Rebellion of the Soul

Chapter 2: Day by Day

I sat in a strange office. The ringing of the phone was the only sound I could make out through the murmur of people. I looked up to my right and saw my mother. As always, she gave a stock smile in reply. An unknown woman came over to me and took me by the hand. My nose was wrought with unfamiliar smells. My face contorted into a twisted shape as the strange woman gave me the same stock smile as my mother before her. Her reassurance was in vain. I sat down without a second thought in a small side room, and she began talking at the same moment. I didn't understand a word she was saying, it was as if she were speaking in an alien language. 'Selective serotonin re-uptake inhibitor'. 'Fluoxetine'. 'Nefazodone'. 'Cognitive behavioural therapy'. I was all too scared to take in a single word. I struggled to distract myself with my nails, my eyes sucking them in, as an attempt to make them my only point of focus. Before long, my hands started to shake...

My hands started to shiver. It was November after all, the cold weather was already moving in. I wrapped a woven scarf around my neck and pulled the ends tight and blew on my hands to warm them. I leant on the bannister of the staircase and stared thoughtlessly at the 'Floor 10' sign that hung beside the outdoor elevator. The weather in Edogawa was certainly nothing interesting. Warm in the summer, cold in the winter. The only factor that seemed to stay constant was the humidity.

I tilted my head down to my watch. 9:44 AM. This morning's proceedings had settled down, till only a faint echo could be heard if you listened closely enough. To an outsider, it would be as if nothing had ever occurred this morning. Simply a regular, Edogawa morning...

I shook my head to reawaken myself, helped by the pinging of the elevator. I scuttled into the short-lived warmth, watching my misty breath percolate in the air. The remainder of untied hair on my forehead formed a lopsided and unorderly fringe, something I wasn't bothered to change. The lift shuddered after it passed each floor, sending shattered fragments of earlier this morning through my memory. There were more questions than answers, and I was never the type to pursue questions. At this stage, I was willing to take life for how it presented itself to me.

Fortunately, my apartment building was close to the Sobu Main Line, or more importantly, Koiwa Station. This meant I could minimalise the eerie loneliness that came from walking the streets alone. Of course, standing in a crowded train filled with faceless people, whose eyes would drift at the faintest roll of a coin, was no less lonely. Loneliness came from the state of your mind, rather than how many people surrounded you.

The lift drew to a slow stop at the ground floor, washing away my phased-out thoughts. The noise it made was reminiscent of a wheezing steam engine. I slid my hands carefully into my pockets and took a light step out of the elevator, readjusting to the chill. I glanced down to my watch once again, nestled in my pocket. 9:47 AM. There was no way the lift was that fast. I reluctantly started to stroll when a soft voice reached my ears.

"It was around here... the place I used to live..."

My foot barely touched the ground and the gentle wind caught my breath. I had stopped, but the voice didn't continue. So I moved again.

"You saw it this morning, didn't you"

There was no inflexion in her tone. Her voice didn't irritate me in the slightest. The chill changed from the feeling of treading on a thumbtack to the atmosphere of a lone piano player. I turned my head slightly.

From where I was standing, the wind was consuming her too. Yet she was comfortable, a stray leaf standing by the side of the road. Even if she gave no eye contact, you could tell her words were meant for me. There was no-one else to hear them. I gave a slight hum in agreement, too captured in her aura. She was expecting more of me. I ignored her question and retraced her words.

My voice crept out of a cave of long silence. To anyone else, it would have sounded like a squeak.

"A house? An apartment?"

She slowly turned her head, her jet black hair accentuated with streaks of midnight purple, almost untraceable to the naked eye. Her lips barely moved.

"We already sold it, we had no expectations that it would stay. And yet, it's quite saddening..."

I nodded to her, unable to think clearly.

"I know you... Miss Kakushitsu... your band was quite loud. We could hear you every Friday evening"

My mood immediately switched. It felt like a breach of my privacy. I turned my head back, facing away from her, and started to stride with purpose. She had to bring up the worst of memories, at a time like this.

"My name is Musetsu Amami...

She went on to dictate her old address, the names of her parents, their occupations, where they live currently. But not a word about herself. She radiated the spirit of a lost child. Maybe she was a lost child, in one way or another. I forced myself to stop thinking about her. She was just another wanderer, with no place in the world.

Someone much too similar to myself.

~~~

I nudged the door to the noodle restaurant open with my elbow and briskly floated inside. The air of regret and lost potential filled my lungs. This was my kind of food. I trod lightly to the nearest table, nodding to the chef visible from behind the counter. A wisp of remembrance came by as I placed myself on the mat.

It was a year ago, in this very same restaurant. I sat at this very table, actually. I was young, fresh, I had my goals set out. It was approaching Culture Day, so we all wanted to pitch in on themes. Along the cramped table, thousands of ideas were playing out as we brainstormed over a hot bowl of miso ramen. Honestly, I was surprised that the manager didn't kick us out. I could see them all beside me, while we jostled our words about the walls of the shanty restaurant. Sakurai, Taki, Ritsuko... These names bounced around in my head, even if I knew that they were all meaningless to me now. Damn that girl for bringing them into my mind again.

The waitress elegantly deposited the bowl of noodle soup, giving a serviceful smile. I picked up the chopsticks, shoving the soggy strands into my mouth, hoping that the smell of the onions would clear my mind. Come to think of it, why did I choose today of all days to leave the house for a meal? In this day and age, food was but a click away.

I fought with my logic for a few minutes, still unconsciously eating my soup, but not stopping to enjoy the flavour. Not even the echoed thundering of the occasional train broke my separation from reality. Suddenly, my phone buzzed from my pocket. I placed down my bowl and returned to reality for a moment, not having got a text in quite a while.

The text was from an unknown sender. It read:

"Time is wasted on someone who can't be helped".