Sorry this took so long. The chapter took a lot of thinking and I still don't enjoy the way it turned out, but it's your opinion that matters. Thank you for reviewing! In answer to some reviews:
Yuka: I realized I misspelled her name after the first chapter was posted. I wasn't going to take the time to fix her name by reposting the first chapter when no one else seemed to mind. Thank you for your review, and if you are reading the story, please enjoy it.
A man sat quietly in the small cubicle allotted to him for his work space. He wasn't a tall person, but seemed as if he was a giant in the small cubicle. A clock on the wall next to him ticked softly in correspondence to the sound the computer keys made as he typed.
His short brown hair was graying around the edges and didn't exist on the highest point of his head. Small wrinkles were forming on the outer corners of his eyes. The only sign of youth left in the middle-aged man was in the sparkling blue eyes he had.
The man had finished typing, and carefully studied the article flashing on the screen. He gave a small smile, and saved the document before printing it.
"What is this crap?" shouted a fat man, throwing the stack of papers back at the man who handed them to him. "Yoshina, do you even know what your job is?" Yoshina started to defend himself, but the fat man cut him off. "Your job to find and print interesting news, not..." the fat man grabbed one of the papers he threw and crumpled it. "This trash!"
Yoshina stared at the floor of the fat man's office. "I thought it would be interesting…"
"You thought!" shouted the fat man. "Please explain why people would want to know about 'community trash pick-up'?" Yoshina felt crushed. He thought he had done a good job.
"Look at these articles!" shouted the fat man as he pulled out other people's work. "Ice cream shop run by a psychotic man! Shooting range found with asbestos in walls!" The fat man threw the papers on his desk so they formed a strange phrase.
PSYCHOTIC SHOOTING RANGE
"Try to get a good story by tomorrow, or you're fired!" shouted the fat man. Yoshina gathered his story, and walked out of the office.
A small apartment was cluttered with junk. Cloths were thrown carelessly over a couch and the armchair. A sock hung off of the tip of the TV antennae by its rim. A trash bin was overflowing with garbage, and the sink was full of dirty dishes. The vertical blue stripes that were painted on the wallpaper were graying with age. The wallpaper itself was beginning to peel. A rug that looked like it had once cost a fortune lay on the dusty hardwood floor, tarnished and covered with cigarette ashes. The entire scene was illuminated by the TV's gray glow from a static covered picture. It was into this mess, that Yoshina walked when he opened his front door.
Yoshina sighed as he saw that the person, who had been staying with him for the past week, and also the cause of majority of the mess, was gone. A small note was taped to his door, and Yoshina read it before he had even put down his suit case.
The next time I spend a week with you, you could at least bother to clean up the mess. You're out of cheese puffs, and you should get cable.
Yoshina sighed again, and dropped his suitcase. He didn't even have to try and make out the cheese powder covered signature. He knew his son was gone once again, off back to his mother to get all the money he wanted while he knew his father couldn't even afford basic cable.
Yoshina pulled off the jacket of his suit. He turned the handle to a door at the end of a short hallway, and pushed against it with his shoulder to pry apart the stuck wood of the frame and the door itself. The aged writer simply collapsed into his bed, and glanced briefly at a clock as he turned the alarm on.
Midnight. Great. He had to be in work in six hours. Usually, Yoshina worked six to five every Monday to Saturday, and spent his Sunday's researching the story that was supposed to be finished by then.
The magazine he worked at was one of the most popular and widely read in all of Japan. It was a gossip magazine dishing dirt from every popular view there was at that time. The general reason it was purchased by a consumer was for the dirt on famous idles.
Yoshina worked in the "Public Places and Community" section. Someone new to the magazine would believe that the section would contain articles much like the one his boss had thrown back at him. Instead they were just the opposite. All those articles did were expand on small rumors and destroy the business of a kind old man's ice cream shop.
When Yoshina got his major in journalism, he never thought that he would be working in something like this. He wanted to work in a newspaper, investigating actual crimes and writing about community improvements. Even better, he wanted to write his own short stories in a column. But when Yoshina applied, all he would ever get was;
We appreciate the time you took to write your story, but your work does not meet the criteria we're looking for. Thank you again, but-
That was about as far as Yoshina got before tossing the crumpled remains of the letter into the trash. Now he'd given up, and the most he did, was type in his own spare time. All that was left for him was a dead end job that was most likely going to end tomorrow.
The shot gun that he kept in a small rack above his bed glistened in the moonlight. It was a gift to him from his father a long time ago, but he never used it. He didn't like hunting. But what did this matter?
Yoshina closed his eyes, and just hoped he could keep the last thing allowing him to hang on when he woke up the next morning.
The black haired man smiled as he walked up to the small house on the outskirts of the city. He wore a sleek black suit along, and carried a classic shotgun. No one lived around the area besides this family, so no one would hear the blasts. It wasn't that he enjoyed killing, it was more like a bad habit. Besides, he needed the money.
He kicked in the front door. A husband and wife had been standing together in the living room. They had apparently been discussing something before he broke in. Now the wife screamed in fear, and the husband stared in disbelief as sweat began to stream down his face.
"Gimme all the money in this place," slurred the dark haired man. The wife sobbed a little, but the husband told her to wait here and be careful not to say anything. The man just smiled as the husband ran to get the money from some secret hiding place.
"Now, now," said the man to the women as she cried. "I'm only going to shoot one of you." She looked up in horror. The husband walked in the pile of money and he pulled his wife up to stand with him as he stretched one arm out to the black haired man to hand him the money.
"Who are you?" asked the husband. "Why are you doing this?"
The black haired man just smiled before saying "My name is Kuruni," He readied the shotgun. "And I do this for fun." He pulled the trigger. Twice.
Yoshina shot up in bed, drenched in sweat. It was like he had been watching a movie; only, it was based on the story he was typing. It was only four in the morning, but Yoshina didn't care. He booted up the computer that most people would have considered an antique.
He pulled up the typing program, and opened his latest story. He read the first few parts.
The black haired man smiled as he walked up to the small house on the outskirts of the city. He wore a sleek black suit along, and carried a classic shotgun. No one lived around the area besides this family, so no one would hear the blasts. It wasn't that he enjoyed killing, it was more like a bad habit. Besides, he needed the money.
He kicked in the front door. A husband and wife had been standing together in the living room. They had apparently been discussing something before he broke in. Now the wife screamed in fear, and the husband stared in disbelief as sweat began to stream down his face.
It was the same as his dream. What was up with this?
Yoshina shook his head dismissively. What was he thinking? He was just under too much stress to get his article. A faint beeping sounded on the other end of his apartment. Yoshina sighed, shut down his computer, and got ready for work.
He just sat their, in the cubicle. He stared at the blank computer screen in front of him, and then glanced at the ever ticking clock. It was already four thirty. He only had an hour and a half to think of an article. What was he going to do?
Yoshina went back to staring at the screen. Something caught his eye in the bottom left of the screen. An icon of a man in a black suit carrying a shotgun walked onto the screen. He turned towards Yoshina and smiled, lifting the shotgun into an aim.
Yoshina blinked, and just as quickly as it had appeared, it disappeared. Yoshina blinked a few more times to be sure his mind was done with tricks, and focused his attention towards the ominous clock looming on the wall.
Five o'clock! Yoshina began to sweat. This can't be happening. I need more time, I need more time, I need…
A shadow loomed over Yoshina's desk. He looked up, and saw the fat man. His boss. The fat man shook his head. "Still nothing?" muttered his boss.
"I just need a little more time. Just a little more then the hour left." Yoshina was talking so fast, that his sentences couldn't be told apart. "Just an hour and a half, tops! I can-!"
"You don't even have that hour," said the fat man. "You're fired,"
Yoshina sat on the cloth ridden couch of his apartment, staring at the crackling TV placed in front of him.
"You don't even have that hour, you're fired."
That was a week ago, and Yoshina was still out of a job. He didn't know what to do. He owed so much money. Bills were being sent in final notice forms, companies were calling him left to right, and to top it all off, his son was demanding more money for college. Yoshina was lost in what he should do.
He glanced up at a glimmering from his room. Shining in the pale sunlight was the double barreled shotgun he had on his wall. Maybe he could just ask a few people for money using it as a motivator…
Yoshina shook his head furiously. He should never have even begun to think that. He grabbed the half empty cup of water sitting in front of him, and dragged himself towards his bedroom.
"Didn't I say I needed money for college?" yelled a voice that came out of the top of a phone.
"I'm sorry," responded Yoshina. "I'm just between jobs and…"
"I didn't call for your crap!" shouted the other voice. Yoshina flinched. "I want the money by Friday," A click was followed by a dial tone, and Yoshina hung up the phone. He glanced towards his right, and the gun sparkled again.
Friday came faster then Yoshina expected. Needless to say, he still didn't have a job. When the phone rang, Yoshina was hesitant to pick it up, but didn't have much other choice. "Hello," said Yoshina gravely.
"Time's up," said an obnoxious voice from the other end of the phone. "I now officially hate you, and enjoy the fact that I never have to see you again," The phone went dead in mid-conversation, and it didn't take Yoshina long to realize that the power had been cut.
The shotgun sparkled marvelously in the moon light from the window, and this time, Yoshina didn't ignore it. It seemed to slide off what was being used to hold it and right into Yoshina's hands. Tomorrow, someone was going to make a donation.
Yoshina walked up to a small house on the far side of a town. He caressed the shotgun in his hands as he walked, and had a blank face on. The house was separated from other places, so the sounds of a blast would go unnoticed. No, that was morbid. He wouldn't have to pull the trigger.
The front door was open a crack. He kicked it open after a minute's hesitation, and saw a woman putting what looked like the finishing touches onto a cake. A man had been sitting on the couch of the living room the front door opened up to, but was now standing, and staring at the weapon in fear.
"Give me all of the money you have in this place," demanded Yoshina. The wife didn't hesitate and ran as fast as she could towards the back of the kitchen, and came out holding a rather large roll of money. The husband stood absolutely still.
Yoshina gave a faint grin, and then his trigger finger twitched. No, it seemed to pull the trigger out of its own free will. Yoshina just watched in horror.
Two gunshots echoed through the air. The double barreled shotgun had smoke lifting gently from the front of it. Yoshina had been pushed back into the wall from the force of the shot as he stared at the bloody mess in front of him.
"Why..." began Yoshina. "What did I do?" He began to panic. He grabbed the pile of money lying in front of the bodies and stuffed it into his pocket. "If I hide the bodies, it'll take cops a little while to realize it..." he stammered.
He leaned over the bodies, and tried to think. Looking around, he noticed a pantry. Without thinking much more, he dragged the bodies towards the wooden doors and shoved them inside. Yoshina ran out of the house, and slammed the front door behind him.
Kuruni wasn't satisfied with just that house. He needed more. More money. The old couple had barely held enough money in their possession to buy him a weeks worth of beer. Dissatisfied and disgruntled, he shoved off to another house on the other side of town, and repeated the job he had performed only a few days ago.
Yoshina shot up in bed soaked in sweat. Another dream based on that damn story he typed up. Something flashed through his mind, and he remembered what had taken place a few hours earlier. He got up out of bed. Maybe it was a dream too? Maybe that couple never really was shot?
His hopes were quickly crushed.
Lying on the coffee table in front of him was a pile of money. It wasn't a dream. He really killed someone. Two. He killed two people.
The sun began to shine through the few windows in his apartment. The shades created a bar light affect on his face. He walked over to the window, and drew the blinds. The city bustled with noise below him. Life would just keep moving, even without those two. Majority of the world wouldn't even know they were gone.
The phone ringing brought Yoshina's attention back to his apartment. He walked over to it and picked it off the receiver.
"Why can't you even give our son the money he deserves?" screeched a voice soon after Yoshina greeted with "Hello?" His wife was actually calling him. "I mean, all I want is for you to chip in on the expenses your son…"
Yoshina let his mind wander. Ignoring her seemed to be the smartest choice right now, even if he wasn't doing it intentionally. A pile of money had caught his attention, and seemed to be drawing him in.
"I have it,"
"What?" stopped the voice. "What did you say?"
"I have the money,"
"Good!" exclaimed the voice. "See? Everyone respects you if you pay them! Send it all, now!"
The money hadn't been enough. The bill still had a lot left on it, and Yoshina needed the money. His son might even visit him if he could pay the bill. That justified why he carried a shotgun with him as he kicked in the door of another rare single family.
Three gunshots echoed down the street. A stray tiger cat was the only thing that heard the noises.
Kuruni laughed to himself. Robbing families was too easy. That's why he began to move up to convenience stores.
Yoshina's mind raced. He couldn't even remember why he was doing this anymore. All he cared about was shooting. He sprinted up to a small store with the shotgun in his arms. He jumped through the first door and immediately shot the store clerk. An old lady screamed, and a couple of kids coward with their mother.
His first target was the old lady. No one liked the old. He shoved the gun barrel at her stomach and pulled the trigger again. Laughing to himself, Yoshina ran up to the mother and children. The mother stepped in front to protect her kids.
"Why are you doing this?" cried the mother. Yoshina stopped laughing, and stared at her. "Why are you doing this?" she repeated, hysterical.
"I…" Yoshina stared at the gun in his hands, and then smiled again. "Because I can,"
"But you're killing so many!" cried the women. "And for what? To cause grief? If you truly do have no reason, then please! Stop!"
Yoshina was about to pull to trigger when he looked at the freezer door behind the women. He could see a reflection. Kuruni was standing where Yoshina should've been. Behind Kuruni, a little kid was rollerblading towards the store.
He couldn't have been in more then middle school. He had a red cap on with three pins. As the automatic doors to the store opened, he saw that the kid had a sleeveless pull over on. A metal bat was raised, and Yoshina felt the pain as the bat was brought down on Kuruni's head.
Yoshina just fell on the floor, and the last thing he saw was his own reflection back in the freezer as his world faded.
An attorney talked in a low voice to a thin women and a tall young man sitting in the chairs in front of him. They were all wearing black.
"He had a life insurance policy. It amazes me how he could afford one," said the attorney. "You'll get all the money he was insured for along with his possessions-!"
"Keep them," shot the women. "All we want is the money." The attorney stared for a few seconds, and then nodded, and the two stood up and walked out of the office.
"Do we have to stay for his funeral?" whined the voice of the young man.
"No," said the women. "He finally paid what we wanted. He was only good for something in death."
The women pushed open the front door and started walking down a long path. The building was only a few meters away from a cemetery. It was a perfect location for those who just wanted to do business. The pair walked along the path and passed a coffin that was above ground. They got into the car and drove off as the picture of Yoshina gleamed in the inappropriate sunlight.
Again, sorry this took so long. Please review, and I should have the sixth chapter up by next week regardless if you don't. Thanks for reading.