Dust blows through a small but neat tavern. The hand is alone.
So, a toast to the well-being of all!
You raise your glass, but there is no response. It doesn't matter, because none of the recipients say hello. It's my fault. You laugh lowly for a moment, then slowly pour the liquor into your glass. The complex flavor hits me first, then sweeps from my front teeth, through my mouth, and down the inside of my cervical spine. A lively heat lingers in the air afterward.
It's like the owner's temper. His drunken right hand didn't make a sound, didn't spill, didn't spill out, but silently kept warming the person in front of him. It was a fire that was hard to extinguish. Normally, the deceased's ashes should be sprinkled on his favorite things, but it would be better if the two became one. I drip the last few drops from my glass onto the unmoving garment, and a scarlet stain creeps across its pristine white surface, mixing with the ashes. I pour the drink back into the empty glass.
A glass to you, who burned so brightly.
I wish I could say goodbye a little more graciously, but I've made a lot of friends today. The friends who laughed at my lame puns as I walked away, the assholes who had fancy titles but were only too happy to play games with me, and the idiots who tried to wash their lives away in a drink when they couldn't do anything worthwhile anymore. Those who leave for the hotlands with all their belongings are destined to be ground up by a madman. I wish I could have gone a little faster, a little easier.
A drink to all my other friends who believed in me.
May your departure be a little sooner, a little easier... Pop.... You want a drink? Huh? It's delicious. The bitter taste of life! I know. That's why I only wanted to give you sweet, soft things. No, it's not just about taste. It's more complicated. Smell it, feel it on your skin. We don't have skin, but it's okay to be a little confused. I should've given you a few sips, whether you swallowed it or spit it out. ...Is that what humans do? Heh, I'm not talking about alcohol. You don't have a body anymore. It would've hurt less than being killed by a human. I know humans. Some people don't make the effort. And neither do you. Ah. I hadn't thought of that. Thanks, Pop. I'll try. Just drink this.
One drink to my awesome brother who died with only one brother.
I have to go, but my hip is heavy. Bitter liquor, bitter sound, I'm happy. I need to get EXP. I need to increase LOVE. I need to kill people. I need to kill people because they come back to life. I need to kill them again, like I killed you. Then the timeline flips again, and I have to kill again from the beginning. He killed you. Yeah, he did. He killed me first. I'm not going to end the world. If I keep killing and killing, there will come a day when humans will give up and go back. Really? I can't give up. It's been unfair since the beginning of time, but I've earned it with blood, sweat, and dust. Tears? No use. Heh, bones... No! Not like that. He's killing it. Yeah, he is. He's the first to... Pop? Where'd you go?
One for me, for having to do this again.
It's not enough to keep me in shape. It's like a drunk judge who can't put the glass down. I don't recognize the aroma anymore, my head must be spinning, and all I can do is swallow more of the bitter, astringent, fishy stuff. Until the bottle is empty and my insides beg for it.
One last drink, to a man who is no longer dead, but is about to die.
Dust kicks up in the small but neat tavern. The hand was always alone.
Hand²
【Noun】
① A person who visits from another place.
② A person who stops by while passing by.
A person who visits an inn, restaurant, or other open house. A guest.
hand³
【Noun】
A ghost that is said to disturb people by traveling from place to place along the days.
