FYI: This might be first ever short story that I have published online. Quite bold for the first one.

Disclaimer: Caution. This story contains themes related to depression and self-harm. Don’t worry, I don’t have these issues. Just an exploration of human psyche…

1.

    Long streaks formed behind a moss-covered rock submerged halfway in the middle of a stream. Shallow fresh water gushed in trying to push in through the solid space. The rock, although mostly curved, while supporting on its flat surface, gently rocked with the stream. Several golden beads were sown on the lake surface under the giant red hot ball high above. A team of ducks frolicked on the far end, quacking endlessly in such dissonance. Once in a while, a duck dipped into the water and came out empty-beaked.

‘What a waste of time?’ thought an onlooker seated on one of the benches beside the stream. Occasionally a group of clouds passed by wiping the glitter off the surface. A lone hawk was circling around for a long time, perhaps half an hour. An image of worms crawling on the surface reflected in its beady eyes. It saw no worth in the surface-dwellers, littering the ground with nonsense. He felt a shudder in his veins. The tune of “Ride of Valkyries” playing in his headphones filled his ears with dark hammering ooze. His right hand held a half-eaten sandwich, with its innards consisting of lettuce and tomato peeking out. With a sudden tremor, he pulled his headphones off his ears and shoved them in his bag lying beside him. A dark chasm opened and swallowed the item whole. The brown leathery skin bulged even further with its weight shifting around.

Sweet breeze caressed the back of his neck, drenching the air with his sweat. A few cherry blossoms melted on his nape, some even entering through the collar. He wiped the cherry petals off his bag, slightly feeling the weight by his thin arms, picked it up and held it on his left shoulder. Metallic things dwelt in his bag. He turned about to lay his eyes over a carpet of cherries on the footpath close by. Across the path, there was a grassy field, radiated by the sunlight. On it were several blankets on which several sources of laughter were dispersed. Families sat in circles, friends laughed, and ladies laughed. A few teenagers sat by the shades of trees and were taking pictures of themselves. Inside the circles were several types of drinks, barbecue stands, and cups. On the barbecue stands, were pieces of vegetables, mushrooms, and dead sea life. Lots and lots of dead octopuses, fishes, prawns, and perhaps insects. Some even sizzled for joy at getting burnt, crisped and maimed.

‘Is this the effect of the laughter?’ Fathers played with their children. Mothers adorned with jewellery gossiped in softer, higher pitch while cupping their mouths.

‘Why are they laughing? I don’t get it. ‘

He felt as if he was staring at a painting. He didn’t know what he was doing here in front of this Japanese painting. ‘Maybe….’

A seedling sprung full force. “Is it me?”

Suddenly their faces twisted in expression, laughter sounding similar to gongs. The painting looked back with its cold dead eyes, mocking him in myriad ways. Only if it could choose its observer. He jerked his head side-wards, surrendering his gaze towards the horizon. Steps of blotches formed irregularly, the confluence of metal and concrete flinging into blue space. Another thought sprung forth, ‘Who allowed this much crap to be arranged? These discrete undulations sprouting out of the ground felt to be wiped clean.’

Slightly offset by these thoughts, he chose movement. His legs strode along the road beside the bench. He felt the hard soil and the gravel cut through his thick shoes. Minutes later, he was convinced far away from the spot. Suddenly a sense of relief entered his body. The noise lessened and the spot grew out of view hiding behind a line of trees. A few joggers passed by running in perfect mechanical movement like an automaton. He thought there was some sports equipment shown to him. Dust flew from between their legs. He coughed and sidetracked.

His eyes laid on a park entrance. A strange curiosity grew inside his heart, planting his feet on the spot. But in this tale of his, only big things had a room. Not an emancipated park in the middle of nowhere. Not even Google had registered it as a park on that spot. In the meantime, the joggers had ‘mysteriously’ disappeared behind the line of trees. Uprooting himself from the spot lesser thoughts into actions. He found himself getting away from the spot in a hurry. The scenery beside him faded with a church. It was a basic old church. Nothing special about it. Maybe the Japanese had something different about their churches. But he didn’t seem to care. Several brutish and grey apartment buildings passed by. It lacked any specific features that a few shrubs here and there distinguished each other. He could not establish a sense of direction, but the google maps acted as his oracle.

Soon the stream and the road of buildings diverged and caught up to the heavens. Strata of rocks protruded from the feet of the mountain sticking close to it. Slowly an old, beaten down bridge came into view. It seemed to pivot between two completely different worlds. The mountainous one, and the urban skyline. Its worn out brown and red paint on its wooden frame made it look old and fragile. He found himself closer to the bridge with each step. Its presence shrank with lesser distance. 

The sun had ridden on its bright red vehicle towards the horizon by then. From hundreds of metres away, tiny lights revealed themselves burning underneath the bridge. The sources were multiple barrels holding paper and other trash. He mumbled,

‘Huh. Is that a party?’

Yes it was a party. A party for all his senses.

Beside the stream were several men with rags for clothes. A stinge of rancour hit his senses, in advance. These people were a dissonant note in the orchestra of this serene view. A few grey torn tents lay on the sides. A vagrant was beating his clothes in the water like a mediaeval washerman. Finally he found out why those ducks loved dipping. Apparently this man’s sweat is sweet nectar. Another one standing by a burning trash-can looked at him and smiled. The Cheshire-cat-like smile lost its original occupant and stayed in his vision as if it were the sun. Something cracked in him upon looking at such disgusting innocence. ‘Maybe I should go talk to him. Ask him the recipe.’ The laughter of the people on the grass was still fresh in his ears. Shame rushed back, causing an allergy reaction. He ran backwards towards the road, the stream feeling like an oppressive memory. His back felt the eyes from the bum, from the bridge, from the sun. He quickly found a confluence of the roads. He held on to one of the nearby railings and spun around. 

He panted following with relentless coughs until he collapsed near it. In a minute, the turmoil ebbed. Old memories rushed in.

“Hello Dr. Stan”

“Hello Kawada.”

The doctor took his torch light and performed some preliminary tests. 

“Like I said before, I am not feeling well. Too much fatigue, I cannot work anymore.”

“We did all the tests. All the essential tests came out okay. There is nothing to worry about.”

There was a pause. The doctor was eyeing for an answer.

“What else is wrong with me?”

“Sleep well. Eat well. It should be fine. ”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Another doctor but a handsomely dressed one,

“What have you been struggling with?”

“I cannot work anymore like I used to. I feel tired all the time. Last doctor I went to said that I didn’t have anything.”

“Oh. How can I help you?”

“I want another opinion.”

“Hmm. Let us have some tests.”

After a few tests, his body was called sound.

“Nothing in your tests. This could possibly be a mind-related issue. Let me refer you to a psychiatrist.”

“Hmm. Alright.”

Kawada could still remember the words the psychiatrist said,

“You are going through a hard time. Just like you said that you underwent a loss. I will give you some antidepressants and a therapist to talk to. ”

“Just give me the antidepressants. No therapist.”

“Why not?”

“I just don’t want to talk.”

“Just go to the therapist nonetheless. I recommend it. ”

His facial features resembled that of a stone and then nodded slightly.

“Alright, great.”

After getting the antidepressants from the pharmacist, he had left the country. He opened his eyes and tried feeling for his pills in his right pant pocket. It had a soft touch to it like that of rose petals. Accompanied with it were thorns stinging him constantly. He hoped that everything was worth it. His journey across east Asia, and his inner monologues pulled out from the oceanic depths. It was dark already. An hour has passed without any trouble. Cicada cries tore through the encircling dark curtains. Occasionally blinding twin lights would roll from afar honking at him. The road he was standing on led to a metropolis named Kyoto. It was a cultural centre, a city of palaces built during the Meiji era spared by the allies to preserve cultural heritage. What a shame though. It is a reminder of history, a distant memory nobody wants to live in anymore. 

A terrible deal went down here. Even the Faustian bargain is better. 

‘You know we bombed your cities immensely. The two last ones were tricky ones though. Eventually you broke down and lost all motivation to fight. So here, we spare you some palaces.’ 

A line of dust dispersed the light from a street lamp that stood by his left arm. He checked for his belongings and traced the side of the road, winding up along the mountain. A few worn down houses with one or two holes were laid on the sides of the curves. Wooden planks outlined the shape, weathered through possibly centuries of sun, mud and wind. Darkness pierced through the torn paper filling the interstices of the doors. His eyes were getting tired of seeing empty houses. Tired ghosts wandered around these houses looking for any kind of contact.

At seeing the few homes that had its entrance lights on, his heart warmed up. A few hundred metres away, he saw an odd building. It was transparent from all sides. A few villagers were inside, chatting and buying visible through the large windows. Its shiny insides were in clear view. Juicy candies wrapped in colourful covers, boxes of foods were lined on shelves cutting the space into multiple sections. He immediately knew what it was. It was a modern temple. A place to alleviate all of your sorrows. He had worked in the business of providing honey for an international chain of stores. ‘Our goal in the company was to make even the poorest of the poor buy our products. The poorer you are, the better our income.’ 

Kawada thought to himself,

‘How could the miniscule wills of these villagers fight against this machinic monster dripping with honey? The only thing that can stop this is either a disaster or an apocalypse.’

It took him a certain tenacity to look away from the store. Moving on, he took the road to a junction. Cars moved unrelenting and uncaring like the waves on a shore. Upon getting signalled to cross the road by a traffic light, he moved across and carried on until he found a moderately large building. ‘Horikawa inn’ in Japanese was written on a placard using wild and bold Kanji characters. He slid the brown door and it moved unevenly on its rails. Its dimples against the corrugated frame made a rolling sound.

“Hello Kawada-san.” greeted a middle aged man behind a desk immediately facing the door. Incidentally the receptionist was the owner of the inn. The brown wooden wall behind him was adorned with paintings, some of natural scenery, some of animals, and even large Kanji characters. On the side stood some bonsai trees and a few potted plants hugging a wooden beam. Perhaps the shades of Japanese were too obvious. A staircase, with a slightly different colour than the rest, lay on the left hand side near the receptionist desk. A wide immovable smile appeared on the face of the receptionist. It was stuck up there. Kawada tried his best not to remember the smile of the bum. But before he could,

“How was your day, Kawada-san?”

Kawada replied in a nonchalant tone,

“Hello Satoru-san. It was okay. I got to see the cherry trees. I got to see a lot of happy people. It was a crowd.”

“Oh. Those were the city folks. They come here for the spring festival, but leave immediately.” There was a hint of sadness and longing in his voice. It caught on to Kawada and he was trying to fling away the dung caught under his shoes.

“Yeah. Did you live in the city nearby? Kawashima I mean.”

His face brightened up.

“Oh no. I used to live in Dokyo actually for 15 years. My life was not very easy, but at least I had friends. My parents passed away five years ago. So, I had to come back to my hometown to run this hotel.”

Kawada did not pursue further. 

“Ah I see. That is definitely difficult.”

Satoru opened his mouth to ask something but stopped,

“……. Uh. Have a nice day.”

Kawada caught on to what he was going to ask. But did not inquire further. Obligation was the least out of things he was looking for. 

“Thank you. You, too.”

He turned left and climbed the stairs. A pair of eyes followed him, striking an eerie feeling onto him. The floorboards creaked under his shifting weight. Mould underneath each stair was showing. The corridor above was lit by a single light bulb that was getting weaker by the second. It seemed as if he was ascending into darkness. There were 2 doors on both sides. A rotund man was kneeling in front of his shoe rack, behind a half-open door. 

Kawada greeted him, in monotone, 

“Hello.”

The man nodded his head in response. His rotund face, not seen the light of day for ages, was covered with folds, with thick black hair occupying most of his face. But the worst thing was the expression he was making. A look of emptiness and having given up on something. It was said in his company that people with that look would buy anything to postpone even their deadly desires. Honestly, people are ashamed of saying it out loud. 

‘What is going to happen today?’ thought Kawada. 

He stared at him aloof for more than 10 seconds. The round-faced man avoided direct eye contact, and worked his laces for ages. The glass in front of him was solid as steel. 

‘Time will tell, I guess.’

Eventually the lace guy faced Kawada and worded with extreme irritation,

“What do you want from me?” 

“Nothing.” replied Kawada.

“Then leave me.” Kawada had perhaps met this man 3 times. He had found him shy and gentle, but not now. 

‘Hmm.’ Kawada took off to his end of the corridor. The door shut behind him and steps descended. Similar creaks reverberated through the corridor. There was something happening behind his back. ‘The creaking of the stairs gave an ancient vibe’ was the review that Kawada had seen in the reviews page. The charm was lost in a day or two. Everything creaks should have been the closest review. He opened his door after he turned his key into the dingy lock several times.

The corridor expanded to a tiny room. The first striking feature were its windows. A white unmovable frame had shielded the windows. Overlooking the windows was just the side of another house. He put the screen back into the windows. He threw his bag on the bed. It descended several centimetres in and bounced several times. He traced his naked legs on the floor towards the bathroom. A slick mirror laid in front of him. He flicked the switch and shone the world inside. The washbasin, a shower area and a toilet basin were all fighting for its existence. Each glistening under the yellow tungsten light. This was probably a new addition to this establishment. 

He calmly faced the mirror and turned on the faucet. Hot water flooded from its nozzle, throwing vapour off its trail. His face felt disappeared behind this fog. On the mirror was a silhouette of a man of Japanese origins. Everyone in Japan spoke to him in Japanese but he had to correct them,

“Oh sorry. I’m American.”

In his attempt to assuage the guilt of not being an actual Japanese, he snuck in a gross Japanese accent. Their faces would turn immediately to that of a rotten fruit. He had always wondered whether they thought of him as unwanted or disgusting. 

Why can’t they accept the castaways? In an instant, he drenched his face and wiped the mirror with his wet hands. The fog was lifted, the mysterious silhouette turned to a balding man. Folds appearing too soon under his eyes and some also in his forehead. A strain of misrecognition solidified over his face. He had aged tremendously in the last five years. At times, his deepest wish was to forget his face and memories associated with it. When he was a teenager, his mother would call him a handsome man. He hadn’t found even a gram of beauty on his face. 

‘Is there a parallel universe where I could love my face for how it looked?’ 

Fulfilled with his daily ritual of self-derision, he found a towel hanging on the side and wiped his face. Drifting in thought, a remote pressed itself to open the portal on the wall. It was a portal of infinite entertainment. The blank face filled with a group of individuals playing a game. In turns, they said something and others laughed. 

‘No.’

He pressed something. There was another one with a panel discussing something. Something about food. The panel members were there sharing their reactions to the peoples reactions to food. When he had first found it, he thought it was some sort of a joke. It was an easy trick in his company. Truly it wouldn’t be so serious. When it became commonplace in the online culture, it turned into tragedy. Something terrible was happening here, a sort of dumbing down of interests. To let people know this is cool. But what about the folks who don’t find it cool? For those who peddled these things while feeling outside its lure.

Kawada knew that none of the channels impressed him but he ran through channels like a stuck robot. The more he delved into the rabbit-hole, the more it reminded him,

 ‘Am I just alone with my feelings?’ 

The outside world moved with an uncaring speed he could not relate to. Perhaps Satoru was present, welcoming him with his smiles. But Kawada was certain that he wouldn’t understand his feelings. Voices through an electronic tube lulled him. Curtains fell over the television slowly and he lost sight. He had dreamt soundly. In the morning, he would recall nothing about this dream.

‘Booooom’

A loud thud pulled him out of his slumber. A beast perspired, pulling deep gasps for air from the other side of the wall. 

‘Ka……. Ka……………’

The roof creaked as if a swing were swaying. After a minute or so, the symphony of horrific noises died in a whimper. In his half-awaken state, he found the whole thing bizarre and thought it to be a dream of his. It was no strange event for him. So he continued his sleep.

It was dark. Deadly dark. Greyness dripped in a slow pace from above as if a painter were pouring thick paint. Patches of grey formed clouds that crawled like a light animal. The paint stopped at a threshold, a threshold of an ocean. The ocean was infinitely stretched. Darkish blue water curved forwards. In this bluish expanse, was a tiny blemish. Sails spread forward on top of a wooden cast; no land in sight. The sailor’s eyes were lost into the horizon, almost dazzled. How could one perceive anything on this infinite surface? Minutes might have passed or maybe epochs. Nothing changed fundamentally. Winds carried from nowhere fluttered the porous sails fastened to the broken mast. It was his only companion. The sailor bent forwards and saw the wavy reflection. In the place of a face, a void appeared as if it were his double. The sailor was aching for a companion by his side.  

No more of this……

A dot appeared on this surface in the middle of the reflection. Immediately it grew in size and the shape turned into that of a giant fish, engulfing the boat. Is that…… 

A whale…?

It plunged out of the water in front of the boat, completely tipping it over. The lone sailor sank into the ocean…….

(Continued in the next update………..) 

Check out the other posts…

Or visit my homepage