The water from the bathroom sink was running for a few seconds before he tested its temperature with his fingers. When it was cold enough, he collected it in his palms and drowned his face in to shock his mind awake from the remaining drowsiness. He quickly let the water escape through his fingers, breathing in quick successions to let the cold out as droplets dripped down his chin. Then, after finally brushing his teeth after two days of unconscious abstinence, he went downstairs to look for food. There was no set routine; he only satisfied his recurring cravings and cleaned himself up whenever he felt too grimy. It was mostly in the mornings that he did this. He would still sometimes dream of things that should've long been forgotten. His dreams always made him forget himself. And he knew he couldn't allow that to happen.
He walked along the hallway of his house andstomped lazily down the stairs. The light from the windows in the kitchenblinded him, and he had to cover his eyes for a bit. Being the shut-in that hewas, his eyes were usually susceptible to sunlight. He grabbed somepepper-flavored chips out of the cupboard and a can of Coke from the fridge.His hand still on the handle, he shut it closed, and several pictures of hisfamily then stared into his eyes. Stapled onto the fridge door by tiny,multi-colored fridge magnets; it was the standard set of things that indicateda family was living here. The photo collection consisted of a generic beachphoto and a picture of Shintaro and his sister in their yukata. His was a dullgrey, and hers was a dark blue with pink flower patterns. And then there weretheir baby photos, one of which portrayed him held up by his father. These wereall pictures from before they went to middle school. Pictures of a better time,sappy as that may sound. It grieved Shintaro slightly to think about how thatmainly applied only to his other family members, not so much to him. He hadmore or less stayed the same until high school. Somehow the pictures remindedhim that he hadn't heard anything upon stepping into the first floor. No gag showson the TV, no mom talking on the phone. It was strange. He checked thecalendar hanging on the fridge. It was Saturday, August 14th. The month gavehim a sense of déjà vu and bad memories. And he'd had that dream, too. It wasnauseating. He forced his mind onto other matters. His family was probably outshopping, anyway.
YOU ARE READING
LOST TIME MEMORY Vol. 1
Подростковая литератураFor two whole years, Shintaro Kisaragi has been shut inside his room. He's been entertained only by an artificial blue girl on his monitor and haunted by the dreams of his past trauma. On August 14th, he finally gathers the courage to step outside...
