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"I closed my eyes and listened carefully for the descendants of Sputnik, even now circling the earth, gravity their only tie to the planet. Lonely metal souls in the unimpeded darkness of space, they meet, pass each other, and part, never to meet again. No words passing between them. No promises to keep."
- Haruki Murakami, Sputnik Sweetheart
The sky is dark when he walks home from work.
He had stayed behind to finish up grading student papers and entering grades. He had forgotten the time. Or rather, time had forgotten him.
The crescent moon hangs on the sky. He could trace the constellation Orion with his fingers, recognized by its famed belt.
He walks slowly, not hurried by anything.
The street is empty, lit by yellow streetlamps.
He is the only pedestrian, traveling through the shadows and lights.
He teaches at an university, a professor of economics. His students are mainly undergraduates that take economics to get a sociology credit out of the way. He doesn't remember their names nor they his.
The days are dull and uneventful. A flat line, patternless.
Between steps, he thinks briefly about dinner and decides to order out.
He takes the elevator up to his apartment, and unlocks his door.
He passes by a telescope, collecting dusts in the corner. He reaches for the phone.
He calls the Chinese food delivery and sits down in front of the TV, turning to the nightly news. He doesn't pay attention to it.
The monotone only serves as a source of noise in the living room.
He listens to his voice mail which consists of Ichijou reminding him to take care of himself.
He hasn't talked to him for a few weeks. He deletes the voice mail.
He checks his personal email, and deletes the spam. His mother emailed him to talk about dad and reminded him not to forget to eat.
He checks his professional email and answers some student questions about homework that is to be turned in in two day's time.
The delivery boy arrives and leaves , and now he eats quietly in front of the TV.
He watches it, absent-minded. It eludes him.
When he finishes, he throws away the chopsticks and the boxes, and takes the trash downstairs to the dumpster.
His neighbor smiles at him and blows smokes into his face. She invites him over for dinner, but she has a long-term boyfriend and he has already eaten; he declines. He goes back to the apartment.
As he walks in through the door, the land-line starts ringing.
He picks it up without haste, expecting it to be one of his concerned friends.
"It's me," she says breathlessly into the payphone.
"It's me."
"I have something to tell you. I've been on an excellent adventure, like Odysseus! I need to tell someone about it or I am going to explode."
The line breaks up for a moment.
"Where are you?"
"I don't know. I don't know," she says, agitated."I am somewhere. In a telephone booth. Just somewhere."
"I feel like I am still in the dream, but I am not. I am not. Anymore."
"Look outside," he urges. "What do you see?"
"I see things and people."
"Recognizable things? Landmarks?" he becomes frustrated.
"Billboards with languages I don't understand and people speaking in unfamiliar tongues..." his tone doesn't infect her's. She sounds as whimsical and dreamy as possible. "But I do see the sky. I do see stars."
"Which ones?"
"I see the half-eaten moon and three stars aligned," she describes vaguely.
He says into the phone, relieved, "Stay there."
They are in the same world, looking at the same sky.
"I will come to you."
Fin
A/N: Needless to say, this is AU, extremely AU. Inspired by writings of Haruki Murakami.
I am not dead. I am still writing. In fact, the next piece that I will put up on this account will be even more AU, but very different from this fic.