Pain,Pain,Go Away

003

Chapter 3: Scoring Points

I thought that people in situations like these couldn't get any sleep. But after a hot shower, a change of clothes, and lying down in bed, my eyelids quickly got heavy, and I slept like the dead for six hours.

When I woke up, I felt surprisingly not bad. In fact, that oppressiveness I'd felt upon waking up for the past few months was gone.

I sat up to check my phone and found no messages. The girl still didn't need me, I guess. I lied down again and stared at the ceiling.

Why did I feel so good despite having run someone over last night? A total turnaround from yesterday's heavy regrets, my mind was clearer than ever.

Thinking about it while listening to the drips of rainwater from the gutter, I came to a conclusion.

Perhaps I was freed from my fear of falling lower and lower. Amid my miserable existence, I had felt myself rotting away. So I was full of anxiety over how much I'd fall, how bad I'd get.

However, the accident last night dropped me straight to the bottom. Upon falling as low as I could go, there was a kind of extreme comfort in that darkness.

After all, I couldn't go any lower. Compared to the dread of a limitless fall, the pain of hitting the ground was much more concrete and bearable.

There was nothing more I could lose. I had no hopes to betray, so I could have no despair.

So I felt at ease. There's nothing more dependable than resignation.

I went out on the veranda to take a smoke. A few dozen crows were perched on the power lines some distance away, and some flew around the area cawing hoarsely.

By the time I'd reduced about a centimeter of the cigarette to ash, I heard a woman's voice from the neighboring veranda.

"Good evening, mister shut-in."

I looked to my left and saw a girl meekly waving at me. She wore glasses, had a bob cut, and was dressed in nightwear.

She was the girl who lived next door, an art student in college. I didn't remember her name. But not because I didn't care about her or anything. I'm just bad at remembering names, just as it always is with introverts of my sort.

"Good evening, miss shut-in," I replied. "You're up early today." "Give me that," requested the art student. "The thing in your mouth."

"This?", I asked, pointing at the cigarette. "Yeah. That."

I reached out and handed her the partly-smoked cigarette. As always, her veranda was packed with decorative plants, like a miniature forest.

She had a small stepladder laid on top of the left and right edges serving as a flower stand, and a red garden chair was situated in the center. The plants were very carefully tended to and looked vibrant and lively, unlike their owner.

"So you went out yesterday," she observed, taking smoke into her lungs. "Not what I've come to expect from you."

"Aren't I great?", I replied. "Oh yeah... I was just about to call for you. You get the newspaper every day, right?"

"Yeah, but I only ever read the front page. What about it?" "I want to read this morning's paper."

"Hm. Okay then, come over," the art student told me. "I was about to call for you too, for tonight's walk."

I went out into the hall and into her room. This made the second time she'd let me inside. The first time had been a request for some company to drink her sorrows away with, and I tell you, I'd never seen someone living in such a messy place in my life.