Walking In Your Fleeting World || Dazai Osamu

Chapter-0: As I walk in this fleeting world

"Where am I?" 

The question escapes my lips, breaking the stillness and bouncing off the towering dark concrete walls beside me. Swallowing to ease the dryness in my throat, I gaze upward, my hazy vision gradually adjusting to the light as I take in the clear sky above. It's daytime, it must be. I should be in bed, shouldn't I?

As I try to piece together what happened, my palms press against the ground beneath me, feeling the damp soil and grass instead of the softness of a bedsheet. Clenching my fists, I grip a handful of dirt and bring it up to eye level. It slips through my fingers, scattering across my chest—yet no memories surface.

Right!

I spring to my ass, tossing the dirt as I frantically inspect my left wrist. My right hand clamps over it, as if trying to staunch the blood flow. But there's nothing. I release my grip, examining my wrist closely. Aside from dirt and dry leaves sticking to it, there's nothing. No injury, no pain—just warmth.

Huh?

I flex my fingers, testing their functionality, and rub my wrist with my other hand. It feels normal. I pinch myself, feeling the sting. This is no dream.

That must mean-?

No. That can't be. I pinched myself that time too, it hurt. I punched my chest, it hurt. I ran to the kitchen, bumping into the bookshelf on the way, it hurt. I picked up the knife, the handle was cold and thin.

Everything hurt. Every single thing hurt. That was real too.

An urge to throw up overtakes me, I clamp my lips shut, groping for the walls to steady myself. A throbbing ache emerges in my head, intensifying with each moment; tears streaming down my eyes.

Why why why? Why did she do that? Why did she have to do that? It was mine! She knows it was mine! I wrote that! I came up with the idea! I stayed up and worked on it for hours! Every single word, every single sentence — I wrote them! It's mine! Why did she take it?

But if she did take it...

I draw in a deep breath, looking at my left wrist again.

If she did take it, and everything that happened in my living room was real...

I trace my index over the wrist vein.

Then right here, there should be a deep cut.

But there's nothing. Why is that?

I look at my hands, spreading my fingers in front of my naked gaze. No plastic-framed glasses are sitting atop my nose, yet somehow, my gaze is all clear. No floaters going up and down. After all that time staring at a screen and avoiding the sunlight like a vampire, I had fucked up my eyes years ago. But everything feels so clear; like I'm sitting in the eye doctor's chamber trying out new lenses after a long time.

My nausea and head throb slowly fade away, my mind getting clearer each second. Instead of pain, a brand new feeling emerges inside my mind.

Curiosity. I have to find out what happened to me.

I stand up, my eyes scanning the surroundings. I'm in a dark alley with bright sunlight coming from in front. A wall is blocking the path behind me, a dead end. I can only move forward.

Instead of stepping into the same damp soil and grass I was lying on, my feet step into something rather soft. I look down, an unfamiliar pair of shoes is protecting my skin from the roughness of Mother Earth; white and delicate, belted. It's my size too. What's more weird, my feet seem rather small.