Chapter 5: Night Spent Visiting His Grave
Don't own Oregairu or Watchmen
8man's Journal, October 16, 2035
Theatre Road: Wonder Woman's breasts draped across movie posters and several displays made sexually frustrated man-children and horny virgin teenagers excited. Having new material to recycle their wet dreams and adult fantasies had them salivating like dogs in heat. People discover new ways to embarrass themselves every night. Slowed my pace, carefully manoeuvred myself through these living-breathing litters loitering across shady corners and every sidewalk and used my peripheral vision to sneak a peek at this Amazon warrior princess in all her heavy chest plated glory. She was engaged in arm to arm combat against a spy, a red haired beauty clad in black leather, code named Black Widow. Action seems to be taking place in a mud pit, both are dripping wet, covered in mire and muck. One has her armour dishevelled, almost slipping off and the other had her skin tight outfit shredded at various promiscuous places. Both are using their respective weapons in a rather creative manner. Never knew lassos and garrotte-wires could do such things. Learnt something new today, almost made me laugh upon noticing the title: Avengers: Cry for Justice. Cry for pleasure more like it. Forgive my attempts at exibiting crude humour but under all this disillusionment lies a man and needless to say all mans are pigs. All women around the globe can attest to that. However disrespecting our otaku culture is something shameful. They are harmless enough people who have found alternative avenues to exist in a cruel world ruled by riajuus. My sympathise, but blowing them up hardly helps. A lot of mad bombers had a go and all it did was kill a lot of innocent civilians. Hence, let them rule their little imaginary kingdoms and hope one day they will realise thier folly and kill themselves by jumping out of a tall skyscraper. Keep your fingers crossed my fellow otakus and till then stop drooling over gravity defying breasts.
Of course telling them is futile. Men refuse to listen to sound advice. Source: Me.
Left these nerds alone and walked past booze hounds exiting a bar, carrying empty bottles and reeking of destitution. Many get seduced by this mistress in a bottle, swayed by her taste, sloshing away their secrets upon her on promises of intoxication and hoping an oncoming hangover to show mercy next morning.
Promises like these are meant to be broken.
Cognac and single malt whiskey from foreign lands, displaying French love and American love, amongst our humble sake, showcased Japanese love for happy hours. Dearly missed my first love… Maxx Coffee in yellow cans…was forbidden from drinking them anymore. Saki Kawasaki facilitated my breakup with Maxx Coffee, said she was worried about my chances of becoming a diabetic. Think she was getting back at me for making her quit cigarettes. No matter. Both of us lost our only love. Life is bitter why should, coffee be any different? Refrained from entering bar and kept moving ahead. Had a good reason, heard ruckus from inside, slurred curses and garbled swear words. Bar fight begins in:
1.
2.
3.
Ducked at last moment and missed a flying chair from flooring me across pavement. Watched said chair crash onto a busy street and create problems from drivers high on road rage. Not currently on duty, expect men in uniform to follow up and dilute this situation from becoming an embarrassment but know, this is asking too much. At night, a city bears her soul to its denizens and confesses her sins to those corrupt and lost.
I am both.
Aware of my origins and familiar with my end, moving forward is my only escape. Cowards are brave in their own mind. Understanding changes in wind and adapting likewise are virtues. Of course compromise is always an option to them. Everyone ends up happy after they make a compromise.
Biggest lie ever told like how accepting death as a comprise.
Never. Not me.
Death should be a final escape but it awakens many business opportunities for those currently diagnosed as living. Many make millions running love hotels like a chain of McDonalds. Special discounts on tennis themed suites are their way of paying homage to Totsuka.
Wonderful
Oscar Wilde once said imitation is the sincerest form of flattery that mediocrity can pay to greatness. Wondering about chances, of pimps and prostitutes, knowing this particular quote made by a great literary mind. Chances seem slim. Dyeing their hair silver, dressing them in tennis outfits and making them act and pretend to be him, only to make love and earn money by the hour is not flattering at all. Worked in Vice before making switch to Homicide, should give them a call about latest developments taking place in skin trade.
Saw hippies and addicts in back allies, dealing recreational drugs for raw cash. Prescription drugs and non-prescription drugs, all are available from these walking, talking, cussing, human pharmacies. College dropouts and juvenile delinquency take their pick. Should have Narco pay them a visit to check their cash registers.
Night is young, thinking ahead, after cemetery awaits my fateful reunion, can't wait to meet Tobe. He is in for a surprise. Lot has changed. Totsuka is dead. I am a sergeant and am currently in-charged with solving his case. Hate change and now he will too.
Thought about theories regarding his involvement in a nationwide conspiracy on way to cemetery. He could know the truth behind Totsuka's death. He could lie. Have his little revenge on me for messing up his chances of confessing to Ebina, back in high school. Everyone holds onto a grudge. He has spent his remedial life inside bars and waterholes. Never sober, another victim of reality. But he has to know something and making him spill his secrets is my primary objective for tonight, correction my secondary objective. First pay respect to a dead high school friend, then give near death experiences to an unfriendly high school classmate, then what? If everything is a lie then logic dictates immigrating to an uncharted island close to the Caribbean. Have to make arrangements, buy tickets and hope Saki Kawasaki believes me. Once she is on board everything will be fine. She can convince others, Komachi, Keika, Taishi, maybe also Tsurumi.
Puzzling myself.
At present none of them are at risk, better keep them safe and never try getting them killed like Totsuka. So many questions have to be kept in mind. Not many answers to go around. Everything is in disrepair. Insoluble. Not a glimmer of hope, not a promise of life.
Now about to enter land of the dead.
Exit stage right.
/
Not much security cover at night, easily entered premises by scaling a wall without falling unlike my foxy kohai. Inside gravesite, all stone monuments stood erect in neat rows, names of departed engraved, stone lanterns extinguished, flowers dry and incense sticks, now ash.
Walked on a bridge of light emanating from my trustee torch and found his final resting place. Totsuka is sleeping well, sleeping and dreaming for eternity, covered in a blanket of white roses. Paid my respects quietly and without any fuss, not like he would expect anything different from me, he knew me too well. Asked for forgiveness once again and promised to keep his widow safe till she fulfils all her responsibilities before leaving for abroad. Chiba has become a bitter memory for her, she made me understand quite clearly, with unshed tears in her eyes. Hopefully, she will allow me to escort her back to the airport on the day she leaves. Need to have a proper private discussion with her, wondering whether she would call my bluff, a man without a heart wanting a heart to heart is not exactly possible but desperate times call for desperate measures. Like robbing an old grave of a single flower and placing it amongst fresh ones given to my friend.
Lit incense. Might help Totsuka see me better from across and might give me a glimpse of heaven. After death, expect pits of hell to swallow me whole, heavenly stairs will forever be beyond my reach. Many regrets, no redemption, a sorry existence. Apologies again for my inability to separate friendship from dirty police work. Modern day gravestones have barcodes embedded in them. Took picture of the tag using my cell phone and perused through several details. Number of times this tag has been scanned was exponential. Noticed time stamps of several familiar names and put them in one group. According to data, Shiromeguri-senpai, Yukinoshita Haruno and Hiratsuka sensei came together. Read almost no interval amongst their visits. Good for them. One is a doctor, another a therapist. Bringing a cancer patient along seems practically normal to them.
At least they came.
Found no mention of Yuigahama and Miura. Need them but everyone says they are dead. Keep hoping to prove otherwise. Both are key individuals involved with the Hayama-Yukinoshita nexus. Their deaths would cause ripples, make headlines. Not everything can be brushed under the carpet. Like Tobe every secret rears their ugly head at times of tragedy.
Found his address from Isshiki, he was perverted enough to give her his number and stupid enough to ask her to pay him a visit for a scandalous late night interview. Saved Isshiki from Tobe but who will save Tobe from me?
No one.
There was no one to save Totsuka either.
Saika Totsuka. Born in the year 2000. Spent twenty years playing tennis in a professional capacity and was dubbed Prince Djoker by worldwide media. Hate his tabloid nick name. He put a smile on everyone without ever trying to be a comedian. His death was unexpected. Died October 10, 2035 and buried on a Sunday morning.
Thinking about his death cropped up inner turmoil regarding circumstances expected of my own demise. What happened to him? He had many friends, but in the end, he ended up with me, alone at night, standing vigil on his grave. He led a life without causing any conflict.
Then why, after death, are his followers causing chaos and anarchy in his name?
Why are prostitutes dressing up as him?
Why are love hotels giving discount on tennis themed rooms?
Why is his death a golden opportunity to make a quick buck?
What will happen to me? Led an entire life surrounded in conflict, had no time to play nice and made no effort to make friends. When I die, will there be a grave? Not likely. An unmarked grave awaits me, maybe a pair of cement shoes and a spot in an ocean bed, courtesy of Yakuza. They learned a thing or two from their American brethren in a foreign exchange scheme. Perhaps a serial killer would make a good barbeque out of me.
Regardless, no roses for me.
My life of violence will end violently, expect gore and bloodshed. Came without flowers, will be gone without flowers. Hope Totsuka understands. Flowers leave a lasting smell, can't interrogate Tobe properly if my suit smells like roses after my visit to Totsuka. He might get a funny idea. Need to scare him, hence no flowers tonight. Would have been no incense too, had it not been for Saki Kawasaki.
She had no business staying awake this late. Everyone in our household was already asleep. Komachi and Keika-chan went to bed straight after dinner. Not unnatural. Taishi Kawasaki looked over a few files before turning in for the night. He has developed this habit of his after he became a detective. What a show off.
Expected Saki Kawasaki to follow routine. She should have been asleep. Unfortunately she had other ideas. She stayed awake to catch me. Ah, foiled again by a woman's intuition. Caught before my evil plans could be set to motion, worst villain, right? Of course villainy never quits. No rest for the wicked, they say. Had to find a way out, applied my methods. Despicable right? No joke, only lies. Told her, was serious about paying Totsuka a visit, night is best, cherish privacy.
Not completely untrue, only omitted details about next visit.
She believed. Innocent are gullible, taken advantage quite easily. Believed my words but told me to wait a moment. Saw her heading inside. My opportunity to leave presented itself and my nature urged me to take advantage and leave. But my feet refused to move an inch. Never knew Saki Kawasaki held such sway over me. After everything, leaving without an explanation felt unthinkable, a stain in my conscience I am not willing to have. Waited patiently. Silently.
She came back. On her hands saw a couple of incense sticks and a lighter. Almost forgot about those. Going out, breaking in, disturbing graves and forgot most important props needed to pay respect. Worst friend, right? She carefully tucked these necessary items into my hands then apologized for not having any flowers at our home. Her delicate fingers brushed mine and tried to read my calluses. Her eyes at night looked afraid. Felt terrible. Of course she read my mind. Only she can, sometimes. Saved by woman's intuition, again. She cleared my doubts, some at least. She was afraid for me, not from me.
Big difference. Only one that matters.
She pleaded to me to stay safe, said she was afraid some ghosts might kill me. Gave her a tiny laugh meant to be reassuring. Meeting a ghost might actually be pleasant. Perhaps he might reveal what happens to men after they die. Of course dying by the hands of a ghost seems farfetched. I will be killed by a mortal man. Not tonight but someday. Expect nothing else. Happily lied and promise my safe return. Might help her sleep tonight. She deserves it. Watched her head inside when she thought I left. Found peace, knowing she was safe.
Told Totsuka a secret
"I love her."
Truth was unbearable to hear aloud. Sat down, cross legged on dirty ground, ran a hand through fresh soil. Hands got covered in ink and blanket of white roses on his grave turned into empty pages of my journal and began my entry:
"Totsuka will keep mum. Dead man tells no tell. A little late for him to take this secret to his grave but he understands. I am always a little slow on the uptake in understanding my feelings and emotions. Have spent decades believing, never to have them and now realising, once again how wrong I am. That's why she deserves someone better. Someone, anyone other than me is far more suitable.
She deserve happiness, can't give her something I don't have.
She deserves a good bed, can't share mine.
Not allowed to die in bed of old age, surrounded by my children and grandchildren, with a beautifully aged wife, holding my hand and watching me take my last breath.
There will be no tomorrow for me, where caressing the beauty spot under her right eye makes her wake up beside me and then allowing me to gently touch her swollen belly, carrying another life, life of a child, our child.
Not real, will never be real.
Something wrong inside me, broken and damaged, a monster of logic trapped in cage, left to gnaw at the unbreakable bars and resilient shackles, which keeps me away from insanity and chips away at my happiness.
Remembering an old high school essay, said I wanted to be a bear in order to escape pack mentality of herbivores. Bears hibernate, sleep away troubled winters, should have been perfect. Are these violent urges of mine turning me into an animalistic bear and making me into something I truly hate. All this thinking, writhing, struggling and agonizing over my futile search for something genuine came to naught. Genuine never existed in this real world. Yukinoshita Haruno was right all along. Wasted away my life searching for an ideal and now looking back, everything precious is lost to me. Another regret waiting to be paid, all my regrets are important. Consequences of doing what I had to do are piling up. At the middle of the third decade of the twentieth century came my time to reveal my face and reflect back.
No one else knows what I see, they think my loneliness is a symptom of rare mental disease, but I understand everything and treat them all with seriousness. Not time for a joke. Dead fish eyes saw everything, men wearing expensive suits and masks, women hiding behind makeup and facades and society cracking up listening to a sick joke.
Remember telling Totsuka a joke once: A middle management executive has to take on some sport, by his doctor's orders, so he decides to play tennis. After a couple of weeks his secretary asks him how he's doing. 'It's going fine,' the manager says. 'When I'm on the court and I see the ball speeding towards me, my brain immediately says, 'To the corner! Back hand! To the net! Smash! Go back!' 'Really? What happens then?' the secretary asks. 'Then my body says, 'Who? Me? You must be kidding!''
What a horrible joke but both of us laughed back then. Two high school friend one out of the game because of tennis elbow and other out of the force because of a sprained shoulder.
Remembered his friendship, earlier made arrangements to keep his widow safe and now leaving cemetery, for my next appointment.
Sound bugles,
Play on war drums.
An uphill battle approaches.
Curtain rises
/
A/N: Almost felt criminal writing this chapter that's why this is so short. Seriously man, they should frame the panels of 'Rorschach's Journal October 16, 1985' and put them in a museum next to the Monalisa. messing with it felt just wrong, however this had to be done. I tried keeping it close to the original but I had to make this about 8man too.
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Next chapter: Another Dead and Another Hiding