Civilstatus:
Singel
Läggning:
Osäker
Intresse:
Nörda
Bor:
I skogen
Politik:
Vänster
Dricker:
Diverse
Musikstil:
Allt
Klädstil:
Blandat
Medlem sedan:
2011-07-24
Sitter och tittar igenom ett fönster kan se hur alla andra har ett live som de lever och njuter ut av själv skulle jag kunna dö utan att en enda person skulle märka det. Undrar hur det skulle vara på den andra sidan skulle jag finnas skulle jag betyda något då eller skulle alla fortsätta leva sina liv utan att ens se mig?!.... Jag har börjat tröttna på mitt eget liv det skulle nog vara bättre för alla om jag försvann......... men samtidigt finns det kanske och bara kanske någon som skulle sakna mig?...... Eller drömmer jag bara om det som jag alltid gör och sen vaknar!?..... Orkar ta mig fan inte och kolla det om detta är en dröm låt mig vakna om detta är livet låt mig somna och inte vakna mer än då jag kanske skulle ha roligt vill inte............. orkar inte men jag vet att det finns såna som har det värre ändå orkar inte, såg Mamma gråta igår....... av gamla minnen. Vill somna och inte vakna mer............ Börjar förlora mig själv vem är jag?! Är jag den glada tjejen eller är jag den som skriver nu.... vet inte..... vet inte, vet inte, vet inte, vet inte, vet inte, Vet Inte, VEt INte, VET INTE LÄMNA MIG I FRED........... när jag tänker på folk ser jag olika saker ex vad de gjort, vilka de är med, massa saker, när jag tänker mig ser jag bara svart...... Inget, det tar mig tillbaka när jag var liten då min lärare sa att vi skulle klä ut oss till olika saker. Den jag trodde var min kompis skulle vara pippi och hon sa att jag skulle vara Annika och det var ingen som ens såg mig på hela den dagen min "kompis" van ett litet pris för bästa kostym, det får mig att inse jag är ingen stort jag är ingen pippi jag är mer som ett träd i bakgrunden som glöms bort efter man sätt det......
Gick upp imorse på grund av att jag kanske skulle jobba om de ringer/smsar men nej då den ända gången jag förbereder mig och så får jag inte höra ett ord fan och kunde inte sova i natt gick upp för tidigt kunde inte somna om heller............... fan fan fan fan fan fan fan fan fan fan............ ja ja spelar lite spel och städar, diskar samt tvättar. Hunden är hos uppfödaren och gosar får henne inte förens imorgon :(:(:(............... har en släckt som är sjuka och min familj är inte bättre dem och kompisen har problem man sin familj och behöver stöd..... undra hur fan jag orkar när jag inte själv känner mig bra skulle bara vilja gräva en grop och gömma mig för livet och hoppas komma till ett bättre ställe men orkar inte ens det !!!!!!.... Ler ett leende som jag har lärt mig sen liten och låssas som allt är bra..........
Det fins de som har det värre samt har jag fått en idé till en bra bok fan undra inte hur många idéer jag haft nu till olika böcker!?...
underbara goda semlor fan...... vet man inte borde men det är så gott.......... tog två sorters semlor idag en vanlig minus laktos en vanilj också hehe.... mums
This is a continuation of PART A.
Notes on certain words can be viewed on mouse-over.
* * *
"Don't move," he said.
He was shorter than me. Choked from below, I strained to get a look at his eyes. They were a dark, yet at the same time, light, grey. I'd never seen a colour like that before. His fingers clenched. He didn't look strong at all, yet I was completely unable to move. It wasn't something a normal person could do.
"I see," I managed to gasp. "You're used to doing this."
The pair of grey eyes were unblinking. Their gaze still fixed, they grew calm like the gentle surface of the ocean, and I could read no colour of menace, fear or murderous intent from them. They were very quiet eyes. I could feel my own panic subsiding.
"I'll treat your wound," I said, licking my lips. "You're hurt, aren't you? I'll treat it."
I could see myself reflected in the intruder's eyes. For a moment, I felt like I would get sucked into them. I averted my gaze and looked down, and repeated myself.
"I'll treat the wound. We have to stop the bleeding. Treat. You understand what I'm saying, right?"
The grip around my neck loosened slightly.
"Sion."
My mother's voice carried over from the intercom. "You have the window open, don't you."
I sucked in a breath. I felt alright. It was alright, I reassured myself. I could talk with a normal voice.
"The window? ... Oh, yeah, it's open."
"You'll catch a cold if you don't close it."
"I know."
I could hear my mother laughing on the other end.
"You're turning twelve today and you're still acting like a little boy."
"Okay, I get it ... Oh, mom?"
"What?"
"I have a report to write. Can you leave me alone for a bit?"
"A report? Hasn't your Gifted Curriculum just started?"
"Huh? Oh... well, I have a lot of assignments to do."
"I see... don't overwork yourself. Come downstairs at dinnertime."
Cold fingers drew away from my throat. My body was free. I stretched my hand out to restart the air control system. I made sure to leave the security system off. If I didn't, it would detect the intruder as a foreign presence, and would set off a piercing alarm. If the person was recognized as a legitimate resident of No. 6 that wouldn't happen, but I couldn't imagine that this soaking intruder would have a citizenship.
The window closed, and warm air began to circulate in the room. The grey-eyed intruder half-collapsed into a kneel, and leaned against the bed. He let out a long, deep breath. He was weakened considerably. I took out the emergency kit. First I took his pulse, then tore his shirt open, and started cleaning the wound.
"This..."
I couldn't help but stare. I wasn't familiar with this type of injury. It had carved out a shallow ridge in the flesh of his shoulder joint.
"A bullet wound?"
"Yeah." It was a casual answer. "It just missed. What's your term for this? A graze wound?"
"I'm no specialist. I'm still a student."
"Of the Gifted Curriculum?"
"Starting next month."
"Wow. High IQ, huh?"
There was a tinge of sarcasm in his voice. I lifted my gaze from his wound, and looked him in the eye.
"Are you making fun of me?"
"Making fun of? When I'm being treated by you? Never. So what's your specialization?"
I told him I specialized in ecology. I had just been accepted into the Gifted Curriculum. Ecology. It had the least to do with how to treat a bullet wound. My first experience. It was a little exciting. Let's see, what do I have to do first? Disinfect, dress ... oh yes, I had to stop the bleeding.
"What are you doing?"
He stared as I took a syringe out of the disinfecting kit, and swallowed.
"Local anaesthesia. Alright, here goes."
"Wait, wait a minute. You're gonna freeze it, and then what?"
"Sew it."
Supposedly I had said this with such a grin that I looked like I couldn't have been enjoying myself more. It was something I found out much later on.
"Sew it! Can you get any more primitive than that?"
"This isn't a hospital. I don't have state-of-the-art facilities, and besides, I think a bullet wound is pretty primitive itself."
The crime rate in the city was infinitely close to zero. The city was safe, and there was no need for the average citizen to carry a gun. If they did, it would only be for hunting. Twice a year, rules were lifted for hunting season. Olden-day firearms slung over their shoulders, hobbyists would venture into the northern mountains. Mother didn't like them. She said she didn't understand how people could kill animals for enjoyment, and she wasn't the only one. In periodic censuses, 70% of citizens expressed discomfort at hunting as a form of sport. Killing poor innocent animals―how violent, how cruel....
But the bleeding figure in front of me was no fox or deer. It was a human.
"I can't believe it," I muttered to myself.
"Believe what?"
"That there are people who'll shoot at other people... unless... don't tell me that someone from the hunting club shot you by mistake?"
His lip curled. He was smiling.
"Hunting club, huh. Well, I guess you can call them that. But they didn't shoot by mistake."
"They knew they were shooting at a human? That's against the law."
"Is it? Instead of a fox, they just happened to be hunting a human. A manhunt. I don't think it's against the law."
"What do you mean?"
"That there are hunters, and the hunted."
"I don't get what you're talking about."
"I figured you wouldn't. You don't need to understand. So are you seriously going to give me a needle? Don't you have spray-on anaesthetic or something?"
"I've always wanted to try giving a needle."
I disinfected the wound, and applied the anaesthetic with three injections around the wounded area. My hands shook a little from nerves, but somehow it went smoothly.
"It should start getting numb soon, and then―"
"You're gonna sew it."
"Yeah."
"Do you have any experience?"
"Of course not. I'm not going into medicine. But I do have basic knowledge of vessel suturing. I saw it in a video."
"Basic knowledge, huh..."
He drew a deep breath, and looked at me directly in the face. He had thin, bloodless lips, hollowed cheeks, and pale parched skin. He had the face of someone who had not lived a decent life. He really did look like an animal prey who had been chased relentlessly, exhausted, with no place left to run. But his eyes were different. They were emotionless, but I could feel a fierce power emanating from them. Was it vitality? I wondered. I had never met anyone in my life with eyes as memorable as those. And those eyes were staring unblinkingly at me.
"You're strange."
"Why would you say that?"
"You haven't even asked for my name."
"Oh, yeah. But I haven't introduced myself either."
"Sion, right? Like the flower?"
"Yeah. My mother likes trees and wildflowers. How about you?"
"Nezumi."
"Huh?"
"My name."
"Nezumi... that's not it."
"Not what?"
That eye colour wasn't that of any rat. It was something more elegant. Like... the sky just before the crack of dawn ― didn't it look like that? I blushed, embarrassed at catching myself spouting off like some lame poet. I purposefully raised my voice.
"Right, here goes."
Remember the basic steps of the suture, I told myself. Set down two or three stable threads, and use them as support threads to make a continuous suture ... this must be conducted with utmost care and precision ... in the case of a continuous suture....
My fingers trembled. Nezumi watched my fingertips in silence. I was nervous, but a little excited too. I was putting what used to be just textbook knowledge into action. It was exhilarating.
Suture complete. I pressed a piece of clean gauze onto the wound. A bead of sweat slid down my forehead.
"So you are smart."
Nezumi's forehead was also damp with perspiration.
"I'm just good with my hands."
"Not just your hands. That brain of yours. You're only twelve, right? And you're going into the Gifted Curriculum of the highest educational institution. You're super elite."
This time, there was no tinge of sarcasm. Nor any hint of awe. I silently put away the soiled gauze and instruments.
Ten years ago, I was ranked highest in the city's intelligence examination for two-year-olds. The city provides anyone who ranks highest in skill or athletic ability with the best education they could wish for. Until the age of ten, I attended classes in an environment outfitted with the latest facilities amongst other classmates like myself. Under the eye of a roster of expert instructors, we were given a solid and thorough education of the basics, after which we were each provided with our own set of instructors to move into a field of specialization that was suited for us. From the day that I was recognized as the highest ranker, my future was promised to me. It was unshakable. No small force could make it crumble. At least, that was how it was supposed to be.
"Looks like a comfortable bed," Nezumi murmured, still leaning against it.
"You can use it. But change first."
I dumped a clean shirt, a towel, and a box of antibiotics into Nezumi's lap. And then, on a whim, I decided to make cocoa. I had enough basic cooking appliances in my room to make a warm drink or two.
"Not exactly fashionable, is it?" Nezumi sniffed as he plucked at the plaid shirt.
"Better than a dirty shirt that's ripped and covered in blood, if you ask me."
I passed him a steaming mug of cocoa. For the first time this evening, I saw what looked like a flicker of emotion in his grey eyes. Pleasure. Nezumi sipped a mouthful and murmured softly―good.
"It's good. Better than your suturing."
"It's not fair to compare like that. I think it went pretty well for my first try."
"Are you always like that?"
"Huh?"
"Do you always leave yourself wide open? Or is it normal for all you Petri-dish elites to have zero sense of danger?" Nezumi continued, holding the mug in both hands.
"You guys can get along just fine without feeling any danger or fear toward intruders, huh?"
"I do feel danger. And fear, too. I'm afraid of dangerous things and I don't want anything to do with them. I'm also not naive enough to believe that someone who comes in through my second-floor window is a respectable citizen."
"Then why?"
He was right. Why? Why was I treating this intruder's wound, and even giving him hot cocoa? I was no cold-blooded monster. But I also wasn't teeming in compassion and goodwill enough to extend a hand to anyone who was injured. I was no saint. I hated dealing with hassles and disagreements. But I'd taken this intruder in. If the city authorities found out, I would be in trouble. They might see me as someone lacking in sound judgment. If that happened...
My eyes met with a pair of grey ones. I felt like I could see a hint of laughter in them. Like they could see right through me, everything I was thinking, and laughing at me. I clenched my stomach and glared back at him.
"If you were some big, aggressive man, I would have set the alarm off right then and there. But you were short, and looked like a girl, and was about to fall over. So... So I decided to treat you. And..."
"And?"
And your eyes were a strange colour that I'd never seen before. And they drew me in.
"And... I wanted to actually see what sewing a vessel was like."
Nezumi shrugged, and drained the rest of his cocoa. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he ran a palm across the bedsheets.
"Can I really go to sleep?"
"Sure."
"Thank you."
Those were the first words of gratitude I'd heard since he had come into my room.
These are English translations for the novel NO. 6 by Asano Atsuko.
CHAPTER 1
Nezumi, Dripping Wet
Nezumi was in a tunnel. In the darkness, he drew a quiet breath. The air smelled faintly of moist dirt. He inched his way forward carefully. The tunnel was small. It was just big enough for Nezumi to squeeze through, and it was dark. Light was nowhere to be seen, but it soothed his soul. He liked dark and small spaces. In these spaces, no large living things could come to capture him. Momentary relief and tranquility. There was a dull pain from the wound on his shoulder, but it wasn't enough to concern him. The problem, rather, was with the amount of blood he had lost. The wound wasn't deep. It had only grazed a little bit of his shoulder. By now, the blood should have begun clotting and closed the open wound. But the wound was still.... He felt a warm and slippery sensation. It was still bleeding.
――Anticoagulant. They had coated the bullet with it.
Nezumi bit his lip. He wanted something to stop his bleeding. Thrombin, or aluminum salt. No, not even so much as that. At least, clean water to wash his wound.
His legs buckled. Dizziness overcame him.
――Not good.
Fainting from lack of blood, maybe. If it was, that would be bad. Soon, he wouldn't be able to move at all.
――But maybe I wouldn't mind.
He heard a voice inside him.
Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to curl up, unable to move, shrouded in damp darkness. He would nod off to sleep, a long sleep ― and peaceful death. It wouldn't hurt, not that much. It might feel a little cold.
No, that would be taking it too lightly. His blood pressure would plummet, he would have trouble breathing, his limbs would be paralysed ... of course it wouldn't be painless.
――I want to sleep.
He was tired. Cold. Hurting. Unable to move. He only had to suffer for a little while, he told himself. Stay still, rather than struggle fruitlessly. There may be people pursuing him, but none who would rescue him. Then, he should just put an end to living. Curl up here, and just go to sleep. Just give up.
His feet continued forward. His hands ran along the walls. Nezumi gave a forced smile. His voice was telling him to give up, but his body still doggedly carried on. How troublesome it all was.
――An hour left. No, thirty minutes.
Thirty minutes was the time limit for any free movement he had. In that time, he had to stop his bleeding, and secure a spot to rest. The bare requirements to keep living.
There was movement in the air. The darkness before him was gradually becoming lighter. He took each step painstakingly. He emerged from his dark and narrow side-tunnel to a wider area surrounded by white concrete walls. Nezumi knew that this was a part of a sewer tunnel that had been in use until ten and some-odd years ago, the end of the twentieth century. Contrary to the ground above, No. 6's underground facilities were not very well-maintained. Much of it had been left in the same state as they were from the last century. This sewer tunnel was just another one of those, abandoned and forgotten. Nezumi couldn't have asked for a better environment. He closed his eyes and visualized the map of No. 6 that he had extracted from the computer.
There was a good chance that this was the abandoned route K0210. If it was, then it should extend close to the high-income residence area called Chronos. Of course, it could very well also lead to a dead end. But if he had decided to live, then moving forward was his only option. Nezumi in his current state had neither choice nor time to deliberate.
The air shifted. It wasn't the stale dampness of before, but fresh air carrying plenty of moisture. He remembered that it was raining hard up above. This passage was definitely connected to the upper world.
Nezumi inhaled, and smelled the scent of rain.
* * *
September 7, 2013 was my twelfth birthday. On this day, a tropical low pressure-system, or hurricane, that had developed a week ago off the southwestern area of the North Pacific Ocean, made its way north, gathering power, until it hit us directly in the city of No. 6.
It was the best present I had ever gotten. I was filled with excitement. It was only past four in the evening, but already it was getting dark. The trees in the yard bowed in the winds as leaves and small branches were torn off. I loved the clamorous noise they made. It was the bare opposite of this neighbourhood's usual atmosphere, which hardly involved any loudness.
My mother preferred small trees over flowers, and through her enthusiastic planting of almond, camellia and maple trees all over the place, our yard had grown into a small grove. But thanks to that, the noise today was unlike any other. Each tree made a different groaning sound. Torn leaves and branches smacked against the window, plastered to them, and then were whipped away again. Time and time again, gusts of wind burst against the Window
I itched to open it. Even strong winds like these were not enough to crack the shatter-resistant glass, and in this atmosphere-controlled room, humidity and temperature remained stable and unchanged. That was why I wanted to open the Window Open it, and bring in the air, the wind, the rain, a change from the usual.
"Sion," called Mother's voice from the intercom. "I hope you're not thinking of opening the Window"
"I'm not."
"Good... did you hear? The lower lands of the West Block are flooding. Terrible, isn't it?"
She didn't sound like she felt terrible at all.
Outside No. 6, the land was divided into four blocks ― East, West, North and South. Most of the East and South blocks were farmland or grazing pastures. They provided for 60% of all plant-made foods and 50% of animal food products. In the north, there was an expanse of deciduous forest and mountains, under complete conservation by the Central Administration Committee.
Without the Committee's permission, none could enter the area. Not that anyone would want to wander into the wilderness, which was completely unmaintained.
In the centre of the city there was an enormous forest park that took up more than a sixth of the city's total area. In it, one could experience the seasonal changes and interact with the hundreds of species of small animals and insects that inhabited it.
A vast majority of the citizens were content with the wildlife inside the park. I didn't like it much. I especially disliked the City Hall building that loomed in the centre of the park. It went five stories underground and ten stories above, and was shaped like a dome. No. 6 had no skyscrapers, so maybe "looming" was a little exaggerated. Nevertheless, it gave off an ominous feeling. Some people called it The Moon drop from its round, white shape, but I thought it resembled more of a round blister on the skin. A blister that had erupted in the centre of the city. As if to surround it, the city hospital and Safety Bureau building stood close by, and were connected with pathways that looked like gas pipes. Surrounding that was a green forest. The forest park, a place of peace and tranquility for the good citizens. All the plants and animals that inhabited this place were minutely monitored, and all flowers, fruits and small creatures of each area in every season were thoroughly recorded.
Citizens could find out the best time and place to watch or gaze at these through the city's service system. Obedient, perfected nature. But even it would be raging on a day like this. It was, after all, a hurricane.
A branch with green leaves still attached smacked into the Window A gust of wind followed, and its roar resonated for some time. At least, I thought I could hear it resonate. The soundproof glass cut me off from any outside noise. I wanted the window out of my way. I wanted to hear, to feel, the raging wind. Almost without thinking, I threw the window open. The wind, the rain, came blowing in. The wind rumbled as if coming from deep within the earth. It was a roar I hadn't heard in a long time. I too, raised my own hands and let out a yell. It would scatter on the storming winds, and reach no one's ears. Yet still I shouted, with no meaning. Raindrops flew into my throat. I knew I was being childish, but I couldn't stop. It began raining harder. How exciting it would be to take off all my clothes and burst out into the rain. I tried to imagine myself naked, running around in the torrential storm. I would definitely be declared insane. But it was an irresistible temptation. I opened my mouth wide again, and swallowed the droplets. I wanted to repress this strange impulse. I was afraid of what lurked inside me. At times, I find I'm overwhelmed by a tumultuous, savage surge of emotions.
Break it.
Destroy it.
Destroy what?
Everything.
Everything?
There was a mechanical warning sound. It was notifying me that the atmospheric conditions in the room were deteriorating. Eventually, the window would close and lock automatically. Dehumidification and temperature control would commence, and all wet things in the room, including me, would be dried instantly. I wiped my dripping face on the curtain and made my way to the door to turn the air control system off.
What if, at that moment, I had obeyed the warning sound? Sometimes, I still wonder about it. If I had closed the window, and chosen to stay in the adequately dry comfort of my room, my life would have been entirely different. It wasn't regret, not anything like that. It was just a peculiar thought. The one thing that changed my whole world, so meticulously controlled up until now, happened from that one small coincidence ― that on September 7, 2013, on a stormy day, I by chance had opened the Window It was a very peculiar thought.
And though I don't have a particular God I believe in, there are times when I do feel a certain conviction toward the term 'Divine Hand'.
I turned the switch off. The warning sound stopped. A sudden silence fell over the room.
Heh.
I heard a faint laugh behind me. Instinctively I whirled around, and gave a small cry. There was a boy standing there, soaking wet. It took me a while to realize that he was a boy. He had shoulder-length hair that almost hid his small face. His neck and arms that protruded from his short-sleeved shirt were thin. I couldn't tell whether he was a boy or a girl, whether he was very young or older than he looked. My eyes and conscience were too focused on his left shoulder, which was stained red, to think about anything else.
It was the colour of blood. I had never seen anyone bleeding as profusely as he was. Instinctively I was extending my hand out to him. The intruder's figure vanished at my fingertips. At the same time, I felt an impact, and I was slammed against the wall with a strong force. I felt an icy sensation on my neck. They were fingers, five of them, closing around my throat.
Om jag ska vara ärlig är jag dum jag trodde jag var en del av familjen igen fan vilken idiot jag var............fick fan för det också,.... Jag vet att jag inte hör hemma där eller någon annan stans för den delen.Du är den enda som jag ge mig friheten genom att säga att du inte behöver mig något mer eller visar det till mig då försvinner jag på ett eller annat sätt vet inte bara hur en. Har redan kommit på hur man kan få slut på livet utan att kunna ångra sig i det sista, att börja däppa på julafton kan inte vara något bra, men hö masken uppe jag log hela tiden fast fel tankar var i skallen. jag var ute i det halv kalla vädret i bara strumpbyxor, jaka o inne skor, det var då jag kom på efter jag suttit en stund och frölsit att du måste ge mig friheten.
Bara DU kan ge mig den och DU vet vem DU är.
Fast jag hade trevligt innan jag kom på att jag inte hörde hemma här............... </3 Min fader kom och försökte rädda situationen genom att prata lite med mig, men det känns mer som han försöker hälpa sina egna skuld kännslor.
Jaha min bror hör av sig och undrar om jag inte ska gå ut idag och lyssna på hans band spela, men är så jävla slut efter jobbet...... Orkar inte suck men vill....
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>
Snyft kommer inte träffa dig på julen suck....... men på nyår är du min mohahaa!.. I <3 U
Jag ligger lite i ett fundering om den 23/12 de undrar om jag vill jobba från 14-18 har inte så stor lust ... vad ska jag svara? Ja det är klart (med ett falskt leende) eller Nej kan inte (och åka iväg tidigare dit jag ska) fy fan för den jobbiga känslan av att göra rätt.
Orkar bara inte förklara hur det har varit elle jo det gör jag och ska Mohaha! Nej men ja i alla fulla fall så, Tänk dig ett rum med 28barn i åldern 6-7 som de flesta är lite små heum (hostar lite svagt tittar bort och sedan på dig igen) "bråkiga" ibland undrar jag om det inte vore okej att bara hugga halsen av en eller två jag menar de är ju så många ändå allvarligt alltså men som alltid kommer mitt inte så sunda förnuft på att det inte går hahaha Nej jag gillar dem lika mycket som jag hatar dem så jag kan säga hatt jag haft Fullt upp. För de som undrar varför jag tog bort min påbörjade berättelse så kan jag berätta att jag har en helt annan i skallen så jag kan inte fortsätta hehe sorry skriv till mig om ni vill att jag ska lägga upp en berättelse ;-P
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Jag älskar just nu en väldigt bra Serie/Novell så bra!!!!!!!!.......
nej nej nej nej NEJ får inte börja prata om den kommer inte sluta men den är ju så bra.... men men (försöker hålla det inne) fråga, om ni undrar namnet eller mera hehe.
¨~¨~¨~¨~¨~¨~¨~¨~¨~¨~¨~¨~¨~¨~¨~¨~¨~¨~¨~¨~¨~¨~¨~¨~¨~¨~¨~¨~¨~¨~¨~¨~¨~¨~¨~¨~¨~¨~¨~¨~¨~¨
Har hela tiden just nu två låtar jag inte kan släppa ena är:
Song: Every time you kissed me
Singer: Emily Bindiger
Composed by: Yuki Kajiura
Pandora Hearts Original Soundtrack 2
