Sister Princess Saturday Report! No. 15 – Purple Haze
After the events of his jaunt with Karen, Wataru decided to keep some distance from her for the time being. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something about her conduct frightened him and caused a bizarre sort of physical pain. It was almost as if Karen hurt Wataru on purpose! For a normal person, this realization would of course be quite obvious, but for a neanderthal like Wataru it was nothing short of a revelation. It was as if God Himself had melded minds with Wataru and taught him the secrets of the universe, and afterward Wataru forgot everything except for that which was so recent that it could not possibly leave the brain of even one so undisciplined as Wataru’s.
Luckily for Wataru, he did not have to dwell on Karen for long, because something else occupied his mind on this day — drawing. Wataru was required for a school project — yes, he still went to school at this point — to draw something — anything — but he was unable to find the perfect subject. Now, you may find it unbelievable that Wataru could conceive of his artistry as being so great that nothing but the perfect subject would satisfy his creative desires. I agree with you on this point. But those were the thoughts running through his mind that he later penned down in one of the many books he kept detailing his tedious misadventures on Promised Island. Perhaps he believed this island to be the perfect subject for that bestseller he always had hidden away in him, hmm?
Wataru sat on a bench in front of a gorgeous expanse of ocean. The clear blue water shimmered brightly in the afternoon sun. A gentle gust of wind traveled through the scene, pushing what few clouds there were slowly across the sky. Wataru sighed. Of course this scene was not good enough for his artist’s eye. How dare Mother Nature present him with such a pathetic natural display of beauty. Wataru got up and started walking through town. As he walked around, he noticed all his sisters at various points on the island, drawing away having found subjects for their school assignment. Wataru of course had banal, nauseating interactions with each Sister in turn, which I will not recount because I have something of much more importance to impart to you, Dear Reader.
This is a horror beyond all that I have ever seen on Promised Island. Yet another monument to the Sister Princess, yes, but this one etched out in graphic detail that is all too disturbing. It may be difficult to make out in this photograph, but those are indeed the buttocks of the Sister Princess rendered as accurately as possible. The mere fact of their existence means that a sculptor thought deeply about this statue and decided, “I will carve those buttocks.” What may be worse, however, is the pose in which the Sister Princess is forever depicted: Squatting over the monument as if she is ready to expel the least polite of human excretions at any moment. I am loathe to expend much more thought than necessary on the possible origins of this hideous sculpture, but I can only assume that the creator underwent the most tortuous, thorough brainwashing possible to go through with unleashing this monstrous abomination upon the world.
Perhaps I shall venture back toward our story? Near the end of the day, Wataru had talked to every one of his sisters save Aria. Wherever could she be? It turns out that our slow-talking friend was in fact on an adventure of her own. While shopping for who knows what — for she was far too brain-damaged to give even the slightest thought to a school assignment — she came across an older gentleman who had recently come to the island for research purposes. She kept saying something about a ribbon Wataru had given her that she had lost and was now trying to recover, but she was in front of the dress shop for some reason. Aria was never the most clever Sister, it must be said. But although she was on the hunt for a ribbon, it was clear that in some deep, primitive portion of her mind, Aria had a longing for one of the fancy dresses sold in the shop, and if she did not get what she desired, she would cry and complain until she murdered everyone in her path. So the generous gentleman went inside and bought her a dress with the hard-earned money he gathered traveling the world and staying as far away from this accursed island as possible as often as he could.
With her dress lust satiated, Aria’s dull mind focused once again on the problem of the missing ribbon. And a sobering, serious problem it was. But the old man had an ingenious plan. He took Aria by the hand and led her to an alley. (Do not worry: This will not turn out nearly as badly as you may believe it will.) When they reached a dead end, the old man revealed a distortion of reality within the brick wall, and he and Aria stepped through. When they reached the other side, they were in another world — a world filtered in a purple haze, with blue trees as far as the eye could see. Green butterflies that looked like fallen leaves flapped around in the breeze.
How could Aria and the benevolent man have crossed through to this other world, you may ask? Drugs. Lots and lots of drugs.
There is more afterward, of course, but . . . the notes are slightly iffy. The sights became bended at one point, and there was a weird sort of ambient music in the background. There may have been dancing marshmallow people, and one of the two may have tried to eat said marshmallow people. Who really knows? There were also flowers of enormous size, giant castles and arid deserts. Enough adventure to last one a lifetime; however, this is not a story of adventure and excitement, unless one receives the utmost pleasure from utter banality. Thus, you receive none of that. I apologize. If I must suffer from the extraction of rare, insightful detail from the mountain of hollow noise that is Wataru’s notes, then you, too, must also feel at least a modicum of the pain I feel.
Eventually the old man and Aria left this strange, new world and Aria of course found her awful ribbon and was reunited with Wataru. They even finished their drawings eventually.
Let it be said that Aria has not an artistic bone in her body.