Chapter 1
- ...
As the eyes adjust themselves to the dark they become increasingly vulnerable to light. They adjust themselves to see even the most insignificant sources or reflections of light in order to have the other senses react according to the input of information. They are of considerable value to us humans in order to get an understanding of our surroundings and what options we have when dealing with certain situations or solving problems.
For an instant the room is illuminated and shifts to a rusty color. In the corner lies a man, rather weak in his appearance he sleeps as if the burns on his skin were not burns but a natural part of his being. It is connected to a kitchen and bathroom that both carry the symptoms of aging. With a kitchen that lacks even the most basic tools for cooking and the room itself is dense and lacks a source of light. Or maybe it would be fit to say it lacks a cable connecting the light source with a generator. The windows reveal dark surfaces and dust filled buildings on the brink of collapse. Outside there are pedestrians moving to their set destination at a slow pace. Dressed in aged clothing and worn out shoes they have lost bonds with pride, self-consciousness and morale. A gunfight starts a couple of blocks away, the pedestrians keep walking and cars wait for the traffic lights to authorize them to proceed forward.
The man shivers and his glasses fall of the tip of his nose. He sneezes and curls up even more to hide from the constant cold that is torturing him. Tears are pouring down his bleach but dirty cheeks as more gunfire is heard from a distance and he rise up. With a quick move of his wrist he wipes the tears away, walks over to a chair to pick up his cardigan and heads over to the kitchen. Wearing a cardigan made him look like a momma's boy, he reveled in the fantasy and brushed back his short dark hair. Tiresomely he opens up the freezer looking for something to quickly stuff his stomach with. The freezer isn't particularly full but the man seems stubborn to convince himself that he has too much to choose from. With a grim on his face he picks up some frozen tuna walks over to the closed window and forces it open. He throws the tuna into a trashcan, maybe a local homeless will find it and thank whoever put it there. It's not that the man can afford this, nor is it that he is a generous person. Instead it's a demand to be recognized for his efforts and to feel a little better about himself.
- Right…
He walks over to the kitchen table to turn on the radio and raise the volume, continues into the bedroom and turn off the television. With a quick look out the window he determines there are no dead bodies roaming the streets today. He hear gunshots being fired from not too far away though "Maybe the dead bodies will find their way here eventually?" Luckily most of the time the bodies are those of mafia members, the mafia that control this area is called zhèngyì dí línghún. Bang! The first victim falls to the ground outside, today's war seem to have found its way here. He beholds the bloodbath that unfolds before him, a couple of civilians walk past his street and pass the war unflinched. "Icecold" he thought to himself as they walk into a shoestore below his apartment. He closes the window and while dressing himself walk down the stairs.
Sniveling he buries his face deep into his jacket. He's been unable to murder and ravage the disease that has continuously abused him for over two weeks. "Maybe if I shot myself?" he thought to himself as he giggled and dragged his feet in the gravel. The gunfire slowly fades away along with the people from his neighbourhood.
- Boo!
The sudden yell causes him to faceplant himself into a wall. A mumbling is heard behind him and a couple of fingers sneak into his armpits, in a mix of pain and humour he laughs and catch the arms behind him. While locking one of the arms he swings around and looks down on a small girl who smiles cheerfully at him.
- Hey Yūkan. Want some candy? She said while keeping their hands locked.
Jenny, a ten year old girl. Her long brown hair was mixed with the dirst from the playground she usually plays in and she had the hands of an innocent angel. She lives together with her father in one of the lonesome apartments here. Things never really seemed right with her, no matter what happened to the world around her she'd always face you with a smile. "Ignorance is bliss."
- Maybe. Does it include doing something for your father?
Her expression changed, now with a confused look she continued.
- No. My candy.
This boggled his mind, she looked up at him with a mischiveous look on her face. His interest lies with the father she has, a shopkeeper in the district just one block away from his own. Taking jobs from there usually made up most of the money he used to pay the bills.
- You got some scraps or s…
A chocolatebar. He beheld the spectacle which lay vividly in his right palm. The brown color, the definition of tasty, all the dreams of the world put into one piece of candy. Chocolate. He was stunned, never had he thought that he'd lay eyes upon something like this again. A fragrance of brilliance he thought as he smelled the treasure.
- Thank you.
He roughed up her hair once more before he stood up.
- Come over later, dad said he wanted to talk to you.
She sprinted away, leaving small footsteps on the street. He followed her tracks while keeping an eye out for any particularly shiny objects. Working as a collector was hard work, no official license, no guaranteed pay and no telling who you'd be delivering to other than through small notes of when and to where the package was supposed to be delivered.
The sun kept burning, ever so slowly. "I wonder if it enjoys torturing us?" He pulled off his sweater and tied it neatly around his waist, swept the sweat from his forehead and let out a small laughter.
