Breaking the FixerMature

Akira Seiju was born on September 30, 19XX. 16 years later He becomes Itami. Lost in the real world. Pain is the only things that was given to him by a family that was suppose to take care of him.



My name Itami.

 just Itami.

 8 years ago it was Akira Seiju. I’m a 16 year old High school student.  I live alone since my parents divorced. They left me alone, started new families and pretended that I didn’t exist. A forgetten piece of their lives. A mistake that would never fade away but can be ignored. It hurts at first.

It was 8 years ago.

My parents never loved each other. I was a child of accident. And life in our house was silent. I tried to be a good son. To be loving, caring and a source of their joy. It was futile. These two strangers came and go, then when I was 12 they finally left.

No teary goodbyes for them, no hugs or kisses. Not even a pat on the head. All that was left was a letter.


Mr. and Mrs. Seiju Has successfully filed their divorce and both have left this household respectively. The child living here will be under the care of government officials until he is 15 years old. He will not be taken to a center but left to this house. Both parties have agreed on a monthly allowance pay to sustain said child until he reaches the age of 18. There will be respective representation and inspection of said child my members of both party.

Thank you for understanding:




Mrs. Seiju


This was posted on our front door. All of their possessions were gone. The house was empty.

Maybe hate is a weak word for what I felt during those days. It wasn’t just hate. Depression visited as well. The sadness and pain never left. I slept every night hoping that when I woke up, yesterday was just a horrible nightmare.

I am the one without a life. Deprived of the care, the tender love that everyone around me has been given.

Now six years have passed. The social workers stopped visiting me. I cook for myself everyday, leave for school, study then come home. Once I’m in this empty dark box, I become unaware of where I am. The lights are never on. Even during the night, I would lie somewhere, anywhere.  I would be curled up in a ball, or my eyes would be wide-open, or I would be frozen, stuck in the darkness and unable to move, unable to escape.  These entrapments, for a while I was afraid to sleep because of them but slowly, the sleep became my friend. The tendrils of night blanked out the world. I needed not to exist, but just to be trapped. Trapped and frozen, far from the world that is real.

My mother left for America with her new family two weeks after I received The Letter, my father move south, un-married but rich. A playboy and a ravager of many weak-hearted girls. He’s a disgusting creature, preying of the flesh of young women who need the money or those who are too stupid to see what a monster he truly is.

I study in Yancy Academy. Yancy is an international school here. It’s well known and is viewed as a place only for the elites. As the Letter stated, though my parents are gone, as part of their divorcement terms is that I must be fully supported financially. My mother enrolled me at his school ever since I was a child as my tuition is always paid every year. Bills don’t arrive at my house anymore as my father handles all of those expenses. I guess money isn’t a problem for them. I Remember learning, and studying but everything else that comes with being in school, I’ve filtered out. I have no friends there, or anywhere for that matter.


Something was once here, in the empty void that is me. Or maybe it was never here in the first place.

It dulled away. The hurt didn’t end. I guess I just got used to being in this pain.

Sometimes I wonder how it would be to be broken. Not like what I am now. For one to be broken, one must first be whole. I was never whole, the pieces were never found nor were they ever placed together. I wonder, I truly do, is there something out there that is the same as me?

My life, no, my existence, here I have nothing to hold on to. Nothing to want, to see, to feel or touch.

I laugh at my own misfortunes, my own pitifulness, my deathless life, for how can it end if it never began? This is me.

Akira was never born. Akira never existed. It’s only me. Me, who is what’s left in this shell.



Please. If there is a god out there, show me mercy. Grant this wish of an empty life.


“kill me.”


The End

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