By Nitya Uthayakumar, TIWP Student
The surrounding area had an eerie cast over it. Light existed nowhere or maybe there were small flashes I just was too oblivious to see, to feel. Vibrations echo throughout the terrain, deafening the ear. There I sat in my plush, brown, upholstered chair, pages curl and coil against my fingertips, exiting and entering new pages. The plot thickens with another page turn. The clock never seems to stop but also not in motion. Three thirty-six, o-clock, a Wednesday night, or shall I say morning. The urge to galvanize arises in me. Ripples, like a sandy desert against the gentle winds pull, gloss over my skin.
I place my two feet upon the wooden ground, cold and callous, gravitating to the door. I stop myself. Where am I going with this? Yet nothing explainable comes into my mind. A slew of words and thoughts erupt in my head, in my voice and in the hard and/or soft voice of a stranger. I follow obediently; finally, we don’t have a fighter, the voice said.
“No! Please no!” I attempt to scream as I’m dragged through the woods by an unknown force. I feel a sharp object against my throat, seeing someone in a loose cloak, black, hood covering his skeleton like features. “従うか、死者になる!” He hisses. ‘Obey or be a taker of death’, I roughly translate, feeling my mind warp and my stomach nauseate. I blink my eyes vigorously, seeing nothing after the third time I opened my eyes.
You seriously thought going to Japan was a good idea, living in the woods in a pink roofed house that seems to drain into a charcoal black, wall paint peeling and more black exposure. I start to run, running to get into Tokyo. Maybe someone will knock me back into my sense. My breath gets heavier, people with pale skin and black, long, dripping hair appear around me, purging the forest into more darkness. My feet ache but I know I can’t stop running. I see light in view and promise fills my heart and my feet speed up and continue to run, faster and faster. Light hits my face, making me stop. The light collapses and I’m emerged in pitch black, obsidian darkness.
“MAKE IT STOP! MAKE IT STOP!” I yelled on the top of my lungs. People who used to loop through the main central of Tokyo were stagnant and in place. All the billboards were black, everything was dark and anxiety filled my body, shaking. Tears came down my face. They, too, were black, stinging then staining my unblemished cheeks. The billboards lit up again.
My knees collapsed to the asphalt as I searched for what they were trying to tell me. 始めたものをやめることはできない. ‘You can’t stop what you’ve started’.