sinking feeling
January 28th.
Down the street and avenues of Sunshine walked a lone tall figure. His blue sunglasses leaned over the tip of his nose and his hands were neatly concealed in the pockets of his pants.
Beside him, phones were more important than people and above, artificial lights shined brighter than the stars.
Everyone functioned at the same pace. Everyone had the same rhythm.
He stopped at the corner and stared at a giant billboard announcing itself on a tall building. It had the face of a famous actor and the title of a soon to be famous movie. He lowered his eyes, pushed up his glasses and crossed ahead.
There's a feeling in him he can't quite understand.
His trek is silent; the crowds are a mass, chattering, mingling, laughing. He feels alienated and with a viable reason, too.
As he approaches the train station, there is a stink in the air. There are no trains at the moment.
The cigarette he'd stuck in his mouth hangs there trembling. Trash bins over flooded aren't a rare sight but that's not what causes the smell.
Crowds are, if any, smaller here.
Stars here, white specks, are visible now.
He turns, dropping the cigarette and gritting his teeth. Tiny flames fly then die as the cigarette hits asphalt. Ashes smear the gray.
Routine.
Glasses tucked away. A knife flicked open.
A battle cry of "Iza—ya—!"
There is no one around anymore. He moves and runs and functions to his rhythm now. The red eyes show him the way and the glint of the knife races at him.
Shizuo dodges.
The ghostly trail is disappearing now. He is alone.
Monster in the dark.
Silence encompasses.
"Shizu-chan."
Behind him. He's got a smile on his face.
Frantic, Shizuo tries to grab him but he slips away like smoke.
The smile continues. He looks peaceful.
Shizuo doesn't. He swipes and he's gone.
He reaches and he's gone.
He runs to him, and he's not there.
Walls are silent.
He's left there breathing hard in the dark.
Down the lane, up the lane. Nobody's there.
Above him.
He smiles.
"Iza—"
Cutoff. He's gone.
He decides to run.
Up the lane, down the lane. He's been running in a circle.
No more strangers on the street. Now they're a blur of faces.
No one looks familiar.
He reaches the end of infinity.
And he's still not there.
To his right. The raven shrugs and begins his speech: "I've decided to go out of town and go underground for a while…"
He relives it. A sputtered choke. A sinking feeling.
This time he's not angry about it.
He's terrified.
He runs at him while he's talking, lunges.
He's awake.
It's dark.
Hot.
He's on his bed and the sheets are suffocating. The bed creaks as his throws them over the edge and sits up. Moonlight streams through the window and Ikebukuro hasn't stopped. Red, blue, green, white; lights creep along the walls and disappear.
He's alone here.
The clock reads 3:07 in a bloody red and Shizuo remembers he has to wake up today at ten to meet Tom and Vorona. Dawn is still a long way away.
There is a paper on the floor halfway under the sheets.
For more than a second, he stares at the paper. Even concealed, he can tell it has been neatly folded, something he never does.
He does not want to go back to sleep.
Shizuo lifts himself up and takes one, two, three steps to it and picks it up. It hadn't been neatly folded. It was an envelope. There's nothing written on it and the seal hasn't been shut correctly.
He's never owned stationary.
Placing his finger under the flap, Shizuo opens it and slides out the single parchment tucked inside.
By the pale light coming in, he can see the strokes and etches on the paper. It read, Happy Birthday, Shizu-chan.
There's a lump in his throat.
He doesn't bother looking. He doesn't bother chasing. Izaya's a long way from now. He reads the lines once more. It's his handwriting. The envelope is delicately held in his left, the paper on his right. Without hesitation
he
crumples
it
in his
hands.
Happy birthday, Shizu-chan.
.
.
.
(Monster)
