Life from the perspective of ghosts.

Part 2 - The first half of the A side

Chapter 3 - A table and some money

Dressed up fully for school and feeling somewhat more alert and comfortable, Katsumi began to slowly descend the stairs of the small house. The stairs creaked ever so slightly as his foot, clad in a black cotton sock, the likes of which you can buy from the cheapest shops possible. They were so cheap in fact that one could feel the parts in which the stitching of different fabrics met to the outside part of one's big toe. They were somewhat uncomfortable yet had a small feeling of safety and reassurance, as these had been ones worn previously and freshly washed. They struggled to make friction with the pale wooden stairs as he slowly walked down, step by step, a single stair at a time. The small rustling of the cushioned fabric combined with the small squeaks now and then were somewhat soothing in the otherwise silent hall.

Upon reaching the eventual bottom of the straight staircase, the steps abruptly ending and opening onto a small passageway Katsumi's pace quickened. He didn't have to worry about the inherent dangers of a lack of friction when walking on an almost even plain so he allowed his feet to slide across the floor. Creating a satisfying whooshing sounds as his socks quickly crossed over the small casms between each floorboard. In doing this he uplifted some of the dust off the floor and sent it swirling in a small spiral around his legs, eventually causing him to brush the tip of his nose with the edge of his fingers in order to stop him sneezing.

As soon as he started this childish act of sliding across the floorboards he abruptly stopped. Of course his house wasn;t big enough to allow for the freedom of careless horseplay when moving from one room to the other and what seemed to be described as a great journey was only in reality around four slides, equating to roughly three metres. Stopping abruptly, Katsumi placed both of his hands beside the door that opposed him. This was slightly open, something that he was sure his mother had done earlier on her way to work however he still grasped the door to slide it slowly open. This was an act that could have been achieved by a little pressure being added to the front side of the large wooden panel that stood a jar open before him. However our protagonists had decided to be careful, as to not cause any unexpected consequences of not being able to stop the protruding door.

Upon stepping through the door frame, encased in a dark brown wood that was splintering slightly at the place where the door itself would hit it Katsumi decided to peer inside. What he saw was remarkably unshocking to him. After all this was something he saw daily in his monotonous routine of quote on quote 'future prediction'. Inside the room stood a large kitchen space, large in the sense that it was the biggest room in the house but in reality it was strikingly normal and mundane. Besides the countless kitchen utensils stood top a plastic work bench, the type of which is waterproof was a small round table. It was made of again a light plastic material which was extremely easy to clean with a cloth and had a small glow, created by the hue of the morning sun peeking through a small square window to the left side of the door. Around the table sat four chairs. Three seemed to be immaculately placed. Standing in perfect unison between the four legs that the circular table had. The other one however not so much so.

In it sat Hana, dressed immaculately even though there was no chance in her going out that day. Of course she would never go out unless it was a matter of life and death. Something that Katsumi knew so deeply. Her eyes were a deep red. They perfectly reflected the surroundings in front of her so much so that they could easily be confused for a mirror. Her beauty, even in the early hours of the morning when many people were still asleep was astonishing. As if she always looked like a perfectly carved statue of recently finished painting.

Her crumpled white shirt made a soft sound as it flowed across the sofa. Her arms delicately closed as she leaned ever so gently across the table. Revealing the small bumps created by the curvature of her spine. They were shaped in such a way that Katsumi had the urge to rub his fingers along them and feel the rising and falling of his hand in turn with her body. It was a weird kink that he would never have thought about if she was not in that position. Yet it seemed somewhat appealing, even if she used to be his relative. Her shirt was buttoned around three quarters of the way up showing a beautiful pale skin colour underneath. It, like her figure, was something that could only be written into a shoujo manga. Something that only the ramblings of an overly depictive narrator could conjure up in a moment's notice. These clothes and subsequent feelings of Katsumi had become the norm over the past few years. Of course she didn't really need to get any new clothes, after all where was she going?