Chapter Text
I think that, deep down, I truly believed that I had created the perfect painting. Each brushstroke was so perfectly layered atop the canvas, each smattering of color reflecting an almost impossible level of detail. If the very human-feeling strain of the working tendons in my hand were absent, I would say there was something inhuman about the creation; something that was beyond my wildest dreams. Was this the piece that I had always sought to produce, my final destination after seemingly endless years of drifting between projects and unfinished thoughts?
…Well, honestly, that all may be a little dramatic, but by this point, I’ve spent so much time pouring through my own emotions and actualizing them towards this piece that I didn’t think there was any other explanation behind what I felt in my chest right now. I stepped back slowly, admiring my work from a slight distance after having scrutinized it from up close. I twirled my brush in my fingers before bringing the blunt end of the handle to my lips. I squinted, and I could feel the subtle creases form once more on my forehead, as if I had total control of each individual neuron firing underneath my skin.
No. The painting wasn’t finished. Actually, how could it be? If I were to be truthful with myself, I had started this project a long, long time ago. So long ago that even thinking I was at the very end was kind of absurd. If you took into account the grand total of time this project had been in my life, I had basically only just gotten started. Right. Silly me. I just got a bit too excited is all.
…But maybe it’s not quite that absurd, is it? Hmm… no, of course, I can finish this painting right now. All I have to do is make that final stroke. I simply have to put the finishing touch on this piece. That last detail that will condense the entire spread of the canvas into a single, fully digestible image. Once I make that brushstroke -and only then- I can call this work complete. I can call this painting mine.
I revisit a bad habit of mine and bite the tip of the brush handle, chewing slightly as the sensations of my body below my neck dissipate almost entirely. The blood coursing through me redirects entirely toward my brain. I need all of it to go there, because at this moment, I am painstakingly searching for the perfect spot to put that last streak of color. Maybe a darker shade of yellow on the side of the dress there? No, I don’t want to mess with the shading, it’s already pretty perfect. Maybe an extra streak of white on the water in the background? But I don’t want to make it too busy back there. No. There has to be somewhere. There has to be a perfect place to put this last stroke. Where? Where is it?
A thick bead of sweat trails down my back. I can’t tell if it’s hot or cold, but the sensation is unsettling. I feel my teeth chatter slightly on the brush handle. I feel the tips of my fingers in my free hand as I grip the hem of my shirt.
Stop.
Don’t panic.
You have time. You can decide at your own pace how to finish this one.
Take a deep breath and focus on what’s in front of you. Block out the creeping edges of darkness that seem to be filling the corners of the room. It is just myself, and the painting, and all the time in the world. You’ve waited for this moment, so instead of rushing, cherish it.
…I can cherish it, can’t I? The darkness is growing, so much so that I’m barely able to focus on the painting anymore. My consciousness is flashing between the heightened sensations of my body and the blanket of shadow slowly enveloping my surroundings.
Wait, what’s going on?
I just thought I had more time than this.
Do I not?
Wait.
Please.
It’s fine. I can just put some random dribble of color on it, okay? Is that okay?
I only take a step towards the painting when I first notice it. Its edges, as if in tandem with the darkening room, begin to distort into mottled shades of random color.
Hold on.
No no no no no, please stop!
That’s not what I wanted!
That’s not what I so painstakingly tried to create!
I try to fight against my legs as they lock up completely. The total control I had over my body is gone. I can’t feel a single thing besides the hot flow of tears as they start to run ceaselessly down my face. The core of my chest is an expanded balloon only a millisecond from rupture and an endlessly hollow cavern all at once. In an instant I find myself only being able to observe passively as this darkness encloses both me and my painting in front of me.
…My painting… which is no longer mine. There are colors and shapes and brushstrokes I don’t recognize. I… don’t see myself in this work anymore. It’s far too different. Did I mess up? Did I do something wrong? Yes. Maybe I should’ve committed to this project earlier, back when I first thought of it. Yes. That must be it. It’s me. It’s always been me.
But that also means it can be salvaged.
I just have to reach out and-
Something unseen rips through the fabric of the artwork, an invisible knife protruding from the all-encompassing darkness. I can’t let out a single sound before my eyes force themselves open.
In that instant, my ears are consumed by the rattling of the bullet train’s steel frame. –Right, the train. I’m on the train. Did I actually manage to fall asleep? The trip wasn’t even supposed to be that long. I glanced out the window, past my own reflection, and saw my destination coming into view. Despite having fallen asleep for almost the entire journey, exhaustion blankets my entire body. The source was almost definitely that dream.
I rubbed my eyes. There were no tears coming out, despite the visceral sensation of them that I felt only a brief moment ago. I’m silently thankful for that. There was really no need for the elements of that dream to bleed over into the real world. However visceral it was, it could easily be forgotten. I took a deep breath in and out, centering myself on the cushions of my seat. I focus on the subtle movements of the nearby passengers, whose worlds all existed separate from each other’s and far beyond my own. Sighing, I wrest my phone from the pocket of my pants and check the homescreen. It’s blank, save for the time, which was what I had wanted to check for originally. As I expected, it was almost time. We would be arriving shortly.
My destination is a seaside town that’s only a relatively short trip from my university. And that’s certainly a relative estimate; not quite short enough for a day trip, but enough for a long weekend getaway if you plan accordingly. Maybe even if you don’t plan accordingly. I couldn’t quite pinpoint why I had chosen to come here, but I did remember travelling here with my parents when I was really young. The trip was much longer that time, considering my hometown was much farther west. A few of the surprisingly vivid memories of that trip resurfaced within my brain as the scenery outside shifted, and they continued to heighten to an unexpected intensity as the train pulled into the station.
I slowly put on my coat, wrapped my scarf around my neck, and grabbed my lone bag, throwing the straps over my shoulder. I followed the flow of departing passengers through the train and into the station. The recollections of my childhood intermingled with my current motions, creating a strange cocktail in my mind that vaguely reminded me of the morning walks into my high school.
Damn, it’s cold. That thought is the very first thing that cuts through the pleasant sensations of my memories. When I had come here before, as a child, the blistering heat of the summer was almost too much to handle. The immediate difference in temperature, that shrill cold that assaulted my face and neck, could have been easily met with a bitter expression. Instead, I found myself smiling as I pulled up my scarf. It was a bit embarrassing, but I thought that I didn’t really mind that the past seemed so much warmer. That it was more colorful and vibrant than the gray overcast of the present. Keeping the present and the past separated, honestly, was ideal to me.
“Hello! Hello everyone! Welcome to this wonderful city of ours! Planning to take the bus or taxi to get to your destination? Don’t bother with any of that nonsense! Not even your destination! Take this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to enjoy a personalized tour of the town in one of our very own rickshaws!” The voice of a woman shouting outside of the station broke through the surface of my nostalgic thought-bubble. She was loud. Louder than I expected for a tourist cash-grab. Her voice somehow consumed the atmosphere outside of the station, swallowing any attempts at a peaceful arrival into the city. The voices of other travellers and the passing cars did little to compete with her sound. It was honestly just a tiny bit irritating.
I mean, I doubted she really needed to be all that boisterous about it, anyways. Her blonde hair -which was perhaps the first time I had ever seen it that color in real life- shone brightly, as if to reject the cold tones of the winter air. I might be exaggerating a little bit, but it was off-putting in how it almost made you want to squint your eyes.
Her rickshaw was one of only a handful of others. It made sense that that was the case; despite being a hotspot tourist destination, it was currently way too out-of-season in this city. I did see a number of tourists while on the train and while I was exiting the station, but it was certainly not enough to warrant the army of rickshaw pullers that I recalled having been here before.
I felt the presence of the woman’s eyes. My own wandered towards hers, our brief stares becoming intertwined. My feet had stopped before I could think, as if caught in invisible traps.
…Or, wait, had I actually been looking at her first? I wasn’t staring, was I? It’s kind’ve hard not to, considering her hair. I think she might’ve been staring at me, though. Well, it didn’t really matter. I already realized my mistake. I quickly shuffled away from the station crowds and rickshaws, but barely made it five steps before she practically leapt in front me.
“Hey hey hey! Hold up there! I saw you looking. Don’t tell me you’re not interested in a ride.” She shoved her thumb back towards her personalized cart, decorated with silver-lined wheels and a carriage painted a deep blue. A purple parasol stuck out from the seating. “I know it’s chilly, but I have plenty of blankets. And honestly, I’ll talk so much about every little thing around here that you won’t even have time to think about being cold!”
Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m afraid of.
“I appreciate the offer, miss, but I’d like to walk today.” It was true that my immediate destination was under a forty-minute walk from here, but… this was not the type of person I was very comfortable being around. Unfortunately, I probably sounded more timid than I wanted to, and my smile surely was far too pleasant to convince her to back off.
“Walk!? In this cold? Please, I insist. Look, look, I even have a hot thermos of tea on board there. Wouldn’t you rather have your first memory of your visit be that of drinking hot tea while being escorted like royalty?”
“To be honest with you, miss, I don’t think I could even afford it. I don’t have much to spare.” Once again, it wasn’t entirely untrue that my college budget couldn’t afford needless expenses, but… I also wasn’t particularly keen on drinking tea from a random rickshaw driver.
“Hmm, well, normally, it’s four-thousand yen for fifteen minutes. But, uh, I’ll knock it down to three-thousand in honor of your first visit to our city!” She flung her arms up into the air, the sleeves of her traditional hanten coat flailing along with them.
“It’s not my first visit, actually.”
“Ahaha, you’re kidding. Normally I’m pretty good at that. Then, uh, alright, I’ll knock it down anyways just for the honor of carrying a beauty like you around the place, hm?”
“Huh?”
“I mean it. You’re a bit too tall to get the maximum discount, but you have gorgeous hair, so…”
“...Um, no thank you, seriously.”
“Ah, but miss, I really do insis-”
“Miss rickshaw driver, please just leave me alone.”
“Hey hey, lady, wait a minute!”
I skirted around her and crossed the street, narrowly reaching the other side before a small wave of traffic took over the pavement of the road. In an equal exchange, the sound of the cars and the surrounding city eventually eschewed the sound of the woman’s voice. My footsteps, slightly more erratic than usual, carried me down the sidewalk toward my destination. I briefly glanced at my phone’s navigation to make sure I was moving the right direction, but I didn’t really need to. I could remember well enough. And even if I somehow got lost, it didn’t really matter. The town was scenic enough to warrant exploring even in the dead of winter, and being a tourist town, I could easily figure out what to do. Probably. I would likely be fine with just wandering forever.
…That woman was really insistent, wasn’t she? Is she like that with most customers? And of all people, why did she single me out? Why was I even still dedicating thought to it? She really irked me, for some reason. Maybe it was the blatant forced personality she masked herself with. I mean, come on, she was moving way too stiffly to actually and convincingly be a suave businesswoman. And who did she think she was, trying to charm me or whatever that whole thing was? It was all ridiculous. If she actually wanted to convince a customer to get on her rickshaw, she could at least be a bit more genuine. Being genuine, even if your genuine self was aloof or awkward or not much of a people-person, was much preferred over any sort of pretense. At least, that’s what I’ve always thought.
– I might be being a bit hypocritical by saying that, though. By now, I realized that my hand had unconsciously clasped the bear pin on my bag. I grimaced slightly, but couldn’t quite pull my hand away as quickly as I wanted to.
As I walked, the bustling streets surrounding the station gave way to a quieter scene. I passed by several notable buildings -a fancy hotel, several nice restaurants, and various other shops- before wandering into more residential land. I focused on my steps, not bothering to glance at my phone or let my mind drift away from me, as it seemed to be doing quite a lot on this trip already. Though I couldn’t quite tell, I think I was walking slower than usual, and the time to my destination dragged on slightly longer than predicted. My feet felt like spinning compasses, which I had to force to move in the direction I wanted them to.
Time passed nevertheless, and I encroached upon a public park overlooking my destination. While the sounds of cars and loud women were long gone, the wind had picked up the closer I got to it, and it whistled almost pleasantly in my ears despite the nipping frost.
I walked through the park, which was sparsely inhabited. Not surprising, given the weather. To my right, I saw two women watching over a pair of small girls near the playground. One was chasing after the other as she scaled up the metal steps of the small fortress, hustling towards the slide. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but it was clear they were having fun. Were they friends? Sisters? I watched curiously from a distance.
My bag rustled slightly in the breeze, and the bear pin tapped against my side. I snapped my neck back into place, facing my destination: the shoreline just ahead of me. The laughter soon dissipated as I hurried through the park and onto the sand, unclenching my jaw. I had arrived at my goal and stared at the murky waters of the beach, which stretched endlessly against the horizon. That was a phrase people often used, though it obviously wasn’t true. There was always an end.
…I didn’t really think about what I did next.
It’s probably the furthest away from summer it could possibly be right now.
I was bundled in a coat and scarf.
I had let my hair grow slightly longer, as if an inch would protect me from the cold.
Yet, despite how strange it may be, I wanted to feel the sand.
My bag dropped to the ground with a thump. My hands wrapped around the chilled exterior of boots and yanked them off. I nearly fell over as I took them off, and then once more as my fingers wrapped around the thick hems of my socks. I wondered if those girls were watching me.
Stuffing my socks into my boots, I closed my eyes and walked a little further onto the beach. The sand grew just a fraction denser, a change in texture I likely only noticed because of how hard I was focusing on it. The salty air drifting off the water rushed into my nose and filled me entirely. It’s pressure built inside of me, like a thumb covering a gardening hose. For a moment, I thought about screaming.
“It’s gonna be ridiculously cold if you go in that water, you know.”
My eyes were already dried out by the breeze just from the walk over, yet I forced them open to glance over my shoulder at the familiarly unfamiliar source of that voice. Sure enough, behind me, there were golden rays shining inexplicably beneath the overcast. They messily scattered around the face of the only person I had interacted with since arriving here. A deep blue rickshaw sat in the park, and I wondered briefly if it was legal for it to be put there. I stood for a while, my voice once again unable to organize itself coherently with anything I wanted to say.
“I wasn’t planning on swimming,” I said, finally with a muted tone.
“Ah…okay, okay, well, that’s good.” I couldn’t quite hear her footsteps over the breeze, but I could practically sense her slow approach, coming up on my left side. Her voice towed the line between overtly indifferent and mildly concerned, but I couldn’t quite bother to discern which it leaned more towards.
“Is that why you followed me here?”
“Well, not exactly, but maybe. How would you feel if I said yes?” predictably, she does a little dance around the question.
“To be honest, miss, no matter what the reason, it’s a bit strange that you’d follow me here.” I gave her a slight smile before turning my face back towards the waves.
It was by all conceivable definitions strange. I honestly should’ve considered running away at this point. Maybe even finding the police. But I wasn’t really worried. I mean, certainly, she seemed aggressive and a little too charming and a little too quick to try and get on your good side. After all, it was pretty easy to discern the type of person that she was. The type that easily grates if you're not desperate enough for attention.
But I didn’t think she meant any harm.
“It sounds strange, but,” she said, “it was something in your expression.”
“My expression?”
“Yup, reminded me of something,” she flashes me a smirk, “I won’t say what yet.”
“And why is that?”
“Well, you’ll stop asking questions then.”
Annoying.
I don’t know why I’m entertaining this conversation. It’s not as comfortable as the sound of the wind quietly whispering across the beach. I wiggle my toes, coating them with more sand.
“...You seem like the type who just does whatever she wants and doesn’t really care what others think of it,” I speak a bit more bluntly than I intended, and my throat catches too little too late. The woman, however, does nothing but let out a heartily warm laugh.
“Well, thank you! And you… you seem like the type who thinks they know others better than they really do. Though, you’ve probably got some things about me right.”
Yeah, I still don’t think my first impressions about her were far off.
“Look, I do appreciate it if you came here out of some sort of concern or something, but… I really only came here to be alone in the first place, so…”
“I get it, I get it,” she raises her arms in a feign of surrender, “my curiosity got the best of me. You’re definitely not a local, but you also look completely unprepared for a trip here, so… I was just wondering what that whole deal might be, mostly.”
“That warranted following me for thirty minutes while you’re on the job?”
“I basically run the company at this point, I’ve done more ridiculous things,” she seems to ponder something in her head, as if adrift with the nearby waves, “anyway, I also like to watch out for pretty girls who might be doing reckless things. And you had a reckless look on you.”
…Reckless? Do I look reckless? I’m usually pretty composed, at least outwardly. Polite, composed, generally happy. Besides my dream, I can’t remember the last time I cried or anything like that. I really didn’t grasp the extent of what she was saying.
She wanted to know why I was here. Well, that was a simple question. It really was. For the average person, the reason they would travel somewhere was probably pretty obvious. For work or for school. For vacation or for celebration. It was certainly one of those reasons that I had come here, right?
I didn’t really understand it, but at this moment, with the sand stuck between my toes and the echoes of waves rattling my eardrums, I felt more connected to the earth than I had in a long time. Maybe it had something to do with my memories of this place, a place where I could be certain. A place where I wasn’t following or chasing or holding onto something. I remember running through sand, laughing at the clouds, my parents watching behind me. A memory of something so blissfully freeing that I could hardly imagine the sensation anymore. I inhaled deeply, sucking in the ocean air until it coated every empty pocket of my lungs. In my exhale, a semblance of words forming a sentence emerged, somehow pieced together from the splintered fragments of my thoughts and emotions.
“If you really just want to know, I…I…just wanted to see the ocean… I guess.”
I wasn’t entirely sure how much time had passed before I turned my head. It was enough for water to well up in front of my eyesight before just as easily drying out again. When I turned, I found the woman staring at me.
Her expression was unreadable. It was if she was studying me, or perhaps questioning me. Regardless, something was lurking behind her twitching cheek that I couldn’t make out.
One thing was for certain, though. It was unlike any expression I’d seen her make so far.
“What is it?” I asked.
She barely moved a muscle, “I think we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot. Or a weird one. I’m Takasora Hoshi. As in, star and high sky”
Star Highsky. It was an odd name, when you consider the kanji. But I’ve heard more unusual names before, I think.
“I’m Tarumi Hozumi.”
“Well that rolls off the tongue nicely. How do you write it?”
“I mean, it’s not really that important for you to know, right?”
“I suppose not, but… how about you tell me when we meet up later?”
Pushy. Annoying. I grimaced at her for a fraction of a second before curving my frown into another smile, “You want to meet up later?”
“You’ve seen the ocean, yeah? Surely you’re not just gonna stay here until it gets dark. You’ll actually freeze then, water or not. Unless you actually do have somewhere to be?”
I sigh, “No no, there’s nowhere for me to be.”
“Good then. Hozumi-san, I think you and I would get along. I have a knack for that sort of thing.”
“Really now?” she already mistook me for a careless tourist.
“Yup. Which is why I want you to meet up with me later. And no, it’s not some sort of rickshaw scam. I promise I can be a good friend when I’m not selling you something.”
Friend? The words she snuck into her lines were almost suspicious.
“...Fine then.”
“Oh, just like that?”
“It’s like I said, I really don’t have anywhere to be. I don’t even have a hotel booked.” It was a Thursday afternoon, and I had skipped my morning classes to come here. I didn’t have class tomorrow, and my weekend was free. I had no plan when I left this morning, but I knew I had to go somewhere. Anywhere. This beach was the first thing that came to mind.
“Well, alright then. Hozumi-san, meet me back at the station tonight. Around six. I assume you’ll just be wandering around until then, but don’t get lost or anything,” Hoshi-san flashed me another of her smiles, but it seemed slightly different than any of the ones before it. It seems her expression -the real one- shifted pretty easily. She was easier to read than most.
“I…I’ll be there,” I really had no sane reason to accept this strange proposal from this even stranger woman. In fact, it was probably a terrible idea. However, for the first time in a long time, I felt that I was following my whims. And though my feet were growing irritated from the dry sand, and my ears were numbing steadily from the cold, I felt a strange warmth bubble up in me, as if the blood inside my vessels was simmering. Maybe the golden rays of Hoshi-san’s hair actually did have the power of the summer sun behind it. I couldn’t yet be sure.
For only a brief moment, I thought I saw a flash of brilliant blue light from out on the ocean’s horizon. It disappeared just as quickly as my eyes could be drawn to it, but I thought the traces of its unique hue still danced lightly on the water’s surface.