Author: Elf Asato PM
A colorful day in the life of the Sakurazukamori. Spoilers for postX17 Subaru.Rated: Fiction T - English - Subaru S. - Words: 1,675 - Reviews: 1 - Published: 09-03-05 - Status: Complete - id: 2564221
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
By Elf Asato
He seethes inside, at himself, at the man he loves and the sister he killed, at everyone. He loves them with fiery passion, and it's for that reason that he hates them. Repeatedly he shoves his hand into their hot chests and watches as the blood splashes onto him, accented with his white attire he's always wearing. There's a sort of power he feels by it, and it courses through his veins. He cries blood, it feels, but he loves it. He can no longer tell love from hate. It stops, though, and he always wakes up after and cries real tears. He loves the decidedly violent dreams he has because he likes the feeling of elation and joy he gets after knowing that it was all just a dream but oh wait, it never was. That's his favorite part.
When the sun rises, he picks out a bright red tie and a bright red sports jacket, but he wears black underneath. It's the only colors his clothes possess, red, because it's the only color he can see in the monochrome fire. His alarm goes off only later; he brushes his teeth and mends chapped lips then.
He's not very good at applying crimson lipstick yet, but he'll get there. His grandmother always taught him it was a sin to waste, so in the meantime, until he gets better, he'll use blood. He thinks it looks better, anyway. The metal border of his mirror is rusted.
There's a painting of a tiger in the bamboo in the place the fax machine instructed him to be. He barely knows where it is, so it doesn't matter; he had to get some kids to tell him where it was. He's getting a little antsy and excited, but it never shows. Instead, his fingers twitch like he's going to smoke a cigarette down to the filter. To pass the time, he drinks Aquafina, but it doesn't help because now he has to go to the bathroom and he hasn't even been seen yet. He goes anyway, and the men's room smells of oranges.
There's a handsome guy in there and they smile at each other until the other man notices the reddish stain to his lips. He makes the man anxious and nervous, he knows, but he's too excited and antsy to care because he knows it's the guy he has to see. It's all very natural, like August turning to October. The guy's trying to pee, but he compliments his bright tie anyway, and his boxers, too, but that only makes him sweat. The guy tries to be friendly, but his anxiety and nervousness prevails because he thinks he's only dealing with a homosexual. After the guy's finished, he tries to wash his hands, but he can't. He's right behind the guy, and as he shoves his hand through his chest, through that bright, peachy tie, he kisses the guy's lips softly.
At this point, he's feeling pretty good and cleans himself up. There's no further reason to wait, though he yields slightly to gaze at the bamboo and tiger picture before making small talk with the secretary and leaving through double brass doors. Yeah, he's feeling pretty good.
Outside it's nice and sunny, and he's feeling the natural high from a job well done. He'll outline it all in a report that he'll never send later. But for now he sits in a bench by a playground, near the sand, and enjoys the warm air.
Somewhere nearby there's a lemonade slushie vendor, and for a second he thinks he wants one, but then he thinks it would be better to get lemonade at an outside cafe. Or he could just buy the lemonade slushie and eat at a picnic table in the middle of the park. That might be fun. When he finally gets up to buy a lemonade slushie, he notices how hot it is on the concrete. The heat makes him a little queasy.
Dizzy, he goes further into the park and sits by the edge of a medium-sized pond, toying with the sand and rocks. It's kind of fun in a demure and constrained sort of way. When he gazes into his reflection on the water's edge, he sees the face of the one he loves, and he remembers the kiss he gave before. He withdraws his reflection and sits out of its reach, as if hiding from it. He checks back to see if it's still there, and when he sees his face with the stained lips, he retreats back. A construction worker who's passing by asks him what's wrong, and for some reason he thinks that the worker should be the type to be married. Light glints off a wedding ring and his thoughts are confirmed. He gets up to go home, thinking that he'll buy some sunshine to tell his reflection he's sorry.
The grass from the park is vibrant and healthy, and a few little boys play baseball in a field not so far away. Insects buzz around, and he's not feeling so good. The high is receding definitely, though once he's off the civilized concrete, the cooler air feels slightly better. He stares at the little boys, though, out of a strange sort of jealousy. In his childhood he never had the opportunity to play with kids his age like that, no, he just had his sister, and barely that. Grandmother wasn't a very good playmate. So he knows he never learned to relate to his peers, that he's horribly, wholly inexperienced and inept. He's so jealous of the little boys, running barefoot in the grass. But the nice day mollifies him slightly.
On the way back to his house, there's a bookstore with a Starbucks inside. He goes in, steals a mint, and leaves. The atmosphere was a little too relaxed, and he needed to get back. Hopefully there'd be a new fax waiting for him. He recycles the mint wrapper and crushes a weed at the same time.
He doesn't know the way back very well, so he looks to the street signs, but they give no hint, and he ends up taking the subway. It's not very packed inside, but he sits by an older man who says he's a doctor. The man's not married, so he gets his hopes up for an relaxed and casual fling. He flirts and thinks that the man flirts back, and he really doesn't know, but he kind of thinks that his signs of aging are sexy. But he doesn't know. The doctor turns out to be divorced but dating a young vegan waitress, and he has a daughter in Iran. He's a little jealous, but all of a sudden the doctor's wrinkles and discolored spots on his skin don't seem all that endearing anymore. He vaguely wonders if he's secretly retarded after that.
The harsh fluorescent lighting of the subway station clashes beautifully with the clear and bright sky outside, he thinks. The high rise buildings glint in the sun, and he thinks he knows the way home now.
As soon as he gets back to the coolness of his air conditioned apartment, he feels significantly better and takes a bottle of generic spring water from the refrigerator. He makes a sandwich and drinks the water when he sits down to watch midday talk shows. He doesn't understand half of it, though, and then the fax machine makes a noise. He's feeling a little lethargic, though, so he ignores it, and he feels relaxed, calm, at ease, despite the knowledge that work lies not a few feet away. He takes a nap on the couch.
When he dreams, it's a good dream. He feels calm and free, independent and wonderful. He likes dreams like those, though he's always slightly disappointed upon waking that he never drowns. For some reason, he thinks it would be cool to drown in a dream. He wants to feel the suffocation of death, the icy cold of the water, maybe chunks of ice drifting around. He wants to know what it's like without the essential air, though he suspects he knows it symbolically. In truth, he just wants to die, but such a good and protecting dream will never let him have that release. He secretly thinks it's his grandmother's doing.
Before his dream is complete, he receives a visit from someone he knows who can only communicate while he sleeps. He weaves an almost mystical image of lilacs and a dusk sky, speaking of destiny and the world. The dreamseer wants him to be at peace, but he know that he never will unless he feels the harsh grip of death. He wants to be suffocated by oil, by violets, by peace itself. There's nothing the dreamseer can do to help him, so he takes his leave.
When he wakes up, the sun is setting, so he watches it go down from his window until dusk crosses over until night and he can no longer see anything.
He stretches and crawls to the middle of the living room, shrouded in darkness. He knows that it's strange for someone to not want to sleep in the comfort of their bed, so he thinks himself a purple cow before curling up and falling asleep again.