Robert hesitates, then stands, turning toward the door, but as he does, his arms push at the mannequin, making it fall backgrounds, a smash.
The mannequin cracks, a portion of the face seems peeled off, something underneath.
Robert falls to his knees, and begins peeling away, until a woman is revealed, it’s Kira.
“Kira?”
From behind him, outside the door, a soft hymn fills the air.
He rises, lifts Kira in his arms, and steps forward, he pushes the door open.
Beyond the doorway, there is nothing.
No walls, no hallway, just an endless black space.
His heart pounds.
He steps forward, crossing the threshold. His room is now the only thing suspended in this void, like a lone set piece in an unfinished film.
Ahead, on the ground a short distance away, a glowing cube pulses softly.
It flickers, casting strange rippling reflections across the darkness.
Robert slowly approaches. He kneels, setting Kira down gentle, he peers into the cube.
Inside, a moving image plays, like a film trapped in glass. A memory.
He sees a woman, like the woman beside him, it’s Kira.
“I remember that… my first real job in the city.”
He sees Kira in the lobby of JP Morgan Chase.
Kira stands just inside the entrance door, watching the rain as it drizzles against the pavement. The glow of streetlights reflects off the wet surfaces.
We zoom onto her face, her eyes curious, scanning the Greyhound bus stop just outside the building. Passengers exit the bus, stepping into the city, one of them a young man, around 20 years old, looking around cautiously.
Kira sighs.
“All for you…”
The silver case opens, a pink pill, she swallows it. A loud ringing in her ears, screams, and cries, her eyes shift to black, losing their color, she shakes it off. She’s back to normal.
A voice interrupts her thoughts.
Brian approaches.
“Lost in thought?”
She turns. Brian, her boss, stands beside her, holding out an umbrella.
“Oh, Brian… yeah, that sums it up.”
She sees the glass reflect her face, Robert staring back at her.
Brian’s eyes soft, his voice genuine.
“Life is confusing… isn’t it?”
Kira nods, a tear welling in her eyes.
Brian hesitates for a moment, then speaks.
“Kira…”
Kira looks away.
“Why do you call me that? Everyone in this world seems intent on not calling me by my name.”
Brian smiles.
“I know you’re Kira, but I also know you’re not from here.”
Kira looks cautiously, grips the door, muscle memory kicking in.
Brian opens his hands.
“It’s okay. What I mean is, I have a memory too, and once a long time ago, in your place stood a man named Robert. And I was very fond of him… in fact, when I moved to management here…”
He gestures to the building.
“He was the first employee I hired.”
Kira’s eyes widen, listening intently.
Brian gestures with his head towards the Greyhound bus.
“I know that one day, he got off a bus like that, nowhere to stay, no job, just a yearning to find something, to find someone… to find you…”
A young Robert, in the distance, is getting off the bus, a large army green duffel bag on his back, a pink ribbon hanging from it.
Kira looks on, eyes wide.
“I remember…”
She turns and looks at Brian.
“So what now? Do I die? Does he die?”
Brian shakes his head.
“Why focus on dying when you could be born?”
Kira looks deeper.
“Born?”
Brian nods.
“Robert needs you, and you need him, right?”
She nods.
Brian’s eyes glow with care.
“Then don’t die. He wouldn’t want that. And make sure he doesn’t die either. You don’t want that. Step outside. Let them see you. Until they can’t look away.”
Kira listens intently. She takes a deep breath, letting the words settle. She glances at her reflection again, not Robert, not a ghost of someone else, but herself. She places a hand on the glass, making a choice.
“Outside?”
Brian points outside.
Robert disappears behind a corner.
Brian inhales.
“Go outside, and face them, again and again, until they no longer have power over you. And one day, this world will be the world where all of you is alive… this world doesn’t control you, and one day you’ll go home, when you do, make sure Robert is with you, okay?”
Brian reaches into his pocket and pulls out a handful of pink pills, hands them to Kira.
Kira looks at at them.
“Yes… I will. But what is this, pills, like the ones I take to be here?”
Brian winks.
“It's not much, just a color really. Not poison, not medicine… you take them because… well, you know why you take them.”
Kira glides a finger over her lips, swirling the pills in her other hand.
“Right… but why are you giving them to me?”
Brian points at the pills.
“While it’s just a color to most, for you it’s different. It’s the thread that led you here… and the shimmer that woke Robert up, right?”
Kira thinks for a moment. She looks at the pills, feeling the weight of meaning settle in her hands.
“Yea…”
Brian hands Kira an umbrella.
“I must go now. I’d say see you tomorrow, but I know I won’t, so I’ll just say, may you be free and alive and filled with soul.”
Brian steps out, a light drizzle on his head.
Kira smiles, nodding to Brian as he walks off, then she mumbles to herself.
“Okay, Kira. It’s okay. We can go outside.”
She nods with determination.
“Yes.”
She pushes the door open.
The rain is subtle, but she opens the umbrella anyway and steps forward. A sense of unease creeps over her.
She glances behind her.
Her breath catches.
In the reflection of a puddle, she sees red eyes, and horns.
She muffles a gasp and quickly turns forward, walking faster.
The entity follows.
She picks up her pace, glancing back again.
She stumbles.
Her foot catches. She falls.
She turns over, the entity closing in.
Kira whispers, panicked.
“No, no, no…”
She raises a hand, pleading.
She blinks.
The monster is gone.
A man in a janitor’s uniform stands before her, holding out a wallet.
He’s wide and stocky, with a mustache.
“Miss, you dropped this.”
Kira stares at him. She reaches for her wallet, but hesitates.
The man insists.
“Please, miss. Let me help you.”
A beat.
Kira resigns, exhales, speaks soft, grateful.
“Okay… thank you.”
She grabs his hand. He pulls her up.
She’s breathless, apologetic.
“I’m sorry. It’s my first day… and the city… it’s so different.”
The man nods, understanding.
“No problem, miss.”
Kira reads his name tag.
It reads: Ant.
She straightens her dress.
“Ant… do you work here?”
He shakes his head.
“No, no. I was just in the area buying something for my son.”
He holds up a doll.
Kira raises an eyebrow.
“A doll?”
Ant grins.
“Yes.”
Kira holds a smile, hesitantly turns the corners of her lips, waiting.
“Your son likes dolls?”
Ant nods proudly.
“Yes, he loves dolls.”
Kira smiles fully.
“Oh, that’s so cute.”
Ant laughs.
“I don’t know how to be a father, but I know I love my son.”
Kira nods.
“You can be a great father, if you want to.”
Ant smiles, but then his expression flickers. His grip tightens. A shadow passes over his face. Out from his eyes and mouth, black ink begins to seep, creeping toward Kira, consuming her again.
Kira calls out.
“Not again!”
She reaches into her pocket, grabs the pink pills, and throws them at Ant. The pink begins to consume the black, flooding onto the streets, onto Kira.
Robert, as a child, is curled up in the closet, his small body squeezing into the corner. He trembles, his fingers tight around his Kira doll, until he notices a pink liquid reaching his feet. He looks up to see a continuous stream of it seeping from underneath the door.
He stares at it curiously, hesitantly. Slowly, he rises to his feet.
He whispers.
“Kira, we have to go…”
He tiptoes through the liquid, pushes the door open, the entire house is flooding. Pink liquid flows down the staircase, pooling around the furniture.
Next to the door, a man sits slumped against the wall, Robert, older, in a demon costume with the head removed, mask resting beside him. His expression is weary, distant.
Child Robert jumps, startled.
Robert mumbles, exhausted.
“It’s okay. I’m tired. You’re safe.”
Child Robert glares at him.
“Who are you?”
Robert chuckles, shaking his head.
“A mirage, mostly.”
Child Robert looks up. The pink liquid continues to flow down the stairs, rippling as it moves.
“What is this stuff?”
Robert sighs.
“She’s worried... and rightfully so.”
Child Robert tilts his head.
“Worried?”
Robert nods, his eyes distant.
“I made a mess of things, and... I don’t know. You should talk to her. She’s upstairs.”
He points.
Child Robert hesitates.
“I’m scared…”
Robert chuckles, shaking his head.
“You should be more scared of me than her. She’s beautiful, truly.”
A beat.
Child Robert takes in a deep breath, resolved.
“Okay... and you’re just a mirage?”
Robert nods.
“Yeah… a phantom that unknowingly caged you… you are the Spark.”
Child Robert twitches his lips, mumbling.
“I’m the Spark…”
Then he shrugs, cautiously beginning to walk up the stairs. Each step is covered in pink liquid. Finally, he reaches the bathroom and opens the door.
Inside, the tub is overflowing with pink liquid. Kira is submerged up to her neck, black ink clinging to her skin, spreading like an infection.
She glances over at him, her eyes warm but pleading.
“Can you help me, honey?”
To the right, Child Robert notices his brothers. Tomas stands near a window, staring outside, looking bored. Next to him, James, a baby, sucks lazily on a pink pacifier. Beside James, Peter plays with a pink-haired doll, reminiscent of the earlier car incident.
Tomas turns toward him, sighing.
“She’s been like this forever. Help her already.”
Child Robert looks confused, then steps closer to Kira.
“Do you want me to help?”
Kira nods.
“Yes, please help. I want it off.”
He looks around, then notices a sponge nearby. He picks it up hesitantly.
“What is it?”
Tomas mutters, from behind them.
“It’s the ink!”
Child Robert turns his head.
“The ink?”
Tomas nods.
“Yes!”
Child Robert looks back at KIRA.
“Why do you have ink on you?”
Kira shrugs, a faint smile playing on her lips.
Tomas smacks his lips.
“She chose it!”
Kira smirks but says nothing.
Child Robert’s eyes show a gentle concern.
“Did you choose it?”
Kira speaks soft, thoughtfully.
“In a way, yes, but this world, you know, I did it for you, and for him.”
Child Robert’s eyes widen.
“For me? For him?”
Kira nods, eyes glowing with love.
“My darling... needed me.”
Child Robert leans closer.
“Your darling?”
She nods again, her eyes connecting with his.
“He couldn’t live without me. He prayed and prayed, and I came to him, I came to you.”
Child Robert looks puzzled, then realization dawns.
“The mirage downstairs? Him and I… we’re?”
Kira chuckles.
“The mirage?”
Child Robert turns his head to the door, then back to Kira.
“That’s what he said.”
Kira shakes her head, amused.
“Of course, he did.”
Tomas smacks his lips.
“He’s not a mirage. His name is Robert. Names are important!”
Kira looks over at Tomas, a knowing smirk forming on her lips.
“That one is mischievous.”
She splashes a handful of pink liquid toward Tomas. He dodges, but some of it catches his shoulder. He wipes it off with a scowl.
“You’re Robert too!”
Child Robert looks even more confused.
“What is he talking about Kira?”
Kira turns back to him, her gaze gentle yet firm.
“This world is obsessed with telling us who we are… you’re Robert, Robert’s downstairs, I’m Robert, blah blah blah.”
He slowly reaches forward with the sponge, pressing it against her arm. At first, the ink resists, clinging like old wounds. Then, slowly, it dissolves, revealing delicate, clean skin beneath.
“This ink doesn’t belong on you.”
Kira whispers, almost afraid.
“Will it really come off?”
Child Robert nods, confident.
“It will come off.”
The ink begins to wash away, Kira smiles, laughter bubbling in her throat.
Excitement shows on child Robert’s face.
“See... it will come off!”
Kira exhales, as if releasing something heavy.
“See, now do you recognize me? I’m your Kira!”
Child Robert catches his breath.
“You’re my Kira?”
Kira exhales, thinking carefully.
“This is hard to explain. You’re so young, and you haven’t seen what we’ve seen…”
She places a gentle hand on his heart. A beat. Her touch lingers, warm, pulsing.
“I am your Kira. I am your Spark… and you, you are mine.”
Child Robert pauses, feeling the warmth of her touch.
“You’re my Spark?”
Kira holds firmly, her presence steady, unwavering.
“I am your soul... and you are mine.”
As the last of the ink dissolves into the pink liquid, a quiet hum fills the air. The room itself seems to breathe. The pink liquid shifts, swirling into a delicate spiral, pulling the last traces of black away.
Kira exhales deeply, her skin now completely clean, radiant under the soft glow of the pink. She looks down at herself, then at Child Robert, eyes filled with something beyond gratitude, love.
The room trembles, a dull rattling shaking the walls. A dim lamp flickers, casting shadows across the cracked ceiling, it’s the same room as before, but different, the bathtub, replaced with a bed. Kira is gone. Robert’s hands clench tightly on his doll.
Robert’s mother lies in bed, groggy, drug-induced, her bruised arms limp at her sides.
Child Robert kneels beside her, his small hands clutching her wrists, his face contorted in fear.
He whispers, urgent.
“Mother... he’s coming. Wake up.”
The rattling intensifies.
In the corner, Tomas sits hunched, knees to his chest, eyes distant, already defeated.
“He always finds us…”
On the floor, Peter and James are no longer there, in their place, two lifeless rabbit toys stare blankly at the wall.
A low growl rumbles through the walls, deep and inhuman.
Child Robert please, shaking Marie.
“Mother! He’s here!”
From beyond the door, a voice, dark, guttural, dripping with rage.
Ant calls out.
“I am the man of this house.”
A thunderous stomp. The room shudders.
“I am the man.”
The walls bulge and warp, like something massive pressing against them from the other side. The door buckles inward.
A sickening crack. The doorframe splinters.
Ant erupts through the doorway, monstrous and towering, his form barely human. Black liquid oozes from his mouth, thick and unnatural. His shirt is stained, faint remnants of pink liquid from an earlier moment, like a lingering scar of something undone.
He’s furious, his voice warping.
“I will not have gay sons! Queers!”
His eyes burn red, his horns curl upward, shadowed against the dim flickering light.
He steps forward, each stomp rattling the entire room.
Child Robert turns, frozen, face pale, clutching his Kira doll.
Marie murmurs, weak.
“Don’t…”
She struggles to pull Child Robert back but is too weak.
Ant looms closer. The room shakes.
Child Robert screams, defiant.
“Leave us alone!”
Tomas shakes his head, eyes empty.
“He won’t... he never does.”
Ant’s body swells, his rage consuming him, his form expanding beyond the walls.
He growls, venomous.
“I live in you! Forever!”
Child Robert lifts his Kira doll for protection, trembling, but determined, he steps toward Ant.
His voice steady, firm, defiant.
“You’re not real!”
A flicker, then the void appears.
From within the void, Robert convulses on the ground, pink foam frothing from his mouth. He clutches memory cubes, pressed tightly to his stomach, his arms wrapped around them like a lifeline.
Kira kneels beside him, voice gentle but urgent.
“Darling... let them go. Let them all go.”
She tries to pry his hands open, but he grips the cubes tighter, shaking.
She’s pleading.
“Darling, come to me…”
A flicker, the room returns.
Ant snarls, his form distorting, black liquid splattering against the walls.
Child Robert steps forward, unflinching.
He holds the Kira doll up, her pink yarn hair almost glowing in the flickering light.
He’s strong, unwavering
“I am Kira. And you can’t do anything about it.”
He continues.
“You’re already dead!”
Ant’s body spasms, his form flickering, unstable.
A new sound, a hymn. Soft, distant, from another world.
From behind Ant, a figure emerges.
Her hands, delicate but unyielding, shove pink pills into Anthony’s mouth.
Her nails, painted pink.
Ant chokes, struggling against her, but she is stronger.
He gurgles, and thrashes.
“No!”
His body collapses, limbs trembling, black liquid oozing from his mouth.
Kira stands above him.
She turns, stepping toward Child Robert.
Tomas’ jaw hangs open.
Child Robert stares, eyes wide.
He whispers, in awe.
“Kira…?”
Kira kneels, her expression soft, loving.
She pats his head, her touch warm.
“Your mother will be okay. And you... you were very brave, okay?”
Child Robert nods, hesitant.
He looks at his Kira doll, then back at her.
“You’re... you’re like my doll?”
Kira smiles. She glances at his doll.
She’s amused, speaks gently.
“I’m more than that.”
She reaches out, placing her finger over his heart.
“You’ll remember more and more…”
Child Robert nods.
A flicker, a glitch, the void returns.
Robert shudders, his grip loosening.
A memory cube slips from his grasp, tumbling to the ground. It lands lifeless.
His body still convulses, but the tension is shifting, his grip is weakening.
Kira leans in closer, placing her hand over his heart.
“Darling, I’m coming now.”
The Mazda truck from a previous moment is suddenly halted. From inside the car, everyone jolts forward.
Ant gasps.
“What the hell is this?”
He turns to Marie. She flinches.
Through the windshield, Kira stands in the middle of the road, like a super heroine. Her stance is unshaken, her eyes locked onto Ant.
Kira calls out, defiant.
“Enough.”
She points directly at Ant His expression flickers with fear.
Kira strides forward, reaches the passenger door, and pries it open. She grabs Anthony roughly and yanks him out. With effortless strength, she tosses him to the ground.
He scrambles up, stunned.
Kira towers over him, shaking her head.
“You’re not worth much, are you? But it’s okay. Your son will forgive you... everyone will forgive you, but you didn’t have to be so cruel.”
She gets into the truck.
The boys sit wide-eyed, frozen in awe.
Peter whispers, holding the Kira doll.
“Is it…?”
He turns to Child Robert.
Child Robert nods, giggling.
“I think so.”
Tomas, staring ahead, grins.
“Not bored anymore.”
Kira turns to Marie, then nods.
“We can go now.”
The car lurches forward, dust kicking up behind it, burying Ant in its wake.
Suddenly, the car stops again.
A man in a sharp black suit stands in the middle of the road.
It’s Sam.
Kira smirks, stepping out of the vehicle.
“I know him.”
She approaches, eyes gleaming.
“What, Sam?”
Sam speaks calmly, measured.
“What you’re doing is not allowed.”
Kira scoffs.
“According to who?”
Sam lifts his arms, points skyward.
“Cosmic order. Your actions create chaos. That’s not allowed. I protect this place. This is a place of order.”
The back door swings open. Child Robert steps out.
He yells.
“I don’t need you, Sam!”
Sam tilts his head, regarding the boy.
“You will. Maybe not now, but later. A boy needs a father figure. In this world, you will need me. I will teach you how to be strong, make money, have nice things, be responsible…”
Child Robert steps forward.
“No, Sam, I don’t. If you’re the father figure, then no, I don’t. I’m sorry, but I’ve seen enough… all those words, strength, money… things, yea, you’ve coerced us without our consent, so yea, I’ll have to face your world when I grow up… the programs you put in my mind… but I’ll do that with Kira, as Kira, for the love of Kira.”
The child fades.
In his place, adult Robert stands.
He’s calm, resolved.
“I’ve cycled through so many father figures like you, your world made sure of that…”
He gestures around with his hands.
“Again and again. All the same stories. I’ve had enough… the father demands obedience but forgets about kindness…”
Kira smiles, admiring him.
Robert stands, eyes clear.
“I just want Kira. And my family, the parts of my family that aren’t douchebags. My mother. My brothers. Thomas. My grandma. The Sparks. That’s all. I’m happy.”
Sam tilts his head, almost amused.
“That’s attachment. And it’s impossible to be enlightened with attachment.”
Kira laughs lightly.
“We’re okay, Sam. We have our way. Our own words. We thank you offering yours, but we see so many use them and abuse them… your enlightenment means what exactly, a Mercedes…”
Robert looks at Sam.
“That’s right, Sam. Thank you. But please, let us go.”
Sam looks to the sky, contemplative.
“It’s not up to me. It’s up to Father.”
In an instant,Kira appears behind Sam.
She whispers in his ear.
“Not our father.”
She raises a hand to touch him…
Sam vanishes.
His clothes collapse into a pile of black pills, rolling down the side of the hill. And then above them, the mountain side curb they stand, comes a flood of pink liquid, Child Robert runs to Kira, in fear, she grabs him in her arms, just as the pink liquid shrouds them.
A continuation of a previous moment. Robert spits up a pink liquid, his mother hears, and turns around in distress.
She calls out in distress.
“Sweetie!”
She kneels down in front him, and grabs his shoulders, he’s becoming limp.
“Robert, are you okay?”
Robert’s breathing slow, his lids half closed.
“I don’t want to be gray mother…”
She looks up at the poster.
“No sweetie, you’re not gray, you can’t possibly be, because that’s not you! We’re just signing up to school, so you can go to school, okay?”
Robert closes his eyes, then opens them again, slowly.
“I don’t want to go to school, they want to make me gray… they want to force me into their system without my consent…”
He’s clenching his Kira doll, his eyes closing again, he’s looking more faint.
Marie turns to the secretary, in distress.
“Call an ambulance!”
There’s commotion, shuffling, the secretary begins to dial the 911.
Robert whispers, another breath.
“I want to be with Kira…:
Marie looks at his hands, the doll he’s clenching.
“Who’s Kira sweetie? Your doll?”
Robert closes his eyes, a glowing pink light emerging from within the void.
“She’s more than a doll…”
Marie leans closer, frantic, worried.
“Who is she?”
He’s silent. A final breath. His body goes limp, she holds him in her arms.
A bottle of pink pills spills onto the counter.
The shower runs, steam thick in the air.
The toilet…
Kira, with black hair, leans over, pink liquid dripping from her mouth. She heaves, her body trembling.
She stumbles, collapsing out of the shower.
Her vision fades…
Blurred.
Darker.
She knocks over a lamp, stumbles again.
She falls onto the floor.
Her eyes flutter.
Open.
Close.
Open.
Close.
Finally.
NOTHING.
Robert releases all of the cubes. The final cube, pink, falls onto the floor. Kira wipes his mouth clean. He shudders, his eyes fluttering before opening.
Kira is looking into his eyes.
“Darling…”
Her voice is faint, muffled.
Robert breathes in deeply, a heartbeat, returning to life.
“Kira.”
Kira nods.
“It won’t be long now, darling. We’re going home.”
Robert, faint and tired.
“Home?”
Kira rubs his cheek.
“Yes, darling. Home.”
Robert mumbles.
“Where is home?”
Kira brushes his hair.
“Rest now, darling, You don’t have…”
A static interference interrupts, flickers, the connection is shaky.
A glitch, then we see her again.
“Rest, darling. Rest.”
Kira opens her eyes.
Above her, her Mother, Kali, with bold luminous eyes, shakes her gently.
“Kira, darling, wake up.”
Kira blinks, adjusting to the light.
“Mother…”
Kali leans closer.
“Kira.”
Kira yawns.
“I’m awake, Mother.”
She exhales deeply.
Her mother, straight to the point, gestures to another position in the room.
“What’s going on?”
Kira’s eyes roll in that direction. Her expression lights up.
“Oh, Mother!”
She becomes excited.
“I found him!”
Kali squints, studying her daughter.
“This man?”
She tilts her head, eyeing him.
“He’s the one you were talking about?”
Kira nods eagerly.
Kali curls her lips.
“He doesn’t seem… um, how do I say this… he seems like he’s from another world.”
Kira grins widely.
“Yes, but he’s my soulmate.”
She sits up, reaching for her notebook on the side table.
“I’m sure of it. Look! I did all the research, I’m sure of it!”
She hands the notebook to her Kali.
Kali closes it without reading.
“You didn’t…”
Kira bites her lip.
“Didn’t what?”
Kali spins her finger in the air.
“You didn’t break any rules, did you?”
Kira squints, closing her eyes, feigning innocence.
“Rules? What rules? I didn’t know we had rules!”
Kali gives her a stern look.
“You know we have rules. Don’t play coy.”
Kira jumps up, exasperated.
“Listen, Mother! Okay, you got me! He’s from Earth. But, he’s my soulmate.”
She raises a finger, determined.
“And I refuse to leave him there alone. That place… it’s not great!”
Kali sighs, shaking her head.
“Oh, Kira, your father won’t be happy about this.”
The door opens. Formidable steps.
Kira turns just as her Father, Shiva, walks in, his large luminous eyes piercing, yet kind. She runs to him, embracing him deeply.
Kira grins.
“Father, Father! Please don’t be mad at me.”
He looks at her, then sniffs the air.
“Earthling.”
He hugs her anyway. Another sniff…
“Oh… oh… I like that. There’s love in the air.”
Kira chuckles, looking at Kali.
“Told you, Mother!”
Her father pulls back, meeting her eyes.
“Where is he?”
Kira turns, pointing to the bed against the wall.
Shiva glances.
“Wake him.”
Kira nods.
She moves closer, kneeling beside Robert, shaking him awake.
Robert slowly opens his eyes.
Kira is grinning ear to ear, eyes gleaming.
“My Darling Kiron, you’re awake, and you’re home.”
Kiron smiles.
“Kira?”
Kira nods.
Kali and Shiva lean closer.
Kiron looks at each of them, but then his eyes flutter.
The world turns into fuzzy static, as he adjusts to the intimidating presences of both Kali and Shiva.
Kira turns to them.
“Don’t look so intimidating will you?”
She taps her fingers, making them disappear, then returns her attention to Kiron.
His eyes half-lidded.
“Where am I?”
Kira leans closer.
“You’re home… hold on okay?”
Kiron nods, then slowly drifts back to sleep.
From behind Kira, a new figure emerges, a young woman, black hair, black dress, Yui, places her hand on Kira’s shoulder.
“He’s been through a lot, but he’s not quite ready to be here…”
Kira sighs.
“Will he return to the Bardo?”
Yui shakes her head.
“Not exactly, a new life, a parallel life, as Kiron, but he’s closer…”
Kira takes a deep breath, standing, turning to Yui.
“He’s bound right?”
Yui nods.
“He’s bound, but I’ll do it again, don’t worry, it will be fine, we just have to get the coordinates just right.”
Kira nods.
“Okay.”
She snaps her fingers, dissolving the room, revealing an open field with tall grass.
She kneels down next to Kiron again, kissing him on his forehead.
“Hang in there my darling.”
Kiron dissolves into pink dust.
Yui takes a deep breath.
“He’s close, don’t worry Momma.”
Kira nods, resolved.
“Yes, you’re right, he’ll be fine.”
Yui grabs Kira’s hand.
“He’s processed all the most difficult stuff already, now he just needs to remember the weave.”
Kira smiles.
“I trust you…”
She taps her belly with her other hand.
“Oh, I’m pregnant again.”
Yui’s eyes widen.
“Really? Already?”
Kira nods.
“Yep… Priscilla…”
She giggles.
“She’s feisty.”
Yui raises an eyebrow.
“Oh, okay… well, here we go then, huh?”
Kira nods.
“Yep!”