Separation (Final)

    When I left the cafe, it was already dark out. Walking along the street, the streetlamps blink, as if laughing after hearing a funny story. Sometimes I laugh too much at her remarks, and passers-by look at me strangely, but if I'm with Mari I'm not scared of anything. It was cold day and our faces turned pink, it felt like I would be a teenager forever. I noticed that I had arrived in front of my apartment. "We're here. Thanks for today, and take care on your way home Mari. Sorry I didn't notice that we came all the way to my home." Mari shakes her head "It's okay, I'll see you later." I disappeared into the dark as I ran.

    I never plan to see her, when I'm struggling and I wander about, she appears out of nowhere and helps clear my mind. Doing something with Mari is fun even if you're not doing anything. Every time I meet her I hesitate, the happiness I feel when I'm with her makes me hesitant to be with her. As I stared after her, I lost track of time, I heard rough breathing and heavy footsteps from behind me as I returned to reality. "You?" The fat cop spits at me. "What?" I said while wiping the spit off my face. His hands were sweaty and tight. "You've been reported as a nuisance." I wanted to run away. "Well," he said. The inside of my head started to spin, I feel dizzy. The uncomfortable cold makes my thoughts foggy. Why did he say that? "Your face looks like you don't understand why. There was a report from the nearby residents that there was a suspicious person who was laughing alone at night." I'll run like a bullet at full speed up to my apartment. "Hey!" As the voice followed me my fear rose. I ran out of breath as I ran to the second floor. "I got it! I understand! I understand!" I shoved my key into the door and opened it while the calls never stopped as I slammed the door. After a while the noise stopped, and I collapsed into the entrance. My tears overflowed. I want keep my happy time with Mari unstained by dirty language. Mari is real. She's a close friend who supports and acknowledges me.

    I threw my shoulder into the door, and walked through the open door. I went to the bathroom and opened the door. The basin was filled with dirty water mixed with blood running from the cut. The cutter fell to the tile and swirled into the drain. I close my eyes and taste the blood. When I opened my eyes, there I was in the mirror. Withered hair, and skin that looked to be coated with white power. The light-coloured, sharp eyes similar to birds of prey moved restlessly, the thin calf and thigh resembling a skeleton. Looking in the mirror is my favourite time. I'm so ugly that I want to hold on to it. "I'm sorry." I spit a curse while looking at myself.

    I hate all of myself. I take off the clothes that become heavy with moisture and dry off my body. I change clothes and as I walk to the kitchen, I notice that I was smiling. Take out a cup pour some water, take out the two pills of Etizolam and put them in my mouth. For a moment I taste bitterness, but it disappears with the water. Yes, I forgot. I broke my cup and I look at my left wrist while I lie on my bed. Since I bathed earlier I couldn't see the red, but it was still the same. I opened my camera and took a photo and called it Pasha. Put a mosiac on the private parts. and post it to Twitter. My cell starts buzzing soon. I feel pleased that I'm being sought after too. My work of art. After seeing the reaction I let go of my phone. I'm getting sleepy and I still have to take care of my skin. Take the Nivea blue can next to my  bed and apply the cream on my body. At the same time I took the pillow mist next to me and sprayed my pillow, the smell rose softly.

    When I finished, I feel like I did everything that I could, and I covered my self with a thin blanket and hid my breathing. My own secret base that no one of the monsters of the outside world could harm. The scent of Nivea and my own mixed and brought a sense of security, and gradually my breathing slows from comfort.

I hate myself.

I love Mari.

I fell into a deep sleep.

Table of Contents
Part Two

Separation (Part Two)

    Then I woke up. I looked at my phone, the clock waws around ten in the morning. I had slept for more than six hours. As I got up, I realized that I could hear faint breathing from the slide's side. Someone's there. It's strange to play hide-and-seek with someone who was sleeping on the slide. Speaking of which, is the coin case safe? I fumbled for the case, and then I felt it, relieved that no one had stolen it. If it was a weak-looking guy, I would get up and look down at him with a faint anger. The moment my eyes met the golden coloured irises staring back at me, I started to smile. She loosened her fists and smiled as well, "Did you finally wake up?", and lightly shook my shoulders.
Did I wake up? No.....what are you doing, Mari?

(Akane) "What are you doing?"

(Mari) "That's my line."


   Very funny, but I wonder what Mari is doing here. Mari has been my close friend for a while now. Even though I didn't want this kind of relationship, it was happening anyways. Even when I was about to die from my father's drunken beatings, she stayed with me.

    (Akane) "I was taking stroll, and decided to take a nap here."

    (Mari) "I tried pretty hard to wake you up." She looked towards the rising sun, as she made an annoying face.

    "It's kinda chilly out today isn't it? It's been a while since you've been at the coffee shop, you want to have a cup of tea?" Mari said while rubbing her arms through her thin clothes.

    "I guess, but it's fairly expensive isn't it? I only have five-hundred yen, and you're empty handed."

    "It'll be fine."

    "I'm worried about you, Akane."
I was shocked, my thoughts stopped for a moment. Mari awkwardly laughing at my face.

    I took a seat at the counter, which smelled of cigarette smoke, sipped a cup of coffee that was worth far more than four-hundred yen. I started to complain to Mari like usual. "I'm not going to stop." I don't want to show off, but I'm still doing it. What should I do? I want to stop my self. I was fascinated by my left wrist again,while talking in a fast and monotone voice. The wound is still a bright red colour. The nail polish that I bought because I liked the colour of, was peeling off of my nails. A Fall-Winter limited the colour of pomegranates. I had heard from other people that it's good. I don't know what to do. Mari didn't get upset and was quietly listening while staring at the wound with me.

    "I see." Her hand slipped into mine, though weak, it held my hand. Her was soft and surprisingly cold. "I think it's okay for you to calm down, but remember it's not all bad, there's a lot of good things out there, and it's all money." I felt Mari's words spinning gently in my mind as she spoke with a gentle voice, my tension gradually slipped away.

   "You're beautiful. You're fine as you are. I'll listen to anything you want to say, it's okay." If my friends keep telling me these things, I wonder if I will be able to sincerely face them if they keep doing this. The frozen ice of my mind melts, as Mari comforts me. I can't wait to go to bed.

    The girl sitting at the counter next to Mari was glancing at us, I wondered why she was, then I looked at Mari and came to an understanding. Mari never said it but she had a modest beauty like a flower blooming in the shade, she had a figure that walked straight with thin and flexible legs, that doesn't look back after she has passed. Mari didn't seem to notice it, but when I met the girl's eyes she looked away embarrassed. I felt a sense of deja vu, oh, it was the delivery girl who saw me when I was sleeping on the slide.

Why do they all react the same?

    When I sighed in melancholy, Mari murmured "Akane it's not funny," as if she had realized everything. I looked at her with surprise, Mari looked back at me and smiled thinly. How much does Mari know about me?, always smiling by my side. I've never loved anyone before, but I think I may love her. Mari smiles brilliantly. If only I could have been my parent. Speaking of which, I've heard a lot of stories, that she has a lover and lives with him, but I didn't know. Mari may have avoided it deliberately. It's fine, but I wanted to stay a bit longer. I looked her in the eyes "Thanks Mari." She just smiled sadly, "You can talk to me any time." It felt strange to see her sad expression that I had seen somewhere, but her hands touch was still there.

Part One
Table of Contents   
Final

Separation (Part One)

Separation

Author: Nen

          When I woke up, my eyes were open and I couldn't fall back asleep for a long time. When I’m lying in bed, my body aches and I can’t fall asleep to pass the time. The face of the clock showed three thirty-three AM. Outside of the window it’s dark and quiet. Just a night of sinking. The smell of Nivea and the sweet and sour smell of the pillow mist is all I have now. I wear a flimsy blanket to drown out the pain, so I won’t lose my sense of being. No matter where you are, whatever you do. I took off my blanket and got up, swirled the sour left in the refrigerator from the bottle, and played the melody of the CD that I used to listen to in the old days with a speaker on a whim. The nostalgic intro flows at a slow pace. When I used to enjoy playing with friends and having unrequited love the lyrics touched me, but now they seems so foreign. My daily routine was to sleep at night and listen to ballads while I fell asleep, but I almost spouted a ballad that appealed to me, but I pulled out the plug and was stuck. Cold silence in a boring room. I’m helpless and dumb. I want to die suddenly, the tips of my cold limbs start to hurt. Tears dampened my pillow, even if the sight was pathetic no one will comfort me. If you wipe it with your finger, you’ll scratch the inside of your eye. The wound was red as the bleeding hadn’t stopped, the area where the blood was exposed was blueish-purple and in some places, it could even be beautiful. If I play with the wounds I put there three days ago, it hurts more than before, but it satisfies me. I don't want anyone to see me. When it becomes unbearable, I cut impulsively. When I cut my wrists, it feels like I’m free from my worries and anxiety. If I had to choose something I love , it would be my wounds. I have nothing. No hobby I enjoy, no ability to tout, even my head isn't right. I lived surrounded by kind parents, bad brothers, bloody conversations, and inferior items that were seen on TV. Since I was born to a mother who didn’t even know my face, and lived being beaten by my dingy father, I lack the sense of self-affirmation that everyone should have. For me, filling up my lonely time is synonymous with the pain of being alone with myself. At night when no one is anxious. The thought that started to fill my mind was that I wanted to be freed from the stifling tightness of my head. I let go of the plug that I held, and put on the jumper that hung on the rack.

          I was relieved by the feeling and presence that filled my hand. This daily routine, which is like sleepwalking, shows no sign of ending. I threw my key and cell phone onto my desk, and put my hand on the doorknob and opened the door. The smell of the night covers me with a sweet fragrance, so as to cover the scent of my room. The smell of the air is cold. The newscaster mentioned that it would be chilly. The thin pajamas, jumper, and sandals don’t stop the cold, but I can’t be bothered to change.


          I turn the key, and walk down the apartment stairs. I can hear the neighbour speaking, faintly and happily, I’m surprised that someone else is awake now. I want my sentimental nights, to be undisturbed by loud and messy noises. A group of foolish moths flock to a lamp, buzzing around it.

          For what purpose are we born for? In the end we’ll all be ashes. The number of people that can leave a brilliant achievement behind as their legacy are limited. The rest are desperately trying to be seen and recognized before they die. How valuable is life, when compared to all of human history? Walking through the street, passing through the apartment’s entrance. There was nowhere left to go. I laughed at my self. I caught a glimpse of the park slide illuminated by the street lamps, and unconsciously approach. When I was living with my parents, there was a park about twenty minutes away by foot

          In this park there is only a slide, sandbox, and a basic three-piece set swing, it seems that there is no jungle gym, or rideable panda. As I put my hand on the handrail of the slide, I feel the rough feeling of rust. When I was in elementary school, I made a pitfall at the end of the slide. It doesn’t change the fact that I hate the innocent children from that time. I walked up the stairs in a wobbly gait, but I was sleepy and as I squatted at the top of the stairs I remembered that I was drinking. As soon as I realized I was over come by an intense thirst. If I was attacked by a thug or a robber I would be unable to resist, like a newborn rabbit.

          It’s not like I wanted to be born. As I thought of this I became sad, and sobbed while feeling the cold metal of the slide. I cried while lying on the slide in the middle of the night, and thought perhaps I wasn’t a weak person, just a suspicious drunk. My crys echoed in my ears. Who am I? Twenty-three, crying in a park, is this my true self? “I’ll keep going.” The words I have heard somewhere before make my lips tremble. It was like a spell, I liked the sound of it. It means “I think,therefore I am.” My mind will reject my worthless body that my father abused, and I damaged. This is the first time I’ve seen my body like this. First of all, does what I’m even thinking about even exist? The soul of my uncle that left this world centuries before. If I cried for a while, my tears would dry up, and I would use them for for useless things.

          I don’t want to shed tears for myself, but for children. I am scum. The sky is getting lighter, the birds start to sing within the park’s thickets. The man in glasses who came to deliver the newspaper to the house opposite the park, looked at me and pretended to see nothing. You don’t want to see me, dirty, pathetic. When I look at the people who work, I feel lazy and close my eyes in a light haze of drunkenness. In my mind the man in glasses paints a scene on the backs of my eyelids, and fills it with a mosaic.

Table of Contents
Part Two