Drift
Like clouds
Sleep.
Carefully
Lift her
Delicate body
And lay
On the bed.
Examine
Inspect
But actually
Standing there
Looking at
A sleeping beauty.
It would be too unbearable
He had lost
Plenty
But her
The closest
To that ideal
Even if
Germinating
From a foul seed
Of lies and self-interest
A beautiful flower
Bloom friendship
Confusion
Thinking is counter-productive.
Too good to be true
Be damned.
Stains
Smears
Dried
Filth.
Damp towel
Kneeling to her side
Like a sculpture
He polished
With care.
Lightly
Where there is red
He wiped it off
Looking
At the crude patch
A solution
Swiftly
Made in chaos
A horrible excuse
For a proper bandage.
Inwardly, he winced.
All he could do for now
Carefully wipe away
What he can.
A deep cut
Any move he made
And she was asleep
Best
Let her be.
It was late
Sounded late
Even smelled late
Light in the living room
Dull
Hunger was absent
Exit
Outside
On the porch
After dark
Cold wind
Fresh air
Sit down
Wait.
He cannot leave
Not yet.
Contemplate.
Had he been too late.
Insidious thoughts.
On the contrary
Self-destruction
Intrinsically harmless itself
The damage however
Inflicted
On the appended
That is
Those who loved
Family.
Reminisce
Another figure
In his mind
Those wary dark eyes
Matted black hair
A stubbled man
Through hell and back
Or so his eyes said.
A father.
Now
If he had lost
The only child
A grim predicament.
He too could relate
Even if
His own father
Despised him
But certainly
Even he
Did not want him gone.
On the cynical side
Sons and daughters
Another investment
Consider it
Insurance
Someone who will take care
Of the elders
In old age.
A man is neither good nor bad.
But, useful or useless.
What would he tell him?
No easy way
Without a sharp context
To reveal it.
Certainly jarring
News
Of your own daughter
Prospect of losing
A life
Terrible.
Understatement.
Even he could not comprehend.
Half an hour
Half a year
Time does not make sense
When frozen in stupor
Or drowned in thought.
A black car
From it
Come out
A man
In the same outfit
A dirty white coat
Warily eyeing
The strange fellow.
Strange.
At this hour of the night.
He stood up.
"Hikigaya-san. What are you doing here?"
His lips
Reluctant
Lost
Cannot find the right words
To avoid
Immediate reaction.
"Saito-san-"
Unfortunately
By a beset
Stroke of luck
His stained shirt
Gave the wrong idea.
"What did you do."
Cold
Sharp voice
Unlike anything he had ever heard
Calm
Dripping with menace.
"Wrong idea. There is no easy way to put it. Better if you see for yourself."
He was certainly intimidated.
The man shook his head
A frown
Walk past him
The two
Unsettling silence.
On the surface
Stone-cold composure
Inside
He was anxious.
Indeed
See a man
In a bloodied shirt
Outside your house
Quite unsettling.
An understatement.
It was frightening.
Provocative.
There was no telling
What could be next.
When he saw his daughter
Asleep
Visible red stains
And a crude bandage on her arm
His heart sank.
Clenching his fists
Furious
Shock
All wind
Leaving his lungs
Stepping closer.
But he was not angry
Atleast not at the young man
As sinister as it seems
He knew
Albeit
Suspicious dead-fish eyes
He meant no harm.
Silent understanding
Between the two.
"...miko-chan..."
Slowly shaking his head
In grief
He held her hands
Words cannot convey
Only actions
Illustrate.
"I'll... dress her wounds. You can go wait downstairs."
There was nothing
A cynic no less
Can do.
There will be no consolation
To a parent
In grief.
No words
Can sweeten
A bitter truth
Fact
Presentation
Of a possibility
Loss.
Here
He saw
As if looking at
Reflections
The cynic
Saw himself
In the man
A father.
Life
Like a tide
Batter against a rock face
Eroding
Corroding
The creation
Of a cynic.
His life
Like black coffee
Bitter.
His daughter
Brought the only
Sweetness.
You cannot expect coffee to be sweet if you remove the sugar.
