It wasn't the loudness of the sound that roused Yuki from his sleep, but rather its dissonance with the setting he had expected to wake up to—
...a newly reinstated bedroom, with a couple of boxes of teenage memorabilia neatly tucked under the bed and an old acoustic guitar hanging on the wall next to a floating shelf—
...old casement windows overlooking a tranquil neighborhood—
...and treated but scarred akamatsu stairs that led to an animated yet organized household.
He wasn't expecting to hear that much crying near his house, which could only mean he was in a different place.
Yuki's body struggled to cast off the sleep inertia. As he pushed against the strain, his hands sank into the earth, the crumbling blades of parched grass tickling his tender palms.
Despite the biting cold, beads of sweat formed on his forehead, probably the result of anxiety brewing in his subconscious. While he felt slightly dizzy, he was determined to stand up.
"Where am I?" he pondered.
Confused, Yuki nervously scanned the surroundings while shaking the damp debris off his scruffy, blue, long-sleeved crew top.
Some of the soil had already seeped into the folds of his straight-leg jeans, leaving stubborn stains that would require a thorough scrub to remove.
His face grew anxious as he failed to recognize the place. He couldn't find any landmarks that might provide clues to his whereabouts.
Everything beyond twenty feet was concealed in fog. There were also no visible pathways or tire tracks to follow. All he could see around him was a limping green space with a few wet patches from a heavy downpour a couple of weeks back.
Unless he fell from the sky, there was no way he could have ended there. Or perhaps someone was trying to erase incriminating evidence.
"Wasn't I at a party?" he mused.
The last thing Yuki could remember was a class reunion he had walked out of. He didn't even have a chance to enter the pub and get hammered. Something seemed to have pissed him off.
"Did those jerks pull a prank on me?" he exclaimed.
Feeling increasingly worried—and irritated—he ventured into the misty field with only his gut feeling as his guide, a decision that could prove ill-advised.
There was no way to predict the dangers ahead: a bear trap, a cliff, or even rapid waters. The last thing he wanted was to get injured in the middle of nowhere with no one around to help him.
Yuki wasn't naïve. He understood the risks of wandering through unfamiliar terrain without some sort of plan. He was, in fact, a chronic worrier.
A childhood trauma involving a failed abduction and a half-hearted stabbing had kept him vigilant throughout his life.
Finding himself in this situation, despite his extreme caution, terrified him, as it meant someone was clever enough to make him lower his guard, and they could do it again.
He tried to think of people who could do this to him. None came to mind. All his friends and acquaintances wouldn't go this far for a laugh.
They all knew what he'd been through. And no one would be foolish enough to think this was good therapy. Even his counselor advised against role-plays and reenactments.
YOU ARE READING
Killing Yuki
Horor...fully exposing his well-sculpted physique. The fine hair near the bulging bicep creates a stark contrast with the smooth, radish-white armpit. The bright light in the room failed to obscure the fine groove dividing his well-defined chest in half...
