Origami Girl

Chapter 25: Never Let Me Go

Origami Girl

Chapter 25: Never Let Me Go

"To the ears of one possessed by the God of Death, reason and objections seem like so many idle complaints."

- Chikamatsu Monzaemon, The Love Suicides at Amijima

The faint thunder rumbled in the far west. The grey clouds unfurled in the heavens, like a succession of waves crashing against the shore. A light drizzle fell, dotting the pavement with dark circles. The soft whispering of the wind felt like the voices of the dead.

"I'm really, really sorry," I whimpered, breaking the silence. "I did all that I could, I really did."

I looked at the girl standing before me, umbrella in hand. Her face was pale, accented with the cerise of her lips. The dull black dress she wore did nothing to diminish her elegance. I tried to reach out to shelter her with the umbrella, but it only served to send her a few steps backwards. Was I too straightforward with the way I held out the umbrella? Even at that moment, I could never stop comparing myself to her. Even at a time like that, filled with deep sorrow, I still had the guts to compare myself to her. I was only thinking of myself.

The girl kept silent, before she finally found her voice. For a moment, I thought, perhaps the weeping of the skies and the lamentations of the wind drowned out my words. But that was not the case.

"All you ever did," the girl said, the look in her eyes cold and devoid of any warmth. "Was think of yourself."

With that, the girl turned around, and walked back inside the building. She had ran out earlier, and I myself had chased after her, hoping that I could somehow help her, since I could understand how she felt, but those words that she had just let escape from her lips, they truly pierced deep into my already broken heart.

I paced around the lobby of the building, restless. The wait felt like eternity. The girl was in an armchair holding her purse on her lap. The few relatives who were there kept to themselves, nobody saying anything save for the occasional discussion of an official matter. Of course, how could anyone even speak of anything trivial at an occasion like that?

It was not long before we were all called into a room by the mother herself. We all understood what it meant and I filed silently through the door just like the rest of them. There were a few people who chose to continue to wait outside, but I had to go in. I couldn't just wait there.

The mother was decked in a black kimono, the colour of the fabric dark with sorrow, just like the colour of the depths of the abyss, where no light ever reached. Her hair fell to her shoulders, her lips faintly stained red. She looked exhausted, but she could still retain her composure. I myself was deeply saddened, devastated, but I could never understand what that poor woman had to go through.

Those of us who were present in that room were all presented with a pair of large chopsticks. I recognised a few of the faces. The sister, the uncle and the aunt, they all silently accepted the chopsticks with both hands and silently waited until all of us had our pairs. The man in the black suit, standing by where the head once was, I assumed, was none other than the father himself.

A surge of sorrow overwhelmed me as I looked at what was before us all. The large, elongated tray where a coffin once lay, where a person once lay, was now nothing but a pile of ashes and pieces of bone. The tears were filling my eyes, but I quickly wiped them away, biting my tongue to toughen my resolve. There was no excuse to let my tears flow. No matter how hurt I was, no matter how sorrowful I was, I must never let my tears flow so freely. Not at that moment, not in front of him. Not in front of his mother who had sacrificed so much for his sake. Not in front of his sister who had tried so hard to atone for her guilt. Not in front of the boy who had cherished me so much, the boy who was no longer with me in this world.