Dazai wandered around the slums, looking around at the dreary buildings and the muddy puddles and the scurrying rats. The bandage over his eye was gone, but that wasn't why he suddenly felt as if he could see clearly for the first time in his life. How long was he going to go into hiding? As much as he hated the idea, he would need to track down Ango. It was necessary if he was going to erase his past of killing from existence. If he was going to live the way Odasaku told him.
The moon shone down relentlessly, only darkening the shadows and illuminating the ugly. Just as it always did. Coughing could be heard on occasion down a few of the alleyways. Nostalgiac, wasn't it? He almost wondered if he would've been better off on his own, to die quietly on the streets with no one to notice. There was nothing to take away from him then except his life, and Dazai hadn't put too much value to that from the start.
But he had so desperately wanted to understand the will to live that when the devil extended a hand to him, he took it. Selling your soul is an awful thing. You make a contract, thinking you have nothing to lose from the deal and everything to gain. Only after you finally realize that there had been something important to you do you realize what the contract truly entails. What you end up losing. What gets taken away, over and over and over...
He wasn't surprised when he ended up on the embankment of the river. He hadn't done it consciously, but it was the only thing he could've done. Here, the moonlight was worse, full glare without any buildings to dampen the light. Far below, the water glittered invitingly, although the water was much calmer than Dazai would've liked. And although he had intended to carry out Odasaku's last request, was there really a point? He said himself that Dazai would never find what he was looking for. Helping others wouldn't be much of a change over killing them either. So why should he continue? It'd be a lot easier to let go.
Over to his left, there was a bridge just several yards away. Maybe this time he would be allowed to succeed. His head was strangely quiet as he climbed to the highest point on the bridge. Peaceful, even, as he levered himself up onto the ledge. And when he hit the ice cold waters, he felt relief. The burning in his lungs and the pain from smashing his head on a rock when hitting the riverbed were nothing, nothing at all. They were actually comforting, whispering hope to Dazai that this attempt might actually succeed.
He watched the patterns of blood dance in the water until his consciousness faded away.
The cold numbed him, chilling him to the bone. It was the awful cold that woke Dazai up. And when he realized that he was safely on the riverside, the rising sun painting the world red, he once again experienced crushing disappointment. Yet again, death had abondoned him. Life had forced his hand, and so he had no choice but to keep on living. It only affirmed the realization that he had last night: living was the worst kind of suicide.