The Wild Geese || DAZAI OSAMU/CHUUYA NAKAHARA

[一] THE WILD GEESE

You would expect an eye, enlarged by the scope of a rifle, to peer into the magnified world like a vengeful New Testament God. Their pulse trapped in their thumb as they count the beat, looking for a gap within the steady hum before pulling the trigger. Then, sling it over their shoulder, maybe even pull out a cigarette, light it, and walk away with passersby screaming at the limp blood sack strewn on the ground.

Not you.

You merely sit on the roof, a cigarette hanging by your lips; you lightly chew on it as a habit before almost carelessly pulling the trigger. The threads of reality will simply tug towards your target in your favor.

A blast of crimson fog, made up of blood vapors, clouding the air before splattering across the pavement. The lonesome twitch of a finger before falling limp. Screams and frantic dash undercover, phones lighting up their way to police centers, mothers clinging onto their children, and fathers clinging onto their wives. They scatter like ants.

An eye, staring down at its victim like a vengeful New Testament God, cold and merciless to the point it seemed opaque. Sunlight above flushes out the ice within them when you tilt your head back to crack the kinks in your neck.

A flick of the head to keep the hair away from your eyes. You pull the cigarette out of your mouth and flick it off your finger seeing its sodden tip. It weakly fizzles against the floor. A click of the tongue.

"Done and done." You grimace at the aftertaste. Swinging the sniper rifle over your shoulder, you shove your hands into your pockets. Upon seeing nothing rattled in the cigarette box, you simply toss it over your shoulder. Not your problem anymore.

And as you enter the shadows once more, your eyes half-lid and cold, black floods your once milky sclera; isolating the iris into sinister (eye color) will o' the wisps: a warning signal.

As you enter down back into normal everyday life, you sling your trench coat over your shoulders. With an exhale through the mouth, you feign a look of terror as you run with the current, far, far away from the aftermath of your ability. Fit in with the crowd.

And like that, you simply disappear.

—

A/N as of 2023:

I strongly, strongly, strongly do not recommend this book if you are disturbed by explicit sexual abuse. There is no way around it, there's no hinting towards it, it's out in the open. There will also be mention of gore, contract killing, strong language, substance abuse, and mental illness mentions.

The title of the book is by Mori Ougai, the same person who wrote Vita Sexualis. It will be explained and fleshed out later as the book progresses.