"Dairue, I-i am sorry, something just told me its right to take the gun... I really didn't wanna shoot you! I am just- Aaaa! No, no, nooooo! Why... I swear I knew I couldn't shoot it and my hands couldn't control themselves, am just impulsive.."
Yuki was afraid to take a life, even if it meant losing her own, or her family's, she was not ready to pull the trigger.
"I don't know what the right thing is, but having a gun pointed at me was enough to make me rethink everything.." Dairue patted her head and pushed her away playfully, they laughed as she they approached the car in which her father was waiting.
She entered the car, waving goodbye to Dairue as she went down the road with the car lights in front turned on. The sky was purple and orange, the after-hours tinted the buildings with an indigo mold, and the town was forested, empty, abandoned apartments littered the streets. Something worse came up to his mind after being reminded of the gun.
"M-my gun... Where is my gun?.." he said in his mind, checking his pockets, he unzipped his bag to find nothing more than a few water bottles and the leftover change. His bag was organized yet the pistol was not there. He checked around the mesh of his green camo bag,
Max took the gun back into his bag by accident, he was unaware, innocently walking, whistling as if he wasn't rotting inside. Behind him, somebody was running up to his bag, trying to reach for him. Dairue tugs at his jacket, asking if he knew anything about a "9mm black pistol". Max shrugged and knew nothing, he was not laughing, which meant he had nothing.
Neither of them knew where it was, Dairue ran as far as he can before Max left the empty neighborhood. He reached into his bag, wondering if he had anything, forgetting to check when Dairue was asking. The sudden question left his neurodivergent mind, impacted and unable to act on the spot.
Lo and behold, tucked beneath the books and dirty pages of inked-up lines, he found the gun. He looked back, seeing the sun sinking over the road was a clear sign that going back was not worth the travel time. He didn't know how he would enter the train with a gun.
Climbing the metal stairs and holding the railing tight, he kept looking at the sunset; to his convenience, there were no metal detectors. The station was almost empty, the boy pushed the gun even deeper down the pile of pages. Inside the bag, nothing could be made out, it was like staring into a treasure chest full of garbage passages, manuscripts with coffee-stained edges.
The departure time was near, the ticket machine gave him enough time to walk back to the train doors. When he got in, he sat dead center of the cart, knowing there is less suspicion when you were in plain sight. He kept his confidence high, keeping his chest puffed and sitting straight the whole ride.
The train began to move away from his station, the Tetsu Kabe was still no match for the hills nearby, always reminding him how much nature puts mankind in its place. He wore his mask again, knowing the city was still polluted, the ash-filled air particles still lingering high. To him, it felt like a volcanic eruption took place and showered the city with dusty gray gravel.
He put his earphones on, canceling the little noise the train made as it rolled down the rails, the beat kept him relaxed, the dark exterior, blurring lights passing by, he felt at peace. Tyrannical thoughts, head filled with ideas, he wrote down his experience, placing the texts just beneath the drawn cover page.
The drawn page wrote "The day we met our last", the title of his tiny book, the drawing consisted of a pencil-shaded corpse with its skull showing, behind were sandbags, it leaned towards the cobweb while a gigantic monster was roaming about in the distance. The foreground was nothing more than a frame within a frame, inside a camera shutter border.
Max was fond of war, his answers were always about war, knowing how war was crucial to history. Yet he never knew the true magnitude of how it went out, he kept his passages away from the cruelty, more on the survivalist heroic side of characters, emphasizing the influence of monsters more so than the horrors of war.
Nuclear warfare, inspired by some of the greatest linear games he had ever seen, fantasizing about an immortal character, one that shared a weakness of living forever. His fantasies were always about mortality, trying to figure out how much agony one's immortality can bring.
Despite his interest in war, he was more than terrified of being in one, he was no soldier, no strong man, and he knew he would never be able to live through such a catastrophe. With the threat of warheads, the Tetsu Kabe was in a restless state, roaming about the borders in case something happened. The constant threat of a cult was special, little did his puny mind know, the obsession was growing.
At the back of his mind, he was out of it, his thoughts were flying past him. leaning deeper and deeper into slumber. His eyes were closing as the seats gave him a resting place.
You love war, you love everything about being the center of one, yet you fail to understand it has no winners, that everybody loses something. You gain a middle ground, a stalemate, a settlement. Scared, you can barely sleep anymore, you can barely think how much you wish you were in a normal life instead.
Normality, were you taken by its surprise? To wish you were something else instead, an artist in the middle of somewhere far from where you were. Wishes that can't fulfill themselves, wishing for something that did not argue. Speaking to yourself was a hobby you can't let go of when it's the single person who understands.
You wake, wishing you stayed cold for eternity...
Max woke up to the sound of his station, he nearly missed it again, yet somehow caught the loudspeakers. He stood up from his seat and waited for the doors to open, the broken tiles, and vines that grew from nowhere, he wondered why they never cut them, never tidying such a densely populated area.
Many passengers waited in line, seeing the contrast of emptiness and populated streets, it was morning and midnight. People walked across him, trying to get by into the tight spaces left on the train. He was just in time to meet the rush of people going home, no faces were recognized around, he went down the station into the street below.
He saw his bike was still there, unscathed and chained to a pole. He noticed it was in a different pole yet gave no mind to it. After riding a hefty amount of time, he made it back home. The comfort left his eyes after seeing an "X" on the window. He knew what it meant but he had a gun.
After going inside and placing his shoes on the rack, he ran up the stairs to his room, he loaded up a simple Youtube video of how to reload and check the gun for ammo. The gun was in a safety pin, licensed. Heavy and dense, he unlocked the magazine and saw it had 3 rounds left, he took the 3 rounds out and placed the magazine back.
Cautious of the trigger, he was concerned whether there was a loaded bullet inside, he took a risk and pulled it. He found out there wasn't any, Dairue had unloaded the thing.
"Hmm... It was only a threat huh? This was a prop to scare us huh.." Max knew his scheme, he was relieved to know that even if Yuki pulled the trigger, he would live. For once he was not dreading tomorrow,
He booted up his old laptop, the screen was nearly torn off from its hinge, he started writing an unholy amount of words, putting down his current experiences and what his friend was like. After which, he closed the document and opened software for art, MS Paint.
He drew a portrait of Soran, he started with the nose, and he kept looking at her face and wondering why it wasn't lining up with the drawing. A few minutes go by, he still focuses on aligning the base of the nose, another few minutes go by and he's still trying to put the eyes on a rounded plane that he had mapped out in his head.
Hours pass, and he draws the few remaining details left on her white dress, imagining that's how they'd look in marriage. He mourned his drawing, praising and hating it at the same time, it looked wrong. Not knowing what was wrong, he saved it and shared it with his friend, telling them it was the art of some random Japanese woman instead of admitting it was his beloved ex.
He took his newly washed blanket from downstairs, it was close to dry, turning the lights off, he went to bed.
Why must you look at the ceiling and wonder if you've done something wrong today? Instead of keeping still and waiting for the sweet release of practicing death through nothing but a resting stage. Do you blame yourself for things you had no control over? Thinking that Yuki and Dairue are just chess pieces, pawns for your greater goal, perhaps you're the pawn in their goals.
Mindless questions, no basis for a word, you continue staring at the light blue ceiling. The streetlamp lit the sides, lights that were shaped like boxes of a window. Don't punish yourself, it was her fault for aiming, it was Dairue's fault for burning. You had no clue, you had no involvement, and you had nothing but a sense of dread to offer.
Closing your eyes, you feel a sense of comfort, you feel fine. Feeling fine is not something your body is used to, feeling fatigued was its common goal. You put your arms to the ceiling, pointing at something only you can see, perhaps it's Akemi? Akemi telling you that in another life you'll be together again. Remembering the crossing roads you had.
But no, you blame yourself again, regretting again. Holding the sheets tightly, crying over something that you caused. Your mistakes make you miserable, your mistakes are unfixable, your mistakes will repeat itself. Nothing more than petty self-talk, nothing more than thinking of her.
Soon enough, after enough tears were spent on tainting the mattress, you fall to sleep. Max dreams about Akemi.
Seeing her and himself inside a van with another friend. You smile in the yellow lights inside, smiling over the memory that doesn't exist yet. You leave the van to eat with her, she laughs and you hear it, she continues to eat as you take your meal and stuff your mouth with food.
Soon they are in a mirrored room, looking at themselves, taking a photo of their amazing outfits. Momentary bliss, momentary escape, running from a threat called death and regret. He sleeps with a black surface, the abyss was onto him again. No oceans, no hallways, nothing was around but black tar in his eyes.
He opened his eyes to a blinding sunrise, taken aback by its beauty, the rays were through the leaves. Komorebi, the lights crossed the green leaves of dusk, he woke up earlier than anticipated. Checking his back, wondering where the pain went and why it was missing.
The boy yawned, wondering why he didn't feel tired, was it cause he woke up early? Did he sleep early? He didn't wait for his suffering to take him to bed? Perhaps all of them were correct, he stepped out the door and cooked nothing more than an egg. The hot oil on the pan was barely splashing past the stove.
Taking the sponge, wiping the few garters that may have gotten oil, trying to prevent ants from walking into their lovely kitchen. He opened the windows of the first floor, embracing the new day more than he anticipated.
The next week was gonna be a big day, once he felt excitement to see people, to see Yasu and Yuari, looking forward to their new operation. Safety was no longer in his path, he wanted to live to the fullest, burdenless, a sample of greed. How greedy can somebody be for a life that had no hindrances, a life lived like how it was supposed to be?
Nodding yes to himself, nodding yes to the rice with eggs, sweet and salted, the oil was buttery on the tongue. Gracefully knowing it was the first step to a happier tomorrow, he was his grim reaper.
Spoon after spoon, meal after meal, he caught up with the news while the tv played as he ate. Tensions were rising, Tokyo rallies, and rumors of a biological threat. Everything was playing, the forest fire caught his eye, the black ash that was once trees, blossoms that bloomed in their flame. No one was accused of a forest fire, the officials had no clue or suspects.
He saw Kenji being interviewed, acting as if he was just a passerby, telling a convincing story of how he was able to see a glance of the church burning. The excuse of why he was there with his car and "family", the broadcaster could only agree to his statements as he went on to talk about how unsafe it was to have rainy days on wooden structures.
Max thought to himself how cleverly he used the words, admiring Kenji's honesty and deceitfulness, idolizing him as if he was a father figure. He anticipated introducing Yasu and Yuari to him, imagining how well they would go together in a team.
The week ahead had more to offer than he thought, the calendar waits patiently for his entry. Final hours of a bleak life? Final hours of his boring days, the final moments of his tiring phase.
And so he goes on with his day, enjoying his job, enjoying what was left of his weekend before the call of "6:00" pm shifts come by and haunt his newly written notes of why it's better to live without a job.
Monday
Thursday.
Sunday?..
A week has passed, without his notice...
End of Beginnings.