DARK RED ‣ d. osamu

O5.

   DAZAI LAID DOWN IN the sleeping bag, seeing that [name] had already returned to her bed, shoving a bookmark into the short pink novel she had been reading earlier. in the blink of an eye, the two of them were plunged into darkness by the girl pressing a button on a remote. a nightlight slowly materialized, the soft glow emitting from the carved moon shape.

   the brunette was silent, still alert and awake, listening for a sign of her parents stirring for possibly a midnight snack or to break into the girl's room. the night was emitted with her soft snoozing. women slept so soundly they may be dead; they may even live in order to sleep. the female species of mankind were always difficult. they led him on, only to trick him and have him fall into their endless traps of "love" and the slightest hope that he might one day unseparate his body from his soul and sew them up again, become a human being again. many times in the mafia he had used his body for certain missions, but he never felt comfortable at the thought.

   her parents continued to sleep. no sound was heard. it was as if she was dead; her mind was, her bones and muscles were resting, and her breathing was circulated with just a small amount of oxygen to keep her alive.

   dazai couldn't sleep. he was wondering, the thought hitting his mind, what would happen if he were to pull the gun out from under his coat and fire it into her as he did during the school shooting. the nightlight was burning purple and a hint of ultramarine. the carving was sleek and smooth as if the maker perfected every little detail with the block of limestone that cost thousands of lives in a dangerous mine. it seemed like the little lamp on the table could see right through his bloodshed life, where he fought tooth and nail to meet death's scythe up close, like the villain in a shakespearean play.

   he decided against it, whisking away the intruding thoughts. he sat there for a while before making up his mind and crept downstairs to explore the house, only to find her standing in the kitchen with a cup of ginger tea. her fingers grasped the handle and tightened when she noticed dazai standing five feet away. "what are you doing up so late?"

   "i could ask the same for you." he eyed her face—smooth, porcelain-looking features painted in [skin color] and a soul. she did not wear her emotions on her sleeve, her face, her leg, it was simply not there. inside the deep pits of [eye color], he noticed a hellhole raging deep inside, the ninth level of inferno, the treacherous lake of ice. behind her personality and the body that separated from the thought and soul, she hid layers of oceans from the glorified shore to the submerged depths of the monster eating her internal organs and barriers. it appeared when her humanity rotted away at last, the inner parts of her heartstrings urging her to tug on the glass and smash it onto the floor in blasphemy. arahabaki could purge her thoughts; when she finally reached her limit she would unleash the raging behemoth inside her, and yet, she'd look more human than ever. emotions were a strong word, and it was obvious they overtook her easily.

   "insomnia. i went to make tea," she replied, gesturing to the kettle on the stove, cooling down from the stove.

"me too. me too."

   the next hour was occupied by silence, in a way comforting, as the two of them stared at the stars in the sky. the wind was blowing, the night was cold, and they sat in the two lawn chairs in the backyard of her house without a jacket, hoodie, or sweater. the celestial bodies in the sky would one day explode, because everything came to an end, like humans and animals and all kind. they basked in the dullness of the ink that was splashed together as if the artist was in a rush, dotting the little glowing lights with a jellyroll pen or more. if you squinted, you could see a nebula, faintly shining, difficult to notice through the naked eye. there was a gash in the silence.

   "i can see the andromeda galaxy. it's a clear night," [name] said, intruding dazai's thoughts. "it's scary, this universe. every day it's now or later that you get sucked into the black hole of death, so you might as well do it now before it's at a time you regret."

   "[name]," said dazai, calling her for the very first time. "what are you scared of? death?"

   "no, not death. death isn't the end, it's just the final part in the cycle of life. i'm scared of the dark. because you don't know what's in there. and i'm scared of you, too. not because of your deeds, but because you aspire to be human, and yet you put no work into it, like those mythological creatures in stories. that's what scares me. when a species puts no work into their life, then there's no shadow to be cast, no legacy. when they die, they leave nothing behind, because they didn't put in the effort to make themselves remembered."

   he hesitated. "so that scares you?" it was followed by her slow, agonizing nod.

he sighed. "i'm going back to sleep. and you wanna know something?"

"what?"

   "it scares me too. i tried to put in the effort, but it got rejected like a love confession, so here i am, working towards the end like a slave of death."

   "i know how that feels," she replied, once they stepped into her room and dove for their haven.

   "i know," she said, shakily, her facade bursting into fragments as the cold suddenly hit her.

   "you do, don't you?" his voice was also shaky, hesitant, even, as if he wanted to put up the castle walls again and become a knight to protect the kingdom of his mind.