Where Once was Life,
Life Is No More.
Harbingering the end of another busy day in the city of Yokohama, the sun slowly set over the distant horizon beyond the tall buildings and bright street lights. As the border of gold sank downwards, the tall lamps along the sidewalks lit up one by one until all that was left was their flickering yellow glow. A dribble of water meandered down one of the thick glass coverings of a lamp, remnant of the recent shower. Yellow light wiggled in the puddles near the edge of the street, exploding into little beads with every passing vehicle. Despite the city's size, after a certain hour the streets always grew quiet. There were but a few late workers who scuttled home after a long day by this time. Among them was a woman dressed in a light brown coat and blue jeans. She had lifted up the collar of the coat and held it tight by her neck, trying to keep out the cool breeze that swept down the streets and between buildings. Her old sneakers were damp from the rain, though luckily she didn't get caught directly in the downpour. Currently, she was walking alone on the sidewalk. This was normal routine for her. The distance between her living space and place of work was an entire city length apart, and it always took an hour or more to get to and from. Having recently departed from the subway station, she only had a few blocks left to walk.
Her feet paused at an intersection. The bright glow of the traffic lights above blared down on empty asphalt. No cars were around but the lights loyally repeated their routine. Across the intersection was a typical walk or don't walk sign, and she waited—as always—for it to allow her passage across the road.
The sound of screeching breaks bellowed out through the once quiet street. In the distance, farther down the adjacent street, a truck had roughly snatched around a corner and came barreling down the road, aiming to beat the yellow light. Its rackety old shell was clanking crudely against the barely attached hood, though it was hard to hear over the thunderous engine. Soon, soft grey eyes were ablaze from the fast approaching headlights. The driver, drunk, did not see the girl.
Once again screeching breaks pierced the night air and the speeding truck came to a halt after nearly tipping over from the driver cutting the wheel sharply to the right in a last-second attempt to avoid the figure in the road. Two pairs of feet stepped out of the truck, staggering a little from the jolt of the vehicle as well as the alcohol in their system. One rubbed his head as he made his way around the truck to see if what they were trying to avoid was anywhere in sight. The dark, lumpy mass not too far away confirmed his fears. Narrowing his eyes in a sudden scowl, he turned towards the driver sharply.
"You hit someone you jackass!" he barked at the other man who was still trying to wrap his mind around the situation.
A moment later, the driver glanced over at his bent up hood before peering back at the other man who yelled at him. "Shut up and help me move the body! I'm not about to go back to jail tonight." The gruff driver marched over towards the body. His partner, awe-stricken from the response he received, didn't say anything more. He, too, did not want to go to jail. Looking around, he saw no one who could have witnessed the event. It would be easier to just move the body rather than call the police for an accident report. Humbly, he moved to assist the driver. Together they had taken the bloody and broken body and placed it in the back of their truck. They quickly headed for the nearby subway station to drop it off and try to forget the tragedy as street lamps reflected in the now dull and lifeless grey eyes.
"What are you doing?" the passenger asked as he watched the driver start melding through the woman's clothing after they had laid her down a corner of the subway where people often tossed away old clothing for the shelters to pick up.
"Seeing if she has any cash on her," the driver answered. "Maybe a credit card or something." He spoke in a calm tone, seemingly unaffected and numb to the situation.
"Come on, haven't we done enough?" the passenger pleaded. "I just want to get out of here."
"Shut up and stop acting like a damn baby!" the driver snapped as he dug into the pockets of the light brown jacket. "Besides, it's not like she is going to need it. Might as well make this look like a robbery." A moment of silence later the man growled and rose to his feet. "Dumb bitch doesn't even have anything. All I found was this old I.D. from the Children's Village Orphanage." He tossed the card and it swayed downwards to land on the heap on the ground. "Whatever, let's get going. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Nothing to do about it now." The burly man turned away and began marching towards the subway stairs. The passenger, feeling quite ashamed, bent down to pick up the I.D. card. After a quick examination he figured the card was outdated by at least five or six years. Also that, according to the card, she was a foreigner from Italy.
"Ceres Iesada…" he read in a low voice. "I'm very sorry."
"Hurry up!" the driver called from above. The ashamed man bent down and tucked the I.D. card back into the dead woman's jacket before turning and running up the stairs. The truck sped off in a loud rumble once more and that night was never spoken of again.
Thanks for reading! Life Note (2014) is a re-written form of the 2008 version. Due to many reviews and requests from only 8 chapters in, I've decided to re-vamp and continue the story to the end. All helpful critique is welcome, as well as any suggestions a reader may have. I hope to continue to please the readers of this story, past and future. :)