WARNING: PREPARE TO BE CONSUMED BY BOREDOM.
oneway ticket
Y.C.B
Mysteries lie all around us, even in the most familiar things, waiting only to be perceived.
Wynn Bullock
-o0o-
12th May 2003
What does this person mean to me? Not a lover. Not a friend. I miss him like an abandoned dog longing for a home. Because his presence ensures me that I am not alone in this world after all. He glues the fragments of my soul.
…
Daddy died during my first year in college. I was awoken, half-drunk, by the ringing sound of the phone from the front pocket of my old green back pack. The earliest ray of sunlight crept through the holes of the olive-colored tent and in came the ocean's salty breath through my nostrils. Next to me Tomoyo was asleep, her long raven hair on a stack of folded clothes, her chest going up and down peacefully to the rhythm of her breath. A strange voice announcing Daddy's death was inaudible, like a broken cassette, drown by the sound of moving water, and waves breaking on the rock or drifting into the wet sand.
"I will be there." I remembered replying calmly, getting into my jeans, T-shirt and boots and heading towards the station at 6.25 a.m to catch the earliest train back to Tokyo.
Thinking back, all I could remember was the rhythmic rolling sound of the train wheels against the rail, morning sun flooding through the glass windows blinding my eyes, the strong bitter taste of the hot short black on my dried tongue, my pale shaking fingers gripping onto the mobile phone, the white color of the hospital walls, the bed sheet and the blouse of a short, scrawny, dark-skinned doctor who was saying something about "combined drug intoxication", the policeman's grim face when questioning me about the possibility of a suicide, and the scary emotionless state that I was pulled into the following weeks after his death.
Confusion was the mere reason how I could push myself through. Like a rat running mindlessly around the maze, not knowing where it was or what to do.
It was raining heavily on the day Daddy was buried. As the black casket touched the base of a 29-inch wide rectangular hole, I felt a deafening sound echoing in the growing void inside my heart. I unconsciously dropped my arm and the umbrella I was holding, succumbing to the pain and loneliness that fell vigorously like a waterfall, sweeping away the source of energy which had kept me going on for such a long time. Yet no tears came. I stood soaked wet under the rain, dried eyes fixed upon the black casket.
The inability to cry is a handicap, like how one cannot see, hear or talk. Sadness that is not shared or unexpressed accumulates and clog up, blocking the vein connecting one's heart with reality until it shrivels and dies. I could not cry when my dog Kero was shot, when Touya disappeared, even when the person I loved more than anything passed away, because I was simply lying to myself, that everything would definitely get better, without realizing half of my body had already been buried under the wet sand. I couldn't understand the way I reacted to sadness. There are people who were able to break down and then spring back to Life, as if in them existing a powerful Light that burn, burn, burn, keeping them alive no matter how physically tired they felt. Repressing pain only makes it worse, yet it was something that was innately installed into the brain of my kind, and under any circumstances I would follow the same path: enduring, running away, until my mind and body rotted with pain and loneliness.
That night sleep came easily. I came home with a fever and slept for 14 hours straight, woke up, managed to move myself to the gigantic couch in the lounge room and stayed there until night time, watching the color of the sky changing thorough the day and listening to the sounds of people, dogs and cars passing by, the clock ticking ticking, and my heart beat. It was sunny during the summer and the breeze flowing through the half-opened window felt hot on the skin, the wind pipes were swaying gently in the wind, clacking into each other. Cling. Cling.
The phone rang. A straight number. I picked up and immediately heard the sounds of a busy street flowing into my ears: people laughing and talking, traffic light beeping, the horn, footsteps, wheels rolling on puddles of water, splash!
"Hello? Am I speaking to Sakura-san, Sakura Kinomoto? This is Meiling. Li Meiling."
Neither the name nor the voice was familiar, even the surrounding sounds were alien: here the wind was hot and I could only hear the clock ticking away in a seemingly dead house. It was as if I was in another dimension from the girl on the phone. I scratched my hot itchy left ear which had been lying flat on the couch for almost a day.
"Sorry but may I ask who you are?" My voice was coarse and dried.
"Oh, so he didn't tell you anything, eh? Eriol-kun I mean." She laughed. Came the wind. The tree branches were singing.
"Eriol-kun?" I had a sudden urge to tear the hair strands away from my eyes.
"You see..." She hesitated, choosing her words. "My cousin and I want to..."
We were in your apartment. The sun set flooded the balcony and the whole world below us. The hot bitter liquid burned on my tongue and I inhaled the comforting aroma of the white smoke from the cup you handed. I saw. The long shadow of your back. The orange line tracing your profile and the soft strands of your fringe. Your closed eyelids under the thick black-brimmed glasses. I put my head on your shoulders and you ran your fingers through my hair. And I felt your heart beat.
Pump pump pump.
Slowly.
Pump pump pump.
Calmly.
Oh, it was not beating for me, not for me, at all?
"So is it okay for you to come around 5 this evening?" The stranger read the address and I quickly took it down.
"Ok." I just wanted a reason to get out of here. "See you at 5."
...
Yes, we did.
She looks up. The left cheek where her hand leaves a mark is hot. It beats faster, faster, faster and the bars of the cage holding it in shake violently. It screams. My legs are shivering under its weight. I glare at the woman in front of me, at her pointed chin and fierce ruby eyes. Burn burn burn. I want to shake that look out of her face. Break! Torture! Smash into pieces with my own hands! The fragile figure in front me. Her ruby eyes shone.
simply want to lie with him on the same bed, my head on his shoulder, listening to him breathing and stroking his hair
you don't understand. He would not do anything to me, because he loves me. He would not hurt me, so he pushes me away.
Touch me. No, don't, don't. I dread the empty feeling that drowns my soul as I lay naked on a stranger's bed, staring at a ceiling and longing for his scent.
I was running down the empty cemented street lined with black fences and trees. The air was heavy and wet. I stepped on a puddle of water, the moon dissolved into silver waves under my worn-out sport shoes. My pace quickened. She would be leaving by the time I get there. The thought ran through my mind like electricity and I sprinted. To my sides, the blurry shapes of buildings, trees and people flew past and I kept running, running. My muscles tightened and pain started to tingle all over the thighs and calves. It beat faster, faster, faster. My body hardened and burned.
"Who's this?" I took the small photo out of his wallet.
"Eriol-kun."
"No, I mean the girl with short chestnut hair. His girlfriend?"
"Probably."
"Probably?" I put the photo back to its place, leaned back and stared at the ceiling. "I like her eyes."
I caught a glimpse of my reflection and grimaced. My eyes. Her eyes. I looked away from the window and took a sharp turn at the Penguin Avenue. The scent of wet soil, rain and trees penetrated my nostril - the air entered both my nose and mouth.
You chuckled and I put the half-opened book down on my chest and turned my head to the side. Your pupil dilated and the iris moved as you observed the straight line of my nose, the shape of my lips and down my bare neck and cleavage. You pulled the white bed sheet up and I sniffed your scent.
A blue transparent beauty. The sun rose and broke through the clouds out of the corner of my eyes. I felt the softness of the bed sheet and your warm skin on my finger tips. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. Our noses touched and I placed a kiss on your lips. A tingling sensation spread thorough my body. It beat faster, faster, faster. Pump, pump, pump. Why is it not wet?
didn't know disgrace you are why didn't you tell me too late not cousins we are not committing taboo all I want to do is to touch him just sleep with other men they touch me and I am drown down down down her eyes look upon me with hatred and disgust understand why it's not wet it's your fault your fault my daughter
I am struggling. She touched my left cheek and I shook it away. It hurts. It hurts. Like rubbing salt on an open wound. My vision is blurry. And I run. Through the path lined with black wooden columns on both sides. The clouds are rolling to the West and the red cloak is being pulled to the orange line in the horizon. Something hot stings my cheek. And I run
across the street and turned right. The well-lit apartment lied ahead about 20 meters away. I accelerated, almost bumped into the glass windows. Push. The metal handle was cold in my sticky palm. The elevator's door slide open and I stepped in. The me in the mirror, ghostly pale under the neon light, looked back at me with a pair of fierce ruby eyes.
You can't deny it. It is my blood that runs through your veins. It's my eyes, my nose, my hands.
And your sin! Yes, I am your sin. I am born only to make you suffer. And I will do it.
So you will hurt him also? You will pull him down with you?
No, no, no.
What is love? Is it just another form of obsession, a mere illusion of the human mind? I don't love other men, but I sleep with them. I do love you, but I don't want to sleep with you. I am disgusted at the thought of you touching me but I long for your scent. I am attracted to you, like a duckling mistaking a duck-shaped toy for a mother. They smear mud on my white dress and I come to you for purification. You are my God, and I am your follower. But don't touch me, don't touch me. My heart beats for you, but I never open for you, never.
I saw her leaning on the wooden door of my apartment, staring into space.
"Kinomoto-san." I called out.
She turned her head and there I saw. A pair of emerald eyes.
"I like her eyes."
(cont)
Dear readers,
I literally jumped with joy as I saw the number of readers increasing rapidly in the last 2 days (I only had like 4 or 5 hits per week before that). It's a good enough sign and I feel really encouraged. The number of reviews doesn't matter to me as long as I know there are people who read and keep coming back to my writing.
Oh, and have you realized how awful I am at writing description? _ I'll try to improve.
Y.C.B
Thursday, February 24 2011
