僕の知らない物語

Brilliant Transformation! ~The Sparkling Magical Girl~

Fri, 01 Mar 2013 19:31:32 +0800

“There’s something I have to tell you, Aya.”

Hikari climbed up the merry-go-round, spinning it with a kick of her foot. The park was abandoned, and there were no cars passing nearby.

Perfect.

Her best friend had the right to know. With luck, she could even join her. Hikari had rehearsed well for this.

Aya pushed up her glasses. It was her habit when perplexed.

“I’m not sure why you have to drag me out of bed for this, Hikari.”

She was unamused. Hikari couldn’t blame her. But…

“It’s precisely why I had to! Look, you can’t tell anyone about this, okay?”

Aya met her gaze, strong and true. Her best friend, indeed. “Okay.”

“I’m a magical girl.”

“What? What does that even mean?”

Hikari blinked. “You don’t know? Like those anime for little girls?”

“You know that we don’t have a TV.” Aya’s parents were those sort of weird, super-strict types. “What do you mean by ‘magical girl’?”

“Then it’s easier to show you.” Hikari kicked another one foot against the ground, increasing the speed of her rotation. Out of her pocket, she took a silver star charm, clinking as it swung.

“Sparkling!” She raised the charm, which bathed the area in white light.

An invisible pair of hands twisted and arranged her short hair into dainty little braids. Her t-shirt and shorts dissolved in a swath of light, replaced by a tide of glitters that resolved into silvery threads, intertwining and forming a beautiful dress. Her feet stepped into slippers brighter and stronger than steel. The charm, floating and spinning in the air, formed into a baton that she caught in the air and twirled before striking a pose.

“The bane of darkness, Argenta Lumina!”

Aya stood in front of her, dumbstruck. Her merry-go-round came to a halt. Hikari had timed it for maximum theatrical effect. Now Aya would admire her splendor, and ask for a Sigil of Lumina as well.

They would fight the darkness together.

“So, how do I look?”

But Aya was still standing. Standing too still. Hikari jumped down the merry-go-round and took Aya’s face in her glittering hands.

“Hey, were you so dazzled by my brilliance that you couldn’t reply?”

A moment later, and Hikari realized the horror of what she had done.

Aya’s eyes, if they could still be called that, were formless, smoking-white lumps. Their liquified form leaked out of her cooked eye-sockets, sizzling her cheeks as they did. Her mouth slackened and her tongue emerged lolling.

She was dead.

With a yelp, Hikari let go as Aya’s corpse tumbled into a haphazard, kneeling position. Her unseeing face still stared at her in an outraged, accusing manner.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” little Victrix said, scuttling around Hikari’s feet on all fours. “No normal human can look at a Lumina transformation and emerge with their soul intact!”

Small children must be held firmly

Tue, 10 Jul 2012 00:04:59 +0800

One day, I bothered to look at the escalator notice sign.

This was immediately followed by taking his hand and clamping it around mine tightly.

He, well, treated it as one of my many quirks.

Until I pointed him to the sign after riding the escalator again.

“Oh,” he said, the first of many, each profounder than the last.

I smiled and gave his hand a squeeze.

Now we’re always in a competition to take each other’s hand first, whenever we’re riding the escalator.

Live orchestras of translucent desire

Tue, 26 Jun 2012 20:27:53 +0800

In the town square, a crowd started to gather.

The young woman sat on the fountain’s edge, her long legs dangling awkwardly as she shifted around, adjusting her instrument’s strap. Her dirty blonde hair was roughly cropped, and her strange, boyish clothes were weathered from traveling.

She smelled. She knew that. But it gave her something more in common with the children in rags, who sat by the closest. Their eyes were the most reverent of all.

The tall, wiry man stood by her side at a respectful distance. The only blade that was visible on him was short and curved, its ivory hilt gilded with flowing lines from a country far, far away. The woman knew he had deadlier blades hidden, but she had not seen all of them either.

She plucked the six strings one by one, making minor adjustments in their tuning. The crowd didn’t faze her. There were far more important things to worry about, such as a roof on her head, and food for the horses.

The young woman nodded to the man, who dipped his chin. She began with a single chord. The steel strings vibrated, washing the air with surprising warmth. People trembled as if struck lightly, the sound alien and novel and wonderful to their ears. No other bard had ever carried the bell-shaped instrument the woman played, its head bigger than her own.

She began singing. Her voice was brittle at first, the initial quaver almost shocking her out of her reverie, but it quickly reforged itself. People started to close their eyes, to focus on the sweet mixture of song and string.

What six strings and a girl’s voice had wrought, live orchestras of translucent desire. Those who understood, nodded gently to themselves, bravely holding back tears just as the unseemly musician did.

She sang of one thing, and one thing only: going home.

It's always better if you start early

Wed, 13 Jun 2012 23:03:01 +0800

8:45 PM. She should be arriving any moment, Mai thought.

The convenience store she worked in didn’t have much in the way of customers, for a larger one had opened up shop within the block just a year ago. That was fine by her—the pay was still decent, and she didn’t look forward to long lines of people keeping her occupied in the cash register.

If anything, her part-time job as a cashier was a distraction from home. A willing distraction to escape the clutches of her good-for-nothing brother. He was older than her by a good two years, and should have been in college to boot. But day and night he sat in the living room, hogging the only TV in the house to play his stupid games!

The brush of the doors opening and the sound of chimes clinking alerted Mai to her regular customer. An OL in her mid-twenties, she wore her hair in a tight bun and had the same mollified expression every night. The woman made a beeline to the alcoholic drinks section and took out a can of chu-hi from the cooler.

The can made a muffled thunk as the OL laid it on the counter, pushing the bill forward in her other hand. Sometimes she bought two. One particularly bad night, which Mai had committed to memory, three.

Mai greeted her with a smile, as always. The woman didn’t even look up. She never looked up.

Mai didn’t bother asking for a points card, even if it was required. She knew that this particular customer had none, and had no plans of getting one. So she just scanned the can, took the bill, and deposited the change. It was a routine for them.

The OL grabbed both can and change and hauled out of the store. The sound of her pulling the tab resounded in Mai’s ears, and she couldn’t tell why.

She spent the rest of her shift thinking about it.

* * *

7:15 AM. She should be arriving any moment, Mai thought.

The OL practically barged in through the door, sending the wind chimes complaining in a fury. She went to the cooler, as always, but picked a can of energy drink instead.

It was a Saturday morning. Saturday mornings were special, Mai decided on her own. It was during—and only during—that time when the OL didn’t look stressed or harassed and instead looked like a cheerful human being.

Careful not to make eye contact, Mai looked at the woman’s face. She was smiling, but not at her—just the can she was buying.

Mai calmly completed the transaction, and bowed at the woman, who left with a spring in her step.

One of these days, she thought, I’m going to ask her about it.

* * *

So she did, the next Saturday morning.

“An energy drink again,” Mai said as she scanned the can. “You’re such a good girl every weekend. Why?”

She stared up at the woman’s face, which had formed into a bemused smile. “Oh! It’s because I’m jogging,” the woman replied.

Nike jacket, white t-shirt, and comfortable shorts. Her hair was even tied into a neat ponytail. Of course she was jogging, Mai thought. She nearly kicked herself for the dumb question.

There weren’t any other customers, so she decided to ask again. “Well, I catch you every weeknight buying chu-hi. Looking like a zombie every time. It’s, I dunno, hard to reconcile the you yesterday and today?”

The woman sighed so hard that her entire soul seemed to escape through her mouth. “I forget that you see me almost everyday. It’s just work. I didn’t go to college just to be assed to make coffee for my superiors, you know.” She hissed. “I could never go home early when they’re expecting me to make their late-night coffee.”

Then, catching herself, she covered her mouth. “I’m sorry for shooting my mouth off!”

Mai bowed profusely. “No! It’s all my fault! I was only curious! Seeing that I always see you in my shift!” She pushed the energy drink forward, for the woman to retrieve it.

“I’m Sally,” the woman said, regaining her composure. “And thanks. It isn’t everyday that someone takes an interest in my miserable OL life.”

“Mai,” Mai replied. It was all she could do not to stutter. “I’m just a part-timer. High school student.”

“Ain’t that cute?” Sally smiled. “Well, see you.” She turned to leave.

“Wait!”

Mai couldn’t believe herself. She actually raised her voice. But since the cat was already out of the bag…

“My shift is ending in an hour! If you happen to still be free at that time, could we meet at the park later? I’ll bring a can of your favorite chu-hi.”

If the prospect of drinking in the morning ever perturbed Sally, she gave no sign of it. “Later, then.”

* * *

Mai’s left hand trembled, clutching the plastic bag that held two cans she had bought. Sally said she would be coming. Or at least that’s what she sounded like.

She kept her eyes trained on the stone path. Despite the pleasant, inviting smell of dew, it was a small park, and few people actually stayed in it. The benches were all empty…

Wait. Not one, it seemed. Shadowed from view by a fertile young tree, Mai could see a pair of long legs crossed on the bench. She quieted her advance, but quickly realized the futility of it as her cans clinked together anyway.

“You made me wait!” Sally’s voice rang cheerfully, despite not having seen her yet. “Penalty!”

Mai appeared from behind the tree, lifting her plastic bag. “Sorry. The next guy took his time.”

“It’s fine, really,” Sally said, stretching her elbows as Mai sat next to her, putting the bag between them. “So, what’s up?”

Mai shrugged, examining a thin, unbroken line of ants on the soil next to her shoes. “I guess I curious. About why people have so different sides. And how one of them could be so sad.”

“Sad? When you put it that way…” Sally laid a hand on her chin. “It’s not really sad. Just something I cope up with. Chu-hi helps, of course.”

“I don’t understand,” Mai shook her head. “Maybe because I’m still a student. But I have my problems, too. My parents are working overseas, and my older brother’s a NEET. I’m part-timing so that I won’t have to deal with my stupid household life.”

Sally looked at her, despite the fact that Mai had turned away her head and was now blushing profusely. “Don’t you have something you want to do when you grow up?”

Mai brushed off the tears in her eyes. “I don’t really know… maybe I’ll just become a cashier forever…”

“You’ll be fine!” That cheerfulness again, trying to reassure her. Mai knew that it wasn’t faked. That Sally, despite their differences, was genuinely concerned about her. “Let’s drink our cans before they get warm!”

Mai put on a brave face and fished a can out of the plastic bag. But something was wrong.

“Hey! This isn’t my drink!”

Sally brandished the energy drink in Mai’s face. “Thanks! I can never get enough of this!” She promptly popped the tab and drank it down.

“But I’m still underage!” Mai said, staring at the can of chu-hi she was supposed to give to Sally.

“You need it more than I do, and it’s always better if you start early.” Sally winked.

Trembling in exasperation, Mai gingerly sipped her illegal drink.

“Bleh! Why does it taste like medicine?”

Sally wagged a finger. “It’s lemon-flavored. The medicine taste is the alcohol, which… you’ll quickly get used to!”

Despite her protests, Mai still drank the entire can.

“Thanks, Sally,” she said, covering her mouth. Her breath smelled thoroughly unwholesome, and her body felt uncooperative. “We’re friends now, aren’t we?”

Sally smiled and rolled her eyes. “I guess?”

Mai tried to stand up, but slumped on Sally’s arm instead. She tried getting up, but found herself snuggling into her friend’s arm instead.

“Whoa there,” Sally said, quickly guiding Mai’s body into a comfortable posture. “I didn’t know you’re such a lightweight!”

“This is all your fault,” Mai muttered. She was smiling despite everything.

“Don’t drink anymore chu-hi, okay? It’s bad for your health…”

Sally shook her head, although Mai’s lecture amused her. Yes, how very amusing.

“Nonsense. I won’t be able to see you on weekdays, then,” she whispered, letting Mai sleep on her lap.

You Can't Smoke

Mon, 28 May 2012 21:51:09 +0800

It stung my nose, and made me want to sneeze.

She took a step back, a concession. She angled her face away as she blew out tufts of smoke. They were strangely fluffy, despite their toxicity.

“You should really stop that,” I said.

“Can’t help it,” she replied, not yet looking at me. “I sort of picked it up at my last job. It’s something you do to survive.”

I shut my mouth. I was incapable of such things—her job, coping up with the stress, coping up with such an additional burden in my lungs. Maybe, I idly thought, this was the reason why we haven’t even kissed yet.

“Won’t you let me try one?” I offered.

Now she looked at me. It wasn’t pleasant. “I’m doing this so that you won’t.”

“So you know how bad it is.”

“Yeah.” I traced the smoke trails with my eye. They were so beautiful when she blew them.

“You’re gonna die before me, aren’t you?”

She grabbed my arm. Her thumb clipped her middle finger securely. “In your shape? Don’t count on it.”

I raised my arm, peering at it like an alien object. “I can get better.”

This time, she blew her smoke right into my face. “That’s what I said, dear. When I started smoking.”

Strange brains ferment sex like pickles

Mon, 21 May 2012 01:01:00 +0800

Rei shifted her eyes around, assessing everyone who passed by as potential threats. She couldn’t help it—her job made her especially antsy for this kind of stuff.

If she had been more lucky, she would’ve been in charge of the building’s security. If that happened, then she wouldn’t have to perform this disgraceful task.

The line moved again. Rei dragged her feet, every fiber of her being protesting against the action. Why am I here? I don’t belong here!

But it wasn’t a case of belonging. That was irrelevant. Yuri asked her to line up and buy a copy of the doujinshi. Rei lined up, and Rei would buy that comic, no matter if it was porn, much less porn of her beloved friend’s manga. That was irrelevant.

She glowered at the young man behind her. Panic showed through the mask he wore.

“Why are you here?” Rei asked, not bothering to conceal the murderous tone in her voice.

“To buy the doujin,” the man replied, addressing his shoes.

“For yourself?”

The man nodded faintly.

“I’m not buying it for myself. I’m buying it for a friend,” Rei said. A useless clarification, but she felt like she had to make it clear.

The man nodded again, and Rei paid her no more attention.

Twenty-five minutes later, the source of her misery came.

“Yuri!” She snapped her hand out, reaching for the one shining face amidst a sea of faceless people. Yuri had been all around the place, chatting up with acquaintances, and buying all sorts of doujinshi. She approached Rei, carrying three canvas bags in each hand, all filled with her haul.

Hopefully, only half of them will be porn. And Yuri was supposed to be the virgin.

“Enjoying yourself, Rei?” Yuri asked. She was smiling that pleasant smile of hers, but Rei couldn’t help but think she was enjoying her ordeal.

She frowned. “I don’t know about that. Are there copies left? I don’t want to wait in vain for two hours, Yuri.” The last sentence came off as uncharacteristically pleading.

Yuri stood beside her. “There’s still lots. I think we’ll be able to get one.”

“I still can’t fathom why you’d want to read R-18 doujinshi of your own manga,” Rei whispered. Yuri kept a library of doujinshi in her own studio.

“Simple! To remind me how much people enjoy my work,” Yuri said.

Rei shrugged. Strange brains ferment sex like pickles. There was no telling what really went inside Yuri’s brain, with that sort of thing. “Yeah, enjoy. I’ll never understand it.”

Yuri gave her friend a solemn look. “Thank you for doing this, Rei.”

It was impossible for Rei not to blush. “H-how do you not feel the heat, Yuri? It’s impossible for me.” It didn’t help that Rei was wearing a particularly thick beanie. She really did not want to get caught buying R-18 stuff. Yuri was clothed for a lazy Sunday afternoon stroll.

“Hmm…” Yuri looked away, seemingly lost in thought. “I’ve been going as early as I could remember. I just got used to it.”

“And you always bought stuff?” It was clear what Rei meant.

“My father ordered me to get the non-ero ones for him, when I was still underage.”

Yuri didn’t get along with her father. Rei felt obliged to be silent for a minute.

“This is going to be a regular thing for me, isn’t it?” she asked later.

Yuri smiled, a bit more sincerely than her last. “Only if you really want to tag along.”

Rei sighed. “Just don’t force me to read them.”

And, as it turned out, they did get a copy.

Blind Date

Fri, 18 May 2012 23:55:43 +0800

The first thing I noticed about him wasn’t his face, or even his clothes.

It was the axe.

That was when I wondered, are axes all the rage now? I sure didn’t see anyone else carrying one on the way here.

“You’re late,” I said. And he looked so fetching in the photo…

He grunted in acknowledgement. “Sorry.”

I didn’t think he sounded very apologetic.

A few moments later and we were already seated, waiting for our food. I thought about ordering wine, but I was afraid of looking like a fool in front of my date.

The axe sat on the draped table, against all common sense. I bit down the urge to scream.

He stared at me, the way a patient hunter regards his prey.

“What’s it for?” I asked weakly, my voice nothing more than a squeak. I inched a trembling finger at the axe.

“Oh, this?” His face twisted into sudden, repulsive glee. “It’s for correcting mistakes.”

Chop. My finger separated from my hand, rolling across the velvet table and disappearing off the edge.

He brandished the axe heartily, blood smeared on the edge. My blood.

“Like that.”

An entire army of pain, a thousand strong, funneled into my bloody little stump, leaking blood. I couldn’t scream. It would disturb everyone. I’m not that kind of woman.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

He blinked. “Mistake number two.”

The next blow split my head open.

I opened my mouth to protest, but thought better not to.

With a satisfied grunt, he left the axe buried on top of my head.

Call me weird, but there was much less pain this time. I stopped feeling my severed finger, too. I felt light-headed, even if the axe was a little on the heavy side.

I didn’t attract his ire anymore. When the food arrived, we ate heartily. He wasn’t that bad, I guess. Just a little eccentric, but kinder than my past boyfriends.

I wouldn’t mind getting murdered by him, I thought.

“Let’s meet again,” I said to him, after he walked me to my train station.

“Just call me,” he said. He raised his hand.

Before I knew it, the axe was back in his hand.

Before I knew it, I was falling on the pavement, my jostled brain matter sloshing around as I realized that I was dying, or already dead.

Which one, I thought, was true?

A policeman picked up my body a full hour later.

Boys' Tears Are the Worst

Wed, 02 May 2012 22:34:00 +0800

From outside the window, I spy him at the corner of my eye, hanging his head in the hopes of appearing dignified. His hands are balled into fists, wracked in helpless spasms.

I approach him as silently as I could, effortlessly sliding through the open window. Men are precarious like that. Boys, even more so. They’re too afraid to cry. And when they do,when they really have to, it’s the most pathetic sight in the world.

I hear him sniff before I see the hint of tears rolling down his stubborn face. I try to make it easier for him. Try.

“Hey,” I say softly, blunting my hard-edged voice. I lift the object I’m carrying to my chest. A small trickle of blood runs down my gloves, making audible dripping sounds in the cramped room. The headphones around his neck are uncommonly silent.

“I know she was a total bitch, but she still was your girlfriend, right? You liked her.” I try not to be an ass about it. I took the contract without compunction, but it isn’t like I actually hated her myself or anything.

I can tell that he’s yearning to put his hands up to wipe the tears from his eyes. But male pride won’t allow him to. His choked, stifled sobs sound like they came from his six year-old self.

I finger an empty eye socket idly, waiting for him to say something. Her hair was still wet with a shampoo brand too trendy for me to pinpoint. I lift up a few strands to my nose. No reaction. I massage my trophy’s face without thought. Still no reaction.

We just stand there awkwardly for the better part of the hour. I hate it when boys cry.

How the angel drowned my spark

Sun, 22 Apr 2012 14:59:32 +0800

“KO!”

I stood up from my seat. “What the hell?”

I could feel everyone’s awestruck stares behind me. Stares that had been directed at me up until this very humiliating loss. People whispered behind my back, and my mind filtered out their mocking words.

“That was fun,” she said, patiently sitting on the bench we shared. “You’re very good.”

My head swam. I was in the arcade for a fighting game tournament. It had been over for two hours, and most of the players packed up to go drinking or whatnot. My frustration from my quarterfinals loss kept me in the arcade, hogging the game in the hopes that I could extract a reason as to how or why I lost.

I had racked up more than a dozen wins already, when this girl challenged me. She looked like a different species, what with her dainty Sunday dress and gentle demeanor. An angel like her had no place in a dingy arcade filled with fools like me.

It took us five rounds to finally declare a winner. Yet something was very wrong with how she won.

“Fun? ‘Very good’?” I echoed the words, tasting their now-corrupted meaning in my mouth. “You were toying with me, you—”

I halted, watching my language. “You’re much better than I am. Yet you played badly on purpose. If you were half-serious, I’d never have brought your lifebar down to half. You only needed three rounds to beat me.”

The AI match started as we talked. The girl stared at me, ignoring her fighter being beaten to a pulp by the computer.

“Then you wouldn’t have any fun,” she said. “Isn’t that how games are supposed to be?”

She idly touched the tip of her joystick with her index finger, flicking it up and down. Her fighter jumped and crouched in place, and ate an uppercut. I brushed my unkempt hair from my eyes, looking back at her innocent gaze.

“Fun? This wasn’t fun at all. Don’t you realize what you’ve done? I’d be less angry if you beat me at your full strength. This way, you’re just condescending me, as if I’m that bad that you have to stoop down to my level.”

She blinked twice, averting her eyes. “Is that so…? I’m sorry. I didn’t know that.”

“KO!” Her character lay unmoving on the ground. “Perfect!”

She spared her loss with a cursory glance before looking back at me. “My brother plays in tournaments. I’m just sneaking in a few games when he’s not around. I’ve been looking for him, but he’s nowhere to be found. And I, um, forgot my cellphone at home.”

That was how the angel drowned my spark. Girls don’t usually play fighting games competitively. I did, and it took me years of practice to play at my current level. I was proud of myself, but this no-name girl didn’t even approach the game with the seriousness it deserved. She didn’t even belong here, for starters.

“What’s your brother’s name?” I asked, hesitantly. Looking back, I saw that some of the bystanders were closing in, tokens in their hands, their bullish faces telling us to leave if we weren’t going to play anymore.

I pulled her hand and took her out of the arcade. The atmosphere in there gets choking at times. Too much brusque tension, and there’s the occasional creepy stare I get from boys unaccustomed to seeing a girl beat their asses in such games.

“Byrd99,” she said, almost too softly for me to hear. “That’s what my brother calls himself.”

She lowered her gaze down at her hand, hoping me to do something with mine still clamped tightly over hers. I slowly let go.

“Oliver, huh? You’re in luck. I have his number right here.” I took out my phone and dialed his number. I beat Oliver in the second round, but I didn’t tell his sister about that.

“Camille?” the sullen voice greeted me without as much as a proper hello. “Did you call me to gloat?”

“Stupid. Your sister’s here. She’s been looking for you. Come back to the arcade now. And you’ve got some explaining to do.”

Weeaboo Word Diarrhea

Sun, 15 Apr 2012 19:15:38 +0800

“In God we trust.”

“What does this mean? Could the killer be a foreigner, sempai?” I asked the teenage detective Hachiroku Nagisa.

Hachiroku-sempai adjusted the rim of her glasses, regarding me from the side. “You jump to conclusions too quickly. The truth is, this phrase has lost its meaning in recent decades. With the advancement of secularism and atheism, the term ‘God’ has changed and reinvented its meaning. The ‘God’ in the phrase may not necessarily mean the anthropomorphic Western deity taught to us in school. The kami in Shintoism could be recognized as “God”, too, even if there are thousands of them.”

As expected of Hachiroku-sempai. “And the atheists?”

Sempai smiled knowingly. “Atheists, no matter how secular they could be, will still cling to some esoteric beliefs. One could call Lady Luck as their ‘God’, or fictional characters purporting themselves to be. Suzumiya Haruhi, of the popular light novel series is widely speculated as a ‘God’, in the context of her own story. Yet fans have jokingly, playfully called upon her name as if she were a real, omnipotent being existing in this universe.

“So in short, ‘God’ could mean anything. Best we acquire more new information before we formulate the case, Kanako-chan.” She twirled her pen in her hand and retracted the point, punctuating her conclusion.

Something wasn’t right. I held up the green, rectangular piece of paper to my eyes. “Isn’t this what they call a ‘dollar’, sempai? American currency?”

My sempai blinked out of her self-satisfied reverie. “Oh. It could be a foreigner, then.”

Dream Entry #2

Wed, 11 Apr 2012 00:11:21 +0800

I opened the door and went inside.

The first thing I saw was the bed. The second thing I saw was the naked couple occupying it, man straddling woman in a textbook missionary position. He worked his thrusts, and the woman’s breasts bounced in time. I looked away, more indifference than disgust.

Paul approached me. He had been standing on the side of the room.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” I replied with a nod. The lovers were but another fixture in the room.

He handed me a shotgun. “Stand guard by the door, please.”

And so I did. My back was to the door, and the shotgun weighed oddly light in my arms. My daughter just stared at me, all thirteen years of precocious her, wearing that knowing grin.

“What?” I snapped.

“Nothin’!”

I looked away, tightening my finger on the trigger guard. People walked by, some casting worried glances at me and my gun.

Later, the door behind me clicked, and the couple silently filed out, fully-dressed and all. I realized that the woman was wearing glasses. Strange, that I always notice such things.

Paul’s head peeked out of the door. “Thanks, man.”

I shrugged. My daughter kept her smile.

WHAT DOES THIS ALL MEAN?

Drink Another Between Night & Blue

Sat, 07 Apr 2012 01:26:00 +0800

My sister gingerly lifts my hand away from the glass. It’s half-full, but my eyes can’t seem to make out the color of whatever diabolic mix I had made in my stupor.

“Same story as always, huh?”

I blink again and again, trying to focus my eyes on her. She always liked baggy shirts. All the better to show off her collarbones.

“Well,” I throw my hands up, “that’s how it went.”

“Honestly. I know you’re eager to try out the thing you learned in that book, but try to keep it down to one girl.” I focus on her horn-rimmed glasses. Yeah, that’s right. My doting big sister in a nutshell.

“Honestly.”

I make a grab for the glass, aiming to drink another Between Night and Blue. This time, my sister doesn’t stop me.

I down it in three gulps, not bothering to allow myself to taste the drink. Between Night and Blue. The drink I made up, with no rhyme or reason save to forget my monumental failure. Failures.

“So the first girl,” I drawl, slumping on the table. “She was alone, had a polka-dot skirt, and… fuck. I keep on going back to that skirt.”

“Knee-length?” she offers. Her inquisitive face is propped up by her hands.

“Shorter. Compliments her stockings. Man, wish I had a tape measure to check out those ratios.”

“And?”

I rise suddenly from the table, throwing up my arms. “Whoosh! Looked at me funny. Said she had a boyfriend. ‘Course I don’t believe her. Try to flatter her more.”

I nurse my head, feeling the pain sink in. “That’s when she pointed to this tattooed dude chatting with the bartender. I… made a tactical retreat.”

“An utter rout,” my sister says, offering me a consoling grin. “This is the Cold Night girl, right?”

“Right.”

“What about the Blue Angel one?”

I stare at the pepper shaker on the side of the table. What can I do, it’s 4 AM, with the alcohol wreaking havoc on my system. It’s even a miracle that I got home.

“Blue Angel… Blue Angel.” I decide to call her that. “Blue Angel’s a close call. Pretty young. Possibly underage.”

“Really?” She’s grinning.

“At least it looked like her first time. Bar virgin and all that. Anyway, she got friends with her, but they were spinning on the dance floor. I… thought she was pretty, sitting like a proper lady. Like she were ashamed of her cute little breasts.”

“Tell me more about these breasts.” I try to imagine my sister’s voice as a hard-boiled detective’s, straight from one of those noir shows.

“Right in the middle of B-cup territory. They were cute. She was cute. Made small talk with her. Weather, upcoming holidays, that kind of stuff.”

“You said she was a close call.”

“I was getting to that, sis.” What did I put on my drink again? Between Night and Blue is such a dumb name. And I can’t even remember what I put in. I think I was trying to make a Bloody Mary, but my mind fizzled out midway and thought of a dozen different cocktails. My throat burns for some reason.

“She was smiling. And blushing. She’d taken a few sips of margarita and looked emboldened enough. Those soft cheeks definitely had a crimson sheen in them.”

“And?”

“I pulled out,” I confess. “Just, you know, walked away. She was too nice. Fish out of the water, you know? I’d damn be ashamed if I caught her. Too trusting, too easy. She was too good for me, sis. You understand, right?”

“I do.” My sister stands up, walks to my side of the table, and lifts me out of the chair by my arm.

“I do.” She repeats, hoisting me on her shoulder. I feel so light. I don’t even resist. My stomach sloshes, dangerously courting my gag reflex. I suppress it for her.

“I love you.”

“Don’t hit on your sister, idiot.”

“Idiot. That’s not what I meant.”

I sobbed all the way to bed.

Explore in Silent Rhythm the Curse

Sun, 25 Mar 2012 15:43:53 +0800

Something’s not right with the teacher today, Keiko thought.

Mr. Moore rarely wrote on the blackboard. And when he did, it was only to emphasize a key phrase or term. Today, he was filling the board up with unintelligible sentences, constructs that violated the very rules of grammar he taught.

It wasn’t right. Mr. Moore was a good teacher, and the class liked him. Keiko dimly remembered a conversation with the man, where he admitted to exploring sacred ruins in the country. She wondered where was the fun in that, but politely smiled as the Westerner babbled about half-forgotten gods.

Her classmates started passing notes. Keiko discreetly took the paper from Rina, and read it.

“What’s going on?”

“Teacher Moore is strange today.”

“What does “explore in silent rhythm the curse” mean, anyway?”

“It’s meaningless.”

“Man, I can’t wait for the bell.”

Keiko decided not to write on it, finding her pity towards the teacher stronger than the urge to crack a joke on his expense. She passed the paper to Takashi. The boy’s audible chuckle did nothing to break their English teacher’s concentration.

The words didn’t seem to be English anymore. Mr. Moore’s script turned less and less legible, and he wrote with increasing fervor. Something unclean swirled up from his body, as if he had been possessed by a foul spirit.

At any rate, someone had to do something.

Keiko stood up with a bang. “Um, Teacher? How does this relate to our lesson?” She immediately blushed at the incredulity of her question.

The class’s laughter died when Mr. Moore turned. He looked… changed.

Their English teacher’s once-blue eyes were black spots. His face was pasted in a crazed grin. Keiko gripped her chair’s desk with whitening knuckles.

A rift in the void opened at the center of the blackboard, two emaciated hands ripping the fabric of space apart. The hands were simply too big to be anything near human.

Someone started screaming. Keiko wasn’t even sure if it was her, or some other girl.

Mr. Moore didn’t move from his spot, even as the hands enveloped his entire body like a child would grasp a small toy.

Keiko looked away. There was a muffled pop, and a chunk of flesh slapped her cheek with a sickening wet sound. Gurgling noises came from the unholy passageway, promising them all a painful end. The entire class started to run for it, turning chairs over as they bolted for the exits. A student smashed into Keiko, sending her sprawling on the ground.

A grunt of pain escaped from her lips. She pushed herself up, not looking at the monster, not looking at the fragments of bone and gore streaking the floor. Trying. Shutting her eyes only fanned her terror.

Two fingers carefully lifted her up by the collar of her shirt. Buttons began to give underneath her weight, and then she was yanked into the rift.

This time, Keiko didn’t forget to scream, as nothingness swallowed her. The pain, she thought, would last forever.

And, as it turned out, she was right.

Who's the mother?

Mon, 12 Mar 2012 15:02:00 +0800

The lightbulb was shut, a faint orange gleam dying with every passing moment. From their bed, Yuri gestured to it with her free hand.

“It was worth it, don’t you think? Living here, I mean. I like this place, even if it’s a bit hard to clean.”

Rei looked into her eyes, past the glasses, past the brown irises, trying to gain entry into what other people called “the soul”.

Moving out of their homes. Places of luxury and comfort, abandoned, sacrificed for something deemed much more worthy: living together.

“Yes,” she whispered. “It’s worth it.”

For a long time, they stared at the bulb, not meeting each other’s eyes. Lost in thought. Rei couldn’t stand it anymore.

She buried her head in Yuri’s chest, snuggling in. It wasn’t the first time for both of them. Theirs was a storied history, but it had been Yuri who came to her, pierced that flimsy barrier that she had put up for many years… Maybe, Rei thought, maybe she could repay her.

Yuri didn’t even flinch, wrapping her arms around Rei. Just like that, Rei felt like a child again in her arms, vulnerable. Yuri always made her feel that way. Her bosom would make you dream, then charm you into sleep.

“If…” Rei’s words died like a stalling engine. “If… we ever get married, you’ll be the mother.”

There was a giggle, followed by a sniff. Tears? Oh, she made her cry again. Rei shut her own eyes tightly. Yuri’s arm left her, presumably to wipe her own eyes.
Didn’t she open up old wounds? Neither of their mothers still walked this world. Rei wondered which of them was lonelier for it—she, whose birthing had cost her her mother’s life? Or Yuri, whose mother’s death a memory too painful to revisit? At least Yuri had known her mother. Seen her. Felt her.

But Rei never had to contend with such a betrayal. No one deserved to see such dainty feet, dangling from the ceiling, suspended by despair, pulled down by a mortal weight. Not Yuri.

“Is that so?” Yuri’s voice was softer. She stroked Rei’s hair, fingers nearly touching the nape of her neck, which smelled like flowers.

“Alright!” The affirmation rang too loudly, like a rebellion against the silence. Just like that, the aura of gloom lifted.

“It was just to cheer you up. Don’t get the wrong idea,” Rei mumbled to Yuri’s chest. “I was just joking…”

Her voice trailed off, as sleep came.

Yuri’s lips caressed Rei’s hair, as she tightened her warm embrace. Rei liked to be held. Like this. What a silly girl. She wouldn’t be able to move, if she wanted to get up. She wouldn’t dare disturb her.

“But I wish you weren’t.” The reply arrived, unheard.

Mrrrrrrrrrreow

Thu, 23 Feb 2012 22:17:47 +0800

Betty was fine, he had thought, until she proposed this to me:

“I want our team to have bring-your-cat-to-work Fridays.” That was what she said. Two-and-a-half years of plain, good work, the image of a perfect employee, all shattered.

Any other person would have asked me a raise at that period in time, and I would give it to them. Oh, what I’d give just to take that decision back.

Did you think I turned her down? The best damned dev in the place?

By my grave mistake, I have approved bring-your-cat-to-work Fridays. But not bring-your-cat-to-work-and-take-care-of-them-yourself Fridays.

And now, I am staring at the most hideous creature I have ever known. Round and fat, with fur white as snow, with a disposition blacker than my own, withered heart.

Gretchen.

Oh, you shall ravage that painting no more. By my tie I swear it.

Just Eat It

Tue, 14 Feb 2012 23:09:39 +0800

Yuri rested her elbows on the table, humming a tune to herself. Before her lay a small rectangular box covered in red paper, adorned with golden ribbons.

“Almost done?” she hollered at the kitchen.

“Yes!” came Rei’s flustered reply. “This isn’t a problem for me at all!”

Yuri carried her sigh to the other room. “You know, if I knew you were going to make one, then you should have just come with me to Zaku-nyan’s. She has everything you need to make chocolates on your own! She was making something really good, but it was hard and took real long. I just baked a cake instead.”

“To be in the same kitchen, making confectioneries for each other,” Rei mused, “that cheapens the mystique to it!”

“I love it when you stand your ground like that, Rei,” Yuri said. “Especially when you’re very, very wrong.” She lovingly twisted the knife in Rei’s side.

“Anyway. Zaku-nyan gave us a bunch of her chocolates! ‘It seems that I made too much, so share this with Rei. And don’t you dare gobble everything up, or I’ll never forgive you.’ ” She made her best Zaku-nyan impression, complete with the deadpan face. Rei fought so hard not to laugh and make an entire mess of the kitchen.

“That’s why I’m making something for her, too. Well, I can’t possibly compete with her work, but I have to do it.” There was a scampering of feet as Rei placed the chocolate in the refrigerator. She reappeared in the doorway, having just put away her apron.

“I don’t think you’ll make it in time to give it to her personally,” Yuri said. “But there’s always White Day!”

Rei sat down on the opposite side of the table. “Yuri… do I look like a man to you?”

“No,” Yuri said sweetly, “but even you wouldn’t be able to claim that you’re the more feminine person in this relationship, would you?”

Rei sneered. Yuri reached over and wiped sweat from her forehead.

“Don’t push yourself too hard, silly.” Gently.

“Idiot. How can I sit still when you and Zaku-nyan are giving everything they have?” Rei’s face was very, very red.

“Well, seeing you like this is enough,” Yuri replied, grinning. “You’re sweetest when you’re like this.”

“I’m opening it!” Rei snapped.

“Then be my guest.”

And so Rei did. The cake Yuri baked was molded into a heart, with Rei’s own name generously written on top with pink icing.

“This irregular shape… how am I going to slice it?”

“It doesn’t matter! Just eat it!”

And so Rei did, in silence, the blush never leaving her cheeks the entire time.

An Imagined Conversation

Sun, 05 Feb 2012 21:11:20 +0800

“I followed your advice. I broke up with him.”

“You did? Seriously?”

“Yeah. We had a good, long talk about it. It wouldn’t work out, so we arrived at that decision. I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?”

“I just thought… isn’t it awkward? You introduced me to him. You’re his best friend. God, I feel weird just bringing this up to you.”

“Look. I’m not taking sides. You can talk to me freely. And honestly, while I feel sad about the whole thing, I suppose it’s all for the better.”

“You mean you expected our relationship to fall apart?”

“With how things turned out, yeah. But you guys handled it better than I’d have thought.”

“He’s the mature one.”

“Whoa. No way.”

“Yeah! I’m serious. Why?”

“I honestly don’t know how he acts around you. But as I know him? I always have to drive him home, and he’s puked in my car at least twice.”

“No shit. He drives me home.”

“That’s because you’re a girl. Aside from being a violent drunk, that is.”

“He never took advantage of me drunk, actually. He’d say such sweet things like ‘Honey, if I were to fuck you, it would be while you’re sober.’ “

“And you’re never sober.”

“Hah! It worked! I’ve actually seen his cock. It’s not something I’d like to be pegged with.”

“Whoa, why? And before you ask, it’s an academic interest.”

“I asked him to show it to me. Scared me shitless. I told him to put it away. He’s cool about it, but I don’t think he ever forgave me about it.”

“It’s a man’s pride. Of course he’ll never forgive you about it. But did that lead to this decision?”

“Nope. Well, just one minor thing that added up to a whole pile. A bunch of little misgivings give you that.”

“I see. I don’t have much of a clue about relationships, though. Never been in one.”

“Oh? Wanna do it, then?”

“No way in hell.”

“If it isn’t too much to ask, may I know why?”

“Because you’re absolutely, absolutely not my type.”

“That’s a real surprise! And I thought you liked me!”

“I like you. But what you’re proposing is stupid. We’re friends. That’s enough.”

“Man. Sorry about that.”

“Just forget about it.”

“So… are you gay?”

“No. What made you think of that?”

“Nothing! Just something that’s bothered me. He always joked about you being one.”

“That bastard. I just haven’t found the right person. The right girl, I mean.”

“Oh, you corrected yourself! How cute.”

“Would you please shut up and finish your drink? It’s getting late, and the ugly girls in the dance floor are tempting me to grab one my own every passing minute. I’m the designated driver, remember?”

“And the only possible choice. I don’t have a license.”

“Always one to try and have the last word out, huh?”

“Yeah.”

Training Starts Tomorrow

Mon, 30 Jan 2012 23:31:38 +0800

It’s such a cliche. The rain pelts us both, and I can’t tell if those are tears on her cheeks, or just rain. My teeth still cling on the soggy cigarette, as if my life depended on it.

“Hey. Stop crying,” I say.

“I’m not…” Her weak reply forces a bad taste in my mouth. I edge closer, awkwardly favoring one leg. Blood’s running down one of my thighs, from a wound that’s worse than it looks.

“Always nice to see someone taken away from you, eh.” I give the heavens a finger. “I liked someone. She was a girl, too. Like you. Like me.”

Her lips move again. “They took Mom and Dad,” I read.

“Sheesh. Never liked my parents.” I lay a hand on her bare shoulder. It’s obviously cold, but the brimming rage and anguish underneath surprise me. I grin despite myself.

“Hey. Wanna fuck up those who did this to you? To your parents?”

And right on cue, she coughs up blood. The gaping hole in her chest isn’t pretty, a dark crimson tumor spreading across the rest of her body.

She nods, almost imperceptibly. “No matter how hard it is, I’ll endure it.”

“Oh, but you don’t know how hard I can be.” My free hand hovers before her ruined chest.

The first kindness she receives from me.

The first cruelty I give to her.

I mend it, forming heart and ribcage and flesh, until she sinks into my arms like a stricken log. Then I trudge back home.

Tsundere Service #2

Tue, 24 Jan 2012 14:45:13 +0800

My scanners picked up five enemy units, forming a defensive cordon around the objective. I would be in their sensor range in 10 seconds.

“Ensign, I’m going past through them.”

“You’ll have to—” Ensign Browning started, until she realized what I was planning. “Oh!”

My screen told me that I was entering effective enemy range in 5 seconds.

“Activating booster, setting inertia dampers to full yield.” My hand gripped the throttle, ready to push it forward.

“Booster on.”

The radar blanked out. I felt mild discomfort, keenly feeling the vibration inside the cockpit. I deactivated the booster after 4.4 seconds.

“You passed two enemy defense lines, but they’re turning back to pursue you,” Ensign Browning said. She was furious with my stunt.

My radar spiked back to life, detecting seven Gallian-M units around the objective. I smiled. Good odds. I fired my beam rifle at one too slow to react, blowing a hole through its thorax and vaporizing the cockpit.

“Tactical assessment: suggest you use a modified Circus-pattern spread.”

“Accepted, Ensign.” I acquired lock and fired a five-missile salvo for each enemy unit.

They broke immediately into evasive maneuvers. One Gallian was struck in the wing, and went off in a small, contained fireball. Another destroyed three missiles before the fourth blew its arm off. Its gun exploded, rocking it squarely into the fifth missile’s path, which finished it off. One Gallian flew in a wide arc, outrunning my missiles. I took advantage of its distracted state, shooting it down with my beam rifle.

Two units bore down on me from opposite directions. I fired the booster for a fraction of a second, swung Melos Kai around, and finished them off.

The last Gallian drew a heavy, straight blade. If I blew it up at this range, I would be caught in the reactor explosion, so I fired off my verniers and flipped back. Its swing missed Melos Kai’s head by a few meters. I activated the hidden beam blade in my mech’s foot, and sliced it in half cleanly.

“Something’s headed straight at you, lieutenant! One unit, but it’s very fast!” Ensign Browning’s tone was urgent. The enemy has an ace?

A beam went wide. I braked, my shield raised and facing the direction of the shot. An Almazza-type appeared on my radar, a blackness that seemed to distort its surrounding space with its unrivaled speed.

“Just get the objective and get out of there! The rest of the enemy force is closing in!” She turned her head to the side, as if to converse with someone else, and cut off her channel.

The objective was nearby. It fitted in the palm of Melos Kai’s hand. I retrieved it, firing back at the newcomer’s way.

“I’ve secured the cargo.” I hope it was all worth it, I almost added.

“The Aurelius will be moving forward to cover you, Lieutenant. “

My surroundings lighted up as a salvo of beams fired from behind me. I acquired lock and fired all my remaining missiles. Numerous dots blinked out of the radar, but the Almazza was still alive and accelerating fast.

Dead ahead, two thick beams punched through the darkness of space, scattering the rest of my pursuers. The Almazza fired its beam rifle, which barely scorched the Aurelius’s prow. Gun lenses tracked it, and peppered it with a shower of rapid-fire beams.

I switched to my auxiliary camera just to see the enemy Almazza throw its round shield away to take the brunt of the ship’s counterattack. It emerged unscathed from the resulting explosion, retreating quickly out of the Aurelius’s range.

I opened a channel to the Aurelius’s Captain as the cruiser loomed in visual range. “You have my thanks, Captain Dowadge.”

Captain Dowadge’s shadowed, hook-nosed face appeared in my monitor. Strangely enough, his old features were painted with a youthful smile. “You have the Ensign to thank for your salvation, Lieutenant. She convinced me to take a more active stance in securing the objective.”

I nodded, addressing my operator. “Thank you, Ensign.”

Ensign Browning crossed her arms and glowered at me. “Don’t get the wrong idea. I only did it to ensure the mission’s success.”

“Aren’t you opening the hatch, Ensign? I need to secure my cargo and resupply.”

Ensign Browning blinked, caught off-guard by my comment. “O-opening the hatch!”

I heard muffled laughter from the bridge, but I couldn’t understand why.

Why I Write

Sat, 21 Jan 2012 00:00:19 +0800

One of those rare times when I talk about writing in this space.

I was talking to a friend yesterday, and he said that he writes (and plays music, but that’s another matter entirely) in order to communicate his feelings to an audience. It’s a rather beautiful reason.

Unfortunately, that’s not really why I write.

I thought about it at length, and realized that I write so that I could tell lies.

I’ve never had a girlfriend, let alone strange, deviant ones. I’ve never been in space, piloted giant robots, become a [trap] magical girl, and just many other fantastical things. It’s an ever-growing pile of scenarios and characters in my head.

I often, no, always ask myself what it’s like to experience all of these. And my answers are what I’ve been writing here. I make stuff up, and I pour my love and care into making them convincing.

They are all lies, in the sense that they never happened.

They are all lies, but they are all true.