Post #12

It was a brisk autumn morning of about 17°C. As Yuuta pedaled manically to school, his mind traveled in a different direction. He was thinking about the spring of his sophomore year when he finally manned up and asked Mizuki to be his girlfriend. They had been going steady, like at least a date a week. There had been a lot of flirting, and sometimes they held hands, but he wanted to kiss her. He decided that if he asked her out, he could really lay his lips on hers. On February 1, he asked her to meet him at the park near the train station. She showed up in this killer dress, like it really showed off her smooth shoulders and slender figure, and her hair was nicely layered and parted in a way that accentuated her round eyes and supple lips. Wow, did she always dress like this, he thought to himself. After an entire afternoon beating around the bush, she told him that she had to go eat dinner with her parents. As she stood up from the grass, he showed no intention to get up. Instead he reached out to grab one of her hands. Her soft fingers ceased the beating of his pulse momentarily and finally he was able to ask her.

At school the next day, he looked for her in her classroom. He was hoping he could walk her home and maybe score another kiss. It feels good to know that you have a girlfriend to make out with whenever you liked. He turned blue when a fellow classmate informed him that she left school early. That was the day Mizuki disappeared.

Yuuta is able to deal with death. He had come into terms with it at a very young age. When he was eight years old, he couldn’t sleep one night because he had been lying in his bed thinking about death. After what seemed like hours of trying to shake off those thoughts, he went into his mother’s bedroom crying and shivering frantically. She asked him what was wrong and he told her that he didn’t want to die because he couldn’t bear the thought of never being able to see his mother and father again. Really, he was just afraid to be alone. The thought of being alone eternally was more frightening than the flames of hell or the torture of being pulled apart by horses. As she held onto him, she told him that his thoughts were silly and she tried to console him by making false promises that they’ll never leave him. Upon hearing his mother’s intended words of comfort, his fears were confirmed. He realized that death was inevitable; it was a part of life, and his goal was to postpone it for as long as possible. That is the kind of kid Yuuta was.

But Mizuki didn’t die. She vanished. This was actually harder for Yuuta to accept. He never thought someone could just disappear like that. After she was gone, there was a surge ludicrous rumors going around in school. Someone claimed they saw a prostitute that looked just like her, so maybe she left school to become one. It was also believed that gangsters had kidnapped her because her father owed them a ton of money. Then there was the rumor that she ran away from home and committed suicide in a hotel in the city. Yuuta didn’t know where any of these stories came from, but he didn’t believe a word of it. She is out there somewhere and soon she will contact him.

That was two years ago. Now, as Yuuta rode his bicycle down the familiar side streets, he thought about Mizuki and that – AND as he made a right turn he had to immediately squeeze the brake levers just to stop inches in front of the red car that pulled up into the intersection. Frozen in reverie, he was still gripping the levers, as hard as a pregnant woman squeezing her husband’s hand in labor, until the impatient driver honked at him to move out of the way. It had been two years and finally she had called him. That night before he received a call from an unregistered number. Mizuki was calling him from a payphone. He recognized her voice even before she said it.

“Mizuki…”
“Hey, I'm using a payphone, so I’ll probably get cut off, but I want to see you. Can you be at the Shopping Center at 1pm on Sunday?”
“Oh, ok. Where should I meet–“
“Go to the eighth floor, where the bookstore is.”
“The usual place.”
“Oh, good. You still remember.”
“Of course.”
She was silent for a while.
“Where were you all this time? What have you been doing?”
“I needed time to mature.”
Silence again. It’s difficult to know what to say at a time like this and so silence easily fills in the gap.
“Oh, it’s beeping. I’ll see you Sunday then!”
And then the line went dead. For the longest time, he stared at the display on his phone. The minute counter on his phone was the only proof that this conversation actually occurred.

On Sunday, he showed up early to the bookstore. Mizuki and him had often spoken about going abroad and seeing all the famous places of the world together, so their spot was naturally the travel guides. They had spent countless of hours on many occasions flipping through pages upon pages of photographs taken around the world. They wanted to go to Paris, Nice, Dresden, Barcelona, and so on, the list continues. He picked up the books as he waited for her and began to look though them again. It felt almost like seeing an old friend. He recalled every image and every memory that went along with it. By the time he go through the third book, he looked at his watch to see that it was a quarter past 1. He placed the book back on the shelf and glanced over at the escalator, hoping the next person ascending would be Mizuki. In the corner of his eyes, he felt a pair of eyes on him. He turned his head in slight degrees toward the direction of the stare to find one of the store clerks looking at him. That was an awkward moment.

Even though he didn’t see Mizuki, he felt that she was there. She definitely came to see him. He thought back to the travel books. She was probably leaving the country and going off to see the world. And she just wanted to see him one last time. That was why she led him here. This was her last message. We can’t possibly go back to the point two years ago, so meet me in our future.

Post #11

The Importance of Optimism - A short play

Gloria, 46, flings the door open to find her husband, Brian, 52, sitting in the master room in the dark. She turns on the light for him. He is sitting on the couch with his head facing the ceiling. Gloria is holding half a dozen of bags from designer stores. She scurries to the closet and throws them all in there.

Gloria: Oh, Brian, it’s a surprise to see you here.
Brian: Why? This is my house.
Gloria: I meant, at this hour. 7 o’clock, it’s a miracle Cecile let you off so early.
Brian: I have a headache the size of our deficit.
Gloria: Brian, even your jokes are getting political. Can’t you talk like a normal person?
Brian: Gloria, I don’t need this right now. Now, honey, could you get me some migraine pills or ibuprofen before my head splits into two?
Gloria: Jane!

Jane, 31, their housemaid comes in.

Jane: Yes, Mrs. McKinley.
Gloria: Could you bring Brian some Advil and a cup of water?
Jane: Yes, Mrs. McKinley.

Jane goes back downstairs to get him the medicine.

Brian: (sarcastically) Thanks, Gloria.
Gloria: Anything for my husband.
Brian: Has Lily called?
Gloria: No, she’s still mad at you for supporting the animal rights activist group.
Brian: She’s quite stubborn, isn’t she?
Gloria: Well, apparently her friend, Tom or Tim, was attacked and killed by a rabid raccoon and now she hates wild animals.
Brian: Well, at least she has picked a side and is standing by it. When she was a little girl, do you remember, I couldn’t even get her to choose if she wanted Principal Barbie or Mayor Barbie.
Gloria: That’s because she didn’t want either. You never took the time to know your children.
Brian: I take the time to listen to everyone. Take Donny, I had a wonderful conversation with him last month about our health care system. Everyone has thoughts about politics and by talking about them we can learn so much about how they think and see this world.
Gloria: Not everyone wants to talk about those things.
Brian: Why not? They are the things that matter most. They affect us everyday. I mean, who doesn't have an opinion about social changes, government policies, and the interactions between academic, corporate, and religious institutions. If we acknowledge these issues, we can work to create a better society.
Gloria: Brain, stop. You’re giving me a headache.

Just then, Jane comes in with the medicine.

Gloria: Jane, go back down and get me a set too. It seems Brian’s illness is contagious. Just leave outside next time. Wouldn’t want to get you sick too.

Brian: Where were we? Right, Lily. It’s great that she’s thinking about what’s best for humanity. She should rally for her opposition. Knowledge and the spreading of ideas is the only way we can solve social issues.
Gloria: You have too much faith in humanity. And you –
Brian: And you have none. You think the rich should continue stealing to remain rich and the poor to stay ignorant and never touch the ladder. We’re all born –
Gloria: You think Lily gives a shit about your social issues? She hates you because you’ve never been a father for her. She just needs something tangible to hate you for, so she chose your campaigns. She will oppose anything you support because she can’t stand you.
Brian: Now that’s going a bit –
Gloria: I can’t even stand you.
Brian: You need to have faith, Gloria. As guardians we can help to inspire and to shape the lives of advent generations. Don't concentrate on the few who lack morality.
Gloria: We’re all filthy animals. Just so you know, I learn a lot playing bridge with the ladies of your inner circle. Carl is cheating on his wife with the cleaning lady, and Barbara knows. Leonard isn’t sleeping with his wife anymore, you know why? He’s with another man. And all of your other colleagues are either partaking in bribery, money laundering, tax evasion, embezzling, or other conspiracies.
Brian: That’s “politics” my dear, not the politics I’m interested in. There are many people of the public who still care about how the society runs and how it should be running.
Gloria: Okay, Brian. How’s this for your faith of humanity. I’ve cheating on you for 5 years now, with different men. And I’m leaving you now for my cousin, Stephan Holt. How does that make you feel about your saintly society?
Brian: Gloria, I’ve been aware of every affair you’ve had. Why do you think I haven’t been sleeping with you?
Gloria: You’re such a dick.
Brian: I’ve said this to you many times before. A few immoral humans can’t possibly paint this world pitch black.

Post #10

"Equilibrium"

For the man with the white jacket, life is written, yet always random. Since as long as he can remember, his free will had been traded in for chance. To him, anything is possible so he actually has more freedom than anyone else. And due to his novel idea of freedom, nothing bad ever happens to him.

The moment he opens his eyes in the morning, he reaches into the pocket of his pajamas and pulls out 1 of 3 cards. Written in his own writing, these cards determine what he will do first. The three possibilities are: take a shower, brush his teeth, or shave. They were of equal value and therefore he could never decide which should be preformed first. Next, he went downstairs to have breakfast. In the kitchen, the top drawer on the left is where he stores his breakfast cards. Today he will be eating scrambled eggs, toast, and milk. One of the 120 healthy meal combinations. And so his life is like so, leaving everything to chance. He is not in favor of anything nor is he disgusted by anything. If someone asked him to do something, the decision would be decided by time. Looking at his digital watch, he would find the sum of the numbers, say it was 9:52:15, and if it adds up to be an even number, he would do it, otherwise he would politely decline. This sometimes caused problems for the people around him, but the man with the striped black pants could not be more or less content with how things play out. He is an average man of average height and weight. His IQ level and common sense is slightly higher than average, but nothing about his features would be categorized as unique.

On the early afternoon of Monday, January 18, the man with the leather belt was on his way to lunch when he bumped into her, the woman with slender fingers. It was by chance that he drew the card for eating at the Pickles Diner, which brought him to this street at this particular moment. This petite woman was wearing a light blue blouse and yellow skirt as she scurried down the pavement. When he turned to look at her, her brown hair, slightly disheveled, covered half of her face, which was plain and of no outstanding merit. When she spoke to apologize for having walked into him, her voice was calm and sincere. While she was walking, she had her head in her purse looking for something. It couldn't be helped. She hadn't noticed the man with the clean-shaven chin and sleek, stylish hair. "It's quite all right," was all he pronounced. "Well, I'm really sorry about that. I should've paid more attention, I could've fell into a man hole." She was a bit klutzy at times, so it wasn't entirely implausible. The man with the shiny, black shoes looked around and said, "There are no man holes around." It was true, there were no manholes in sight, but he sounded so 'matter-of-fact' to her, she felt crushed by the weight of his uncalculated words. With a momentary pause, he nodded to her and said, "Have a nice day, then," and continued walking towards the diner for lunch. Although they had said their farewells, they continued to walk in the same direction Unknowingly she was going to the same diner to meet with a friend for brunch. Keeping 2 paces behind, she presumed every intersection they came upon would be their last, until finally he stepped into the diner. The woman with the red shades waited for her friend at the front, while he ordered a Royal Reuben and Dr. Pepper with the help of his cards. By the time his food was sizzling on the grill, she got a call from her friend. The man waiting for his lunch could see her yelling at her phone through the reflections of the mirrors and windows. He was intrigued by her character and the way her ears twitched when she was angry. As his food arrived, the woman with the patterned handkerchief plopped herself down on the stool next to his. Having seen her wait outside for over 10 minutes now, the man with the silver watch was compelled to ask, "hungry?" Upon hearing this solitary word, she decided that this stranger was in fact a nice man, thus she relaxed her body a little and gave a slight smile. "What should I order?" The man with the pack of cards in his shirt pocket takes the whole deck out and slides it over the counter, "Take one and we'll find out." She took one of the cards but kept it face down. “Will you buy me lunch?”

He looks down at his watch. 12:51:40. A drop of sweat permeates onto his forehead. “Yes,” and with that reply, he made a decision that seesawed him out of equilibrium.

ポスト#9

Somtimes, things aren't so clear. Like this image, what does one do with a red cup? Why can't I understand the instructions.

This is a working story, "Letters of Man and Wife"

She was so fed up with her husband, but knew that a divorce would be unholy and so night after night, they argued to no avail. It was a stalemate. Love-Love, 40-40, no advantages.

She left the house that September morning, for the last time. On the dining room table was a letter of her final thoughts to her husband. She took with her, her savings and hopped into her car, driving West - away from the rising sun.

When he came to, he didn't immediately notice her absence. Sure, it was completely silent all throughout the house, but it didn't bother him. It sounded like "success." He went to the kitchen to pour himself a cup of coffee. Even as he settled his mug onto the coaster, he failed to notice the letter that was only inches away.

Maybe a minute had passed before he enters a state of consciousness or maybe that's how long it took for the coffee to kick in. He picks up the letter and before opening it, he knows what's inside. He opens it, the same way he opens junk mail - fast and unclean, with scraps sticking out like teeth.

He skims it once, twice. It's the same words he's been hearing for months. Monster. Sick. Insane. And every synonym for those words.

Yes, he had tried to strangle her with his bare hands. She stayed up crying all night.
"Jesus, don't cry."

She was probably startled since he chose to do it while she was sleeping. If she had been awake and prepared, it would've went more smoothly and he would have killed her by now. He only failed because he had lost balance and slipped slightly to the side of the bed while she tried to wiggle free. And then she became hysterical. It's not like she didn't know it was coming. He sat her down last week and told her this was the last thing he needed to do.

He is turning 70 next month, and there's no way he was going to live to see his 80th birthday - with his blood and lung problems. Death was catching up to him. Time was running out. Couldn't a wife fulfill her duties and be obedient, like in the old days? If his grandfather had told his grandmother to count out exactly 250 grains of rice for dinner, she would've done it; she would've spent the time to prepare the meal he requested.

He had told his wife, he had done everything he had wanted to do in life except to kill another person with his bare hands. She couldn't understand it, how did such a grotesque thought even enter her beloved husband's mind? He explained that it wouldn't be torture or murder if the other person consented. No different than euthanasia. He couldn't get her to agree, but he settled for the fact that he at least told her. He still loves her and he's told her that. It's as true as each star is a setting sun. They were both going to die sooner or later, so why not complete each others' destinies before doing so?

He should have drugged her so she would be numb, feeling no pain. Why hadn't he thought of that before. Maybe when she comes back next month - I mean, really, where can she go, she has to come back, they had no children or close family - he'll do that for her. That's the least he could do.