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In the eerie stillness of the train platform at 3:30 AM, my sense of purpose seemed to evaporate, fleeing on the departing train, leaving behind a vacuum of despair. The onlookers, their faces etched with disdain, feigned indifference as they avoided meeting my desolate gaze.
A disheveled stranger broke the oppressive silence, his words cutting through the night's heavy air–
“What’s up? Does life even matter to you anymore?" He paused; his voice weighed down by the somber truth.
With those chilling words lingering in the night, it was no wonder that my temptation to surrender to the abyss of the train tracks became irresistible. I jumped to the railways.
25 October 20XX 5:30 AM, Kanazawa Seaside Line. Is the day I died.
-
A page from the weathered diary lay open in the hands of a woman, a familiar face from my past. She stood taller than most mothers, yet her expression was one of utter repulsion, her eyes scanning the pages in disbelief.
"Generalizing is good. But Dad's tolerance towards fetishism, bad. So bad."
"Something's going to break and be broken forever. But I'm not sure what."
"Dad, you ..."
"The reason for that, is it, because you have all that?"
"There's so many things I don't know."
- suwa, 2 February 20XX
Her eyes darted across the page as she continued, "I sense something shattering, irreparably so, but I'm at a loss as to what exactly."
"Dad, I'm going to break."
"It hurts. It hurts so much. But is it because Dad loves me?"
"He hit my head because he loves me. Does mom love me too?"
"I'm curious."
"But then, I'll seriously break. Fallen apart."
- suwa, 3 February 20XX
Curiosity gnawed at her. "I can't help but wonder," she said quietly, "but if I delve too deep, I'm afraid I'll fall apart completely."
Though not explicitly voiced, I knew these were my words. The woman placed the diary on the table, her anger palpable, and turned to cast a critical eye upon the boy who stood there, a mere 6-year-old, far too young to have penned such emotionally charged entries.
"What the hell are you thinking?" She screamed, her voice laced with frustration and anger.
As my memory unfurled, I recalled her relentless blows, one after the other, and Dad's silent indifference. Then, they left me in solitude, likely heading out to meet their friends once more.
The cycle repeated itself, each time nearly drowning me in the depths of my own haunting flashbacks. Despite the agony, I found myself longing for that elusive escape—'Death.'
Yet again, I surrendered to the intoxication of my own despair. And now, I resolved to lock away those feelings deep inside, concealing them from the world.
Recalling those moments was a painful journey down memory lane.
-
"Hey, who's that new boy, Suwa? Quite a disgusting name, don't you think?" the words of the slicked-back, black-haired student and his accomplice echoed through the hallway.
"Suwa Kakeru, right? I heard his mom's a... well, a popular lady who's had her share of encounters," one of them jeered, smirking knowingly.
"Really? A hooker? Wasn't he born from an 'accident,' because one of the guys forgot to pull out? Poor thing." Laughter rang in the air as they circled around me.
"Is it true, Kakeru?" I shook my head, knowing that the stories were distorted. My mother, yes, she’s a hooker, and even though she did eventually marry, both she and my father had cheated on each other. The truth was … something.
"You're lying, right? Come on!" One of them yanked my arm, and I tumbled to my knees, completely unprepared. Their laughter was venomous as they looked down on me. A sharp kick to my stomach sent shockwaves of pain through my body. I whimpered, vulnerable and hurt.
The rest of the group rifled through my schoolbag, extracting a tattered black notebook. My diary. As I watched that black book hover in the air, its pages exposed, I had already mentally surrendered to whatever might come. If this was the day I met my death, I was prepared for it.
-
“I want to die. It hurts so bad, so let me disappear. I want to die. I really, really want to die. I meant it.”
Over the years, I've lost count of how many times I've uttered those words. I began saying them around 17 years ago when I was still just a child. Looking back, my memories are a haze, a blur of pain and suffering, while the happier moments, if any, remain elusive.
My days were spent sequestered in the confines of my room, tethered to the glow of a computer screen. Goals and dreams seemed like distant echoes, for what purpose did they serve when life itself felt like a slow descent toward the inevitable end? The only comfort I found was in a perpetual state of slumber, as if I existed merely to pass the time until my eventual demise.
Human interaction had become an exhausting ordeal. It was as if my very being rebelled against the idea of socializing. Whenever I attempted to engage with others, my body would seize, immobilized by an overwhelming paralysis of the spirit.
And so, I continually posed a haunting question to myself, a riddle with no solution: "Do I truly desire to live, or have I already resigned myself to the notion of death?" It seemed that an answer to that profound inquiry would forever elude me.
-
For 23 years, an unsettling feeling had clung to me like a relentless shadow, an ever-present specter of torment. It was a sensation that permeated my being, infiltrating my mind, body, and soul, and it was far from what I had ever imagined.
All the well-intentioned words of motivation that people had bestowed upon me felt hollow, devoid of meaning. I had convinced myself that there was no salvation left, no lifeline to grasp. When the moment arrived, my body and my heart seemed to have lost their purpose, slowly falling into disarray. In silence, I screamed within myself, my anguish echoing without sound.
It seemed that I had nothing left. Not even the voice to cry out. The simple act of eating had become a grim chore, a task I yearned to purge from my existence. I longed to expel every morsel I had consumed, whether yesterday, today, or in the days to come. And when I did, it dissolved into the void, leaving only the lingering scent of gastric acid in its wake. It was the unsettling proof that I still existed, albeit in a state of internal decay, a slow and brutal erosion of the self.
Oh, my suicidal way of thinking.
-
“Am I actually alive? Or dead? Am I actually a wandering spirit stuck in a mortal’s embodiment?”
“The normalcy you speak of,
is the beginning of my death.
The good deeds you do,
is the beginning of my death.
The affection you suck up,
is the beginning of my death.
The prostitution you loved,
is the beginning of my death.”
As I reflected on these sentiments, a nagging familiarity washed over me, as if I had heard them expressed in the verses of a melancholic song. Thoughts of death, hopes shattered, vulnerabilities exposed, and the elusive concept of a "future" that many mortals lauded, all seemed to intertwine. I pondered if these were the themes that humanity romanticized, or if they were merely the delusions of self-importance.
-
As I penned these words, I found myself perched on a swing, a humble but significant piece of my past. This spot held a special place in my memories, serving as a sanctuary during the times when "home" was anything but unwelcoming. Here, I could lose myself in play until the shroud of night descended, and it was almost as if I could carve out my own grave. Returning to this particular haunt at the same time invoked waves of nostalgia, though an unsettling undercurrent nagged at me.
The swing itself remained largely unchanged, its once-blue paint now worn and faded, metal parts showing signs of wear and tear, and the playground's terrain blanketed in a layer of gritty sand. In the center, the gnarled apple tree still stood tall, with a bird feeder swaying from one of its weathered branches. All remained as I remembered it, with the exception being the people.
The young souls who had once cherished this place, like me, had since grown into adults, their lives and priorities shifting with time. I found myself wondering if anyone else remembered this precise location, or if it had become an obscure memory lost to the currents of life.
Oh well, not my problem anyways. I couldn't help but contemplate how there were likely others out there, like me, who held treasured memories from the past that had slipped away from their consciousness and their souls, as if erased by some capricious hand of fate.
In reality, I had lost everything, just as I had lamented earlier. However, I had reached a point where I no longer held any attachment to these things, for my days were now numbered. There seemed to be little purpose in fretting over inconsequential matters.
-
"Kakeru..." The words hung heavily in the air, laden with sorrow.
"You know," she continued, her voice quivering, "I regret bringing you into this world."
Her admission cut deep, for the speaker was none other than my mother, the woman who had given birth to me.
"You—"
"I understand, Mom," I interjected, my tone tinged with resignation. "I'm now searching for a way to die anyway. I knew you'd say that. But me too, I regretted having you as my mother. I really wish you nothing, but I'd hope you'd die a miserable death. " With those bitter words, I departed from the house at noon, leaving my so-called mother in stunned silence.
Conversations of this nature had become all too common between us. We engaged in dialogues on these sensitive subjects, and judgments of ingratitude would naturally befall me. However, I couldn't help but wonder, wasn't my mother equally ungrateful in her own way?
The presence of parents in my life had, in all honesty, made no discernible difference. In fact, there were times when I pondered whether my existence might have been even slightly better if I were truly alone—free from the influence of these two adults ensnared in the throes of an intense, insular love they called parenthood.
Their presence proved futile in my world. I couldn't recall a single instance when they had spoken a kind or affirming word to me, or even acknowledged me as their own flesh and blood. In their eyes, I often felt invisible, as though my existence went unnoticed, unacknowledged, and unimportant. Well, in return, I had ceased to recognize them as fellow mortals, for they appeared to belong to a different realm entirely.
Honestly, I found myself harboring a resolute belief: I didn't require the company or approval of anyone else.
Because I knew all too well,
Everything. Everyone. Will vanished. Especially me.
-
"I've noticed you're never around when we hang out, Kakeru," remarked Ruki, a classmate of mine. It was one of those moments on the rooftop when I sought refuge from the world, another day another stressing out.
"Because it's all rather pointless," I replied, meeting Ruki's questioning gaze. He'd been a constant presence in my life for as long as I could remember, his face now bearing a familiar, curious expression. "What do you mean?" I paused, letting out a heavy sigh.
"My days are numbered, Ruki. I've resigned myself to the fact that creating so-called 'happy memories' isn't within my grasp. Instead, each passing day merely extends the torture."
"Torture? Are you talking about bullying?" Ruki inquired.
"It's your interpretation," I replied cryptically.
Ruki scoffed, disbelief coloring his tone. "You can't be serious. I've known those guys for ages. They're good people, and I know the struggles they each face."
"For me, it’s not."
"Whatever. It's pointless talking to you."
"Hmm? Wait, Kakeru—"
"Do not address me by that name."
"Just breathing like this, is a torture for me. Both the body and the mind. It's hurting me, every day. And whether I still can bear such pain or not, only time can answer. Myself? Waiting for that thing you all scared. Death."
See? Ever since I stepped into middle school, engaging in conversations with other human beings had proved utterly futile. It felt like an exercise in futility, a repetition of meaningless exchanges that only served to exacerbate my pain.
Seriously, thanks to them. I’d scream out, if I could.
-
"Hey, Suwa. Do you hold your liquor well?" Ruki, the persistent troublemaker, found me once more, this time at our senior high school reunion party—an event I'd have never attended had Ruki not incessantly pestered me.
"Thanks for the redundant question, Ruki," I replied, my bratty demeanor unchanged, yet an undercurrent of discomfort lingered. Ruki's badgering had an uncanny persistence, a trait I feared might persist even beyond my own demise. "And cease this pestering."
Ruki's demeanor remained cheerful, though it grated on my nerves. "Come on, it won't hurt to partake in a drink or two, right? Take Kiryu, for instance. He's been throwing himself into this stuff all night!"
"Go away, Ruki, or I'll cut your entire intestines," I warned, glaring at him with a gaze filled with darkness and despair. This time, the words that escaped my lips held an uncharacteristic sincerity.
Ruki, perhaps sensing the weight of my words, excused himself and joined another group of friends, leaving me alone on the balcony. I gazed out into the night, contemplating my life, then pondered to myself, "How high is this building? I have so many things I could do, like … jump."
-
I will never forgive Ruki. Even if he begs me, I will never, ever, forgive him. He was one of the individuals responsible for making my life a living torment, a role he shared with my mother, of course. Our paths first crossed during seventh grade, marking the onset of my interminable ordeal.
"Heyya! I'm Ruki! You?" he greeted me on our very first day at school.
"Suwa. Suwa Kakeru," I replied curtly, noting the surprise that flickered across his face. I sensed immediately that he would be an unrelenting nuisance in my life, particularly when his initial presence radiated an unwelcome brightness.
My instincts had proven correct. Ruki became one of the key figures in my torment, forming part of a gang that engaged in relentless bullying. Throughout all three years of middle school, each day became a fresh descent into a hellish existence, with no respite from the physical and mental anguish they inflicted upon me. To them, it seemed like a thrilling game. But for me, it was a ceaseless nightmare.
Now, you may think ... Why do I suddenly talk about this one particular person? Well, I don't really know either. He pops out in my mind when I write this, so here we are…
-
“In fact, I am always scared. Not sure what I am scared of. But there’s just one thing I feared the most,”
“I’m scared that I will completely lose my mind one day. When I try my best not to. I’m scared that eventually, it'll come true.”
“Help me.”
Now ... I really don't know what to write anymore. My life is ending. Ending in the endless depths of despair. A few more days ... Just a few more days. But can I really bear it? Can I really keep my mind stable? Or will I lose it completely? I need answers ... whatever it is.
Answers ... Answers ...
It's like, I'm on the verge of life and death. A few more steps and surely, I met God.
The feeling is getting worse day by day.
This all happens, when that shitty woman, my mother. Took a peek at me at my condo. My leisure place-my room. With her familiar expression, familiar posture, and familiar style of clothing is enough to make myself puke. Her smile is something I won't forget.
Now, I find myself at a loss, unsure of what more to put to paper. My life is slipping away, swallowed by the boundless depths of despair. Just a handful of days remain... a few more days. But can I endure it? Can I maintain my sanity, or am I on the brink of losing my mind entirely? I long for answers, whatever they may be.
Answers... Answers...
It feels as though I teeter on the precipice between life and death. With every passing moment, that boundary draws nearer, and soon, I will meet my reckoning. The sensation grows more agonizing by the day.
It all began when that wretched woman, my mother, intruded upon my solitude, entering my sanctuary – my room. Her presence, with its familiar expression, posture, and attire, was enough to make my stomach churn. I couldn't forget her smile.
"Kakeru... how are you feeling? Hm? Did I raise you well?" She posed a question so absurd that it felt like a mockery of my existence. I couldn't recall her ever raising me, let alone having a genuine heart-to-heart conversation. We sat together, a glass of unsweetened barley tea between us, a meager gesture that slightly diminished my anger. Her question, however, remained profoundly foolish, and I responded accordingly.
"I'll leave that to your interpretation. Best of luck." I couldn't help but wish she would leave.
"Come on~ don't be like that. I'm still your mother, you know."
"I'd rather be an orphan."
"Still with the spicy tongue, huh? I can't believe how you manage to live this long..."
"Why are you here?" I asked her with a directness that carried the unspoken plea for her immediate departure, a farewell to our last encounter. Secretly, I harbored a hope that, once outside, fate might intervene – perhaps a passing car, sparing me from any further confrontation.
"Just to visit my dear son," she replied with a tone that hinted at her expectation of a warmer welcome. "Your father has taken an interest in someone else... what a disgrace."
"Another woman? Well, I can't say I'm surprised. Isn't that favorable? Especially for someone with your... inclinations," I retorted, the bitterness seeping into my words.
"Watch your words!"
"I have no intention to. Furthermore, I'm not your son anymore."
"You...! Hah... Still the same as always, I see. Well, it seems there's no point in continuing this conversation. I'll be taking my leave now." Her departure echoed with a mocking sing-song farewell, leaving me to contemplate the remnants of our strained exchange.
We bid farewell, with our bitterness both on the words and face. Something that a mother and a son shouldn’t actually do.
-
Day after day unfolded beneath the weight of an intensifying despair, a relentless force that seemed to seep into every crevice of my being. Now, my sole occupation was counting the dwindling days before I would succumb to the looming darkness, seeking to fill the time more "efficiently" before my inevitable plunge into complete despair. In this solitary pursuit, I found solace in documenting what might be perceived as "silly" acts and words within the confines of this book—the only companion that held any semblance of value.
"My days are numbered, a finite count I can tally with my fingers, much like how I used to solve math problems during the tumultuous moments of my parents' arguments. Ah, the echoes of my childhood."
"Neither my mother nor my father cross paths with me anymore. I doubt my father even recognizes the face of his pitiful son. Those mothers who were once brought back to our home, I wonder if they recall me. No—forget remembering, do they even persist in existence, burdened by their atoned sins?"
"Reflecting on that old swing provokes a sense of curiosity. Once an important source of joy, now reduced to a useless piece of metal—how does it feel, blue swing of the park? If I may ask—assuming you possess any semblance of sentience?"
"If the day arrives when I am truly gone, meeting my creator and facing punishment for my perceived sins, will anyone take notice? Will someone care, or even remember? A helpless, hopeless, and useless human being like me may not warrant such consideration, right? At least, perhaps someone, be it the police, a neighbor, or a doctor, might lay eyes on my lifeless form. I find myself intrigued by the prospect."
"Should they notify my mother of my demise, what would be her reaction? Fear? Surprise? Shock? Sadness? Or maybe even happiness? The intrigue deepens."
Entries of this nature will find their place within the pages of my notebook. Consider it my final correspondence from a past and present that threatens to unravel into complete despair. Though I am not one to partake in alcoholic beverages, the throbbing ache in my brain persists daily. Even though I've abstained from a drop of liquor since Ruki's ill-fated reunion party six months ago, I, a non-drinker, find my mind tormented each day. I seldom consume anything, existing in a state of quietude and isolation.
-
It was the 25th of October, 20XX, 1:15 AM, at the Kanagawa Seaside Line. The train station was shrouded in the pre-dawn darkness, with only a handful of souls scattered about. A man in a black fedora, a seemingly intoxicated woman in red high heels accompanied by a man who might be her boyfriend, another guy in his twenties who seemed vaguely familiar, and an elderly man engrossed in his flip phone. Across from them stood a solitary figure—a 24-year-old with disheveled black hair, heavy eye bags, and an odd choice of attire—a striped pajama. That figure was me, looking awkward and bashful in the public space.
Suddenly, a familiar voice disrupted the quiet atmosphere. "Hey, sorry to bother you..." Ruki appeared behind me, prompting an unexpected reunion.
"You're... Suwa, right?" he questioned, his recognition evident.
"Ruki?"
"Oh! So, it was you!"
"What are you doing here? And in this state? You shouldn't be here wearing only pajamas... and without shoes! Aren't you cold? Be mindful of yourself, for once!" Ruki pulled me onto a station bench, offering me his coat, but I brushed him off.
"I don't need that. Thanks for the concern, though."
"Huh? Still with the nonsense? What's up? Does life even matter to you anymore?" Ruki's inquiry carried a weighty truth.
"People change, Ruki. Some do, while others don't. What changes is time, but the essence of certain individuals remains constant, even if they don't display it."
"Then, what are you doing here?"
"Thanks for making my life emptier, Ruki. I can't exactly call it miserable. Thanks for your destructive acts back in school. I've experienced more agony because of you. Therefore, thank you for your time, for looking upon me, even if it was harsh. I'm truly grateful for that." I stood up and moved closer to the railway, the sound of an approaching train growing louder. The station lights flickered on as the area became more crowded, signaling the onset of the early morning rush.
"Suwa! Wait! I know!"
"Huh?"
"I knew I was wrong; I realized that a long time ago, even when we last met at the reunion party!"
"So, you regret it all? How are your pals?" The train was nearly upon us, its noise drowning out the surroundings.
"We do! We all do! We're dealing with our punishments. I can't find a job, Tanaka lost his sister, Hayato even lost his leg! We're incredibly sorry!" Ruki bowed deeply, seeking forgiveness.
The morning breeze swept through the station, tousling my hair. I looked at Ruki with my vacant and hopeless eyes, and the onlookers observed our exchange. The train was moments away, the sound reaching its crescendo.
"So please! Forgive us!"
"Ruki..."
"I can't forgive you."
"But after this, I guess I can."
"Eh?" Ruki looked up at me as I approached the train tracks. In 10 seconds, the train would arrive. I turned around, staring at him. It seemed Ruki was aware of what would happen next.
"Ruki, say thanks from me to your pals. Unlike me, you all can be forgiven, and God will surely forgive you too. I've committed terrible sins that even God and society won't accept me anymore. Thank you, and..."
"Goodbye."
With those words, I allowed myself to fall onto the train tracks. As I descended, the train passed by at high speed due to my miscalculation. The train would continue until the next station—a fortuitous coincidence. Through my messy hair, I could see Ruki's terrified expression. Tears welled up in my eyes as I smiled faintly. "Goodbye." Those were the last two words I uttered before the train collided with my body.