April 16, 2016
At Osaka prefecture, Japan
It was near midnight, and I found myself tossing and turning in bed, staring at the ceiling. The silence in this house is almost deafening; all I can hear are the faint creaks of wood as it settles. My mind, however, is anything but quiet.
(What am I doing with my life, I wonder? Can I really make it as a pianist? What if I fail? What if I let everyone down?)
I sigh and turn over, trying to find some semblance of comfort in the blanket that I clutch tightly around me. But those damn doubts just keep on coming, growing louder and more insistent.
(Mom always believed in me. She always said I had a gift. But what if she was wrong? What if I'm not good enough?)
I can't help but let out another sigh, feeling the weight of everyone's expectations bearing down on me. It's like the darkness of this room is amplifying my fears, making them loom larger and more intimidating.
(I need to find a way out of this mess. I can't just keep drifting. But how?)
Just then, a thought occurs to me. It's a faint glimmer of hope amidst the sea of self-doubt.
(Maybe I should look into piano gigs? You know, start small, just to see if people like my music. It could be a way to get back on track.)
The idea both excites and terrifies me in equal measure. The thought of playing in front of an audience again makes my heart race, but it's also a spark of hope, a potential path forward.
(Maybe I could start with some local cafés or small events. Just something to get me back into the world of music. It doesn't have to be big at first, right?)
As the idea takes shape in my mind, I sit up in bed, feeling a little less suffocated by the darkness and the uncertainty. I grab my phone from the bedside table and begin to make a list of places I could contact. As I type, I feel a flicker of determination burning inside me, a tiny spark of hope that's been missing for so long.
(Maybe if I start small, I can build up to something bigger. It's time to stop hiding and start living again. Mom would want me to try, and Dad needs me to be strong. And I need to believe in myself, even if it's just a little bit at a time.)
I close my eyes, breathing in and out slowly, trying to calm the racing thoughts in my head. The doubts are still there, but they're quieter now, overshadowed by the possibility of a new beginning.
(It's time to start moving forward. Even if it's just one tiny step at a time, I've got to try. For them, and for myself. It's the only way out of this darkness.)
As I lie back down, I let out a shaky breath. For the first time in what feels like forever, I feel a tiny bit of peace wash over me. There's still a long road ahead, and the journey won't be easy, but at least now I feel like I'm headed in the right direction.
Unti...
Takashi shut his eyes, but the exhaustion only lasted for a moment. He sat up, feeling a burst of energy course through him. His fingers twitched, eager to return to his laptop. The screen glowed in the darkness, casting an eerie light on his pale face.
He scrolled through dozens of listings for piano performance gigs, his movements frantic and desperate. Each new opportunity seemed to offer a glimmer of hope, but it was always snatched away by an age restriction. Over and over, he was reminded of his youth, of how he was constantly held back by something he couldn't control.
(You're just a kid. No one's going to take you seriously. You're not old enough. You'll never be good enough.)
The clock ticked on, the minutes feeling like hours. Takashi's eyes grew heavy, his head beginning to nod forward. But he couldn't sleep, couldn't rest, not while there was still the faintest possibility of finding what he was looking for.
By 4 am, he had combed through countless listings, but it was all for nothing. The requirements were always out of reach, impossibly high. His hopes, already fragile, began to crumble under the weight of his despair.
(Why am I even trying? No one cares about what I have to say. I'll never measure up. I'll never be good enough for Mom's wish.)
The house was silent now, everyone asleep except for him. The darkness pressed in on him, closing in like a vise. His heart ached, the longing for something he could no longer have almost too much to bear.
(Maybe I should just give up. Maybe it's not worth it anymore. What's the point in trying when nothing ever works out?)
The first light of dawn crept through the window, casting a pale yellow glow across the room. Takashi blinked, his eyes burning from the strain. He forced himself to stand, the ache in his back and legs a small price to pay for the possibility of finding something, anything, that would give him a reason to keep going.
He walked over to the kitchen, his steps heavy and weary. His father was already sitting at the table, a newspaper spread out before him. Takashi poured himself a cup of coffee, then sat down across from him. The silence was deafening.
"Morning, Dad.."
he managed to croak. His voice sounded distant, hollow.
"Morning, Takashi," his father replied, his voice gentle and concerned. "You must have had a rough night."
Takashi shrugged, not trusting himself to speak.
"Just... things on my mind."
It was an understatement, but he couldn't bring himself to say any more.
His father nodded, understanding.
"I know how you feel. Sometimes it's hard to get things to work out the way we want them to."
He took a sip of his coffee, then continued,
"But your mother always said that the darkest hour is just before the dawn. Maybe things will look brighter today."
Takashi forced a weak smile, trying to convince himself as well. "Yeah... maybe."
But the doubt lingered, a dark cloud on the horizon.
They finished their breakfast in silence, both lost in their own thoughts. Takashi felt a strange mix of exhaustion and determination coursing through him. Part of him wanted to give up, to surrender to the overwhelming sense of hopelessness that threatened to consume him. But another part of him, a small, stubborn part, refused to give in. It was that part of him that had kept him going this far, and he knew he couldn't abandon it now.
As the day progressed, he tried to push the thoughts of failure and despair to the back of his mind. He forced himself to focus on the small, mundane tasks that made up their daily life. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing, that there was something more that he was meant to do.
The sun set, painting the sky with shades of orange and pink. Takashi stood at the window, watching the world outside as it slowly slipped into darkness. He closed his eyes, feeling the weight of his burdens pressing down on him.
(Maybe I'm not good enough. Maybe I'll never find what I'm looking for...)
Some time later when Takashi got to school
Takashi trudged into the classroom, every muscle aching from exhaustion. He collapsed into a chair in the back row, his head spinning from lack of sleep. He closed his eyes, trying to steady his breath and ignore the burning in his eyes.
"Just get through the day..."
he told himself, the words barely audible even to himself.
Before he could gather his wits, he felt a firm hand on his shoulder. Startled, he looked up to see Yoichi, his friend, staring down at him with concern etched into his features.
"Takashi, you okay, man?" Yoichi asked, his voice soft but insistent.
Takashi forced a weak smile. "Yeah, I'm... fine," he managed to croak.
"Just a little tired, that's all."
Yoichi narrowed his eyes, clearly unconvinced. "You don't look fine," he said bluntly.
"Your eyes are all red. What's going on?"
Takashi wanted to tell him, to unburden himself of the weight of his troubles. But the words stuck in his throat, choked by the despair that threatened to engulf him. Instead, he offered a half-hearted shrug.
"Just... didn't sleep well, that's all."
Yoichi studied him for a moment before leaning in closer.
"You sure you're not worried about something else?" he asked,
his voice lowering to a more serious tone.
"You've been pretty stressed lately."
Takashi's heart skipped a beat. How did Yoichi know? He'd been trying so hard to keep it hidden. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the inevitable questions.
"It's nothing, really," he lied, forcing a fake smile. "Don't worry about me."
But Yoichi wasn't buying it.
"You're not just going to brush me off like that," he said, his voice firm.
"I'm your friend, remember? You can talk to me."
Takashi looked away, unable to meet Yoichi's gaze.
"It's just... everything," he mumbled, the words tumbling out in a rush.
"I'm trying so hard to find work, and I can't even sleep anymore... It's like I'm stuck in this endless cycle, and I can't break free."
Yoichi sighed, his expression softening.
"I know how you feel, man. It's tough out there right now. But you're not alone. We'll get through this together."
He paused, considering something.
"You know, my sister's been doing some gigs in Tokyo. She's been pretty successful with it."
Takashi's interest perked up. "Really? How's she doing?"
"She's doing well," Yoichi said, a hint of pride in his voice.
"She says there's a lot of opportunity in Tokyo, especially for people like you."
Takashi's heart skipped a beat.
"You think I could find something there?"
Yoichi nodded. "I'm sure you could. I could even put you in touch with her if you want. She might be able to help us both."
Takashi felt a spark of hope ignite within him.
"That... that would be amazing, Yoichi. Thank you."
"No problem, man," Yoichi said, slapping him on the back.
"You've got talent. You'll find your way."
The bell rang, signaling the start of class, but for once, Takashi didn't feel as overwhelmed by the weight of his troubles. There was a glimmer of hope now, a new possibility to cling to. And with the support of his friend, he felt like maybe he could make it through this darkness and find a way back to the light.
He forced a smile as the teacher began the lesson, but inside, his heart was racing with anticipation and a newfound determination. Maybe, just maybe, Tokyo was the answer they'd been looking for all along.
But there's this one small apartment...
The small apartment was a cluttered mess, littered with trash and remnants of a life once lived. The air was stale, thick with the scent of neglect. In the dim light of a flickering monitor, a man curled up in a ball, rocking slightly as he stared at the screen. His eyes were wild, dark circles evidence of countless sleepless nights.
This was the same man Takashi had bumped into years ago, now unrecognizable in his squalor.
(Society doesn't exist anymore. It's all a lie. The world is ruined. There's nothing left but this decay.)
He laughed to himself, a hollow, bitter sound. The voices in his head were relentless, pushing him further into the abyss of his own mind.
(You must eliminate them all. Make them pay. Make them feel the same pain you felt when she left.)
The memories of his wife walking out the door, taking their children with her, flashed through his mind. Her cold words, the empty promises, and the finality of her departure had shattered him. He had tried to hold it together, but the cracks had grown too wide, too deep.
"Yukiko..."
he whispered, her name a dagger in his heart.
"You took everything from me. Now it's my turn."
His eyes darted around the room, seeing the disarray as a reflection of his own fractured psyche. He had lost his job, his home, his dignity. Everything had crumbled, leaving him alone in this filth.
(They don't care about you. No one does. They need to be taught a lesson. Society must pay for what it has done to you.)
He stood up, his legs trembling from the prolonged crouch, and walked over to a corner where a makeshift shrine stood. Photos of his wife and children were scattered around, some torn and defaced. He picked up one of the pictures, his hand shaking.
"You left me,"
he muttered, his voice cracking.
"You left me in this hell. But I'll show them. I'll show them all."
His laughter grew louder, echoing off the walls of the tiny apartment. He felt a twisted sense of purpose, a plan forming in his deranged mind. He would make them understand his pain, his loss. He would repay society for every wrong it had inflicted on him.
(It's time. The world needs to be cleansed. You are the one to do it.)
He turned back to the monitor, his reflection a haunting reminder of how far he had fallen. He opened a browser and began searching for materials, tools, anything he could use to carry out his dark plan. Each click felt like a step closer to his twisted form of justice.
"Tokyo..."
he murmured, his eyes narrowing.
"This city will be the beginning. They will all pay."
As he continued his search, a cold determination settled over him. The pain and bitterness that had consumed him now fueled his resolve. He would bring chaos to the world that had betrayed him, and in doing so, he believed he would find his own twisted sense of peace.
The voices in his head cheered him on, urging him forward. And as the first light of dawn crept into his apartment, he felt a grim satisfaction. The world had hurt him, but now it was his turn to hurt the world.