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.