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A bright light singed his eyes, followed by a scorching wind as it rolled over his face, and threw him to the ground. White engulfed his vision, and Tsurumi wondered if the heat had melted off his eyes, torn the flesh and skin off his face, or both.
Murmurs began to surround him, which cleared up to various voices yelling in distress for him, for their leader. His soldiers’ voices collided and clamored into chaos as they rushed to help their fallen lieutenant. Someone on his right yelled for a stretcher, and suddenly he’s floating—floating? No, that’s not right, he’s being lifted by his men—before he was placed down, not even a second later. Once again, he was lifted from the ground, and this time he was going,
(“Tsukishima! Are you alive?!” Someone yelled from afar. A familiar voice.)
going,
(It took a moment to recognize that voice as his own.)
…
Gone is what he expected. Perhaps he already is, and he hadn’t registered it. Not that he could, even if he wanted to.
Nothingness was blissful, it turned out. It wasn’t dark like he thought—then again, he figured that darkness was still something and not nothing. Nothing could describe nothing, as that would defeat the definition of nothing. For that, he was content that he was nothing, no more, nevermore. Whatever this is, Tsurumi fleetingly thought, I am content that it takes me.
Then, amidst nothing, he felt something, betraying his short-term bliss.
Suddenly, just like that, he felt everything.
In a split second that seemed to stretch on forever, Tsurumi felt. He felt everything. He could feel everywhere, all at once, in a singular moment and at a singular, condensed point. Colors blasted in his ears, noises pierced his eyes, it was like the universe sang to him, but before he could react or cry or scream or do anything, there was—
—wind, blowing gently at his face, barely a breeze as it passed.
His vision gradually returned in blurs of color. Once, twice, his eyelids fluttered open, then squinted as light pricked at his eyes and rudely tried to pry them open. The sun shone directly over him. A hand went up to shade his eyes from the sun before he pushed himself to sit up. Something pressed into his palm, coarse and itchy. When he looked down, he saw that he was lying in a bed of green. When he lifted his hand, there were earthy, coarse stains on his skin.
It was a warm summer day. It was an ordinary day.
It was… a wrong day.
Mukden was cold and barren in the winter days, with not a tree in sight. Its skies are gray and overcast, carrying a gloomy atmosphere. The only smell in the air was gunpowder and the faint stench of rot. Mukden was not warm, nor were its surroundings filled with pine trees and lush, wild grass. Mukden’s air was not filled with the smell of grass and wildflowers. Mukden’s skies were surely not colored a sunny blue, either.
Everything was wrong. It was wrong that nothing was wrong. He must’ve died, and this was afterlife, but then that begged the question: What God exists out there that deemed him deserving of Heaven?
(Was this even Heaven? Did I die?)
Tsurumi backed out of his rhetorical question to ask a more logical one. He recalled how heat had rolled over his face, peeling off his skin. He would’ve thought the heat had burned his eyes, too, if it weren’t for the fact that he could still see. His dirt-covered hand traced faintly over his face, finding that the skin beneath his fingertips remained smooth. Not a single patch of skin had been burnt to a crisp. Those fingers went up to his forehead and found no injuries, either. It was like the explosion never happened.
(… Am I even dead?)
Wherever he was, it was clear that he was not in Mukden. Despite the staggeringly different landscapes, there was a tug at the back of Tsurumi’s head, tugging and tugging as he stared off into the distant forest. There was something familiar in this unfamiliar landscape—a sense of déjà vu tethered to a distant memory. It was right at the tip of his thoughts, almost in reach as he tried to remember. Something about the qualities of this place reminded him of something from once upon a time.
It was here, as the gears in Tsurumi’s head clicked and his eyes widened, that he realized what it was that made what he was seeing feel so familiar. Yes, he remembered now. He had been here once, when he was not a lieutenant leading a platoon of soldiers on a battlefield, and instead was—
“Koichi?”
—nothing more than a husband, who turned his head when he heard his wife’s voice call out to him. Called him by a name he hadn’t heard in years.
“... Fina,” Tsurumi replied, but not after a bout of stunned silence at the sight of the familiar woman in front of him as he quickly stood up. He stared at her, battling on whether he should walk towards or away from her, and she stared back in mild concern.
“You look different,” Fina commented, stepping forward, a hand coming up to brush a strand of hair from his face. Tsurumi had to hold back from giving his own confused look at the comment. Of course he looked different—how long had it been since he had stopped cutting his hair into a buzzcut, or taken off those glasses he used to wear?
“How long have you been out here? Are you looking for that Ezo wolf again?” She asked. Worry was evident in her tone, as if he hadn’t returned home in a while. Technically, that wasn’t wrong.
“... I was, yes. I’m sorry for making you worry, Fina.” Tsurumi answered, trying to follow her logic. His finger twitched, wanting to caress her cheek for the first time in a while. “You really didn’t have to go out of your way to look for me…” Which reminded him, didn’t they have a daughter to worry about back home? Why was she all the way out here?
Tsurumi’s questions fell silent as Fina shook her head. “It’s alright, don’t worry.” She turned to face the woods’ opening behind her.
“Let’s go home, Koichi.” She looked back at him, smiling as she offered her hand. “I already made dinner as well. You wouldn’t want it to go cold, now, would you?”
He was not even given any room to breathe or process anything. One second, he was dying. In the next, he was not. Now, he was looking at his wife’s eyes for the first time in a long while as she talked to him about home and dinner.
All Tsurumi could do was look at Fina, trying not to appear as dazed as he actually was, and then said, “Okay,” as he took her hand. He didn’t mind being the one following behind, for once. It was hard to mind when he felt like a lost puppy—scratch that, he just felt lost in general.
Off they went after Tsurumi gave his reply. Gradually, the forest cleared to a patch of plains and a dirt path underneath their feet. The walk home went uphill, just as he had remembered. Everything here was as he remembered, from the cold but humid air to the way Fina’s skirt occasionally fluttered as she walked past the wind blowing past her. Everything in this moment, apart from himself, was just as he remembered. Like a snapshot frozen in time, with him as the only thing in motion.
There were so many things he wanted to say—how are you I miss you are you doing well—but his words stumbled out of his thoughts and into his throat all at once. All that left him was a silent croak from his mouth, too quiet for Fina to hear.
His attempts to speak, alongside his footsteps, halted when he caught something in the corner of his eye, close to his feet. He didn’t realize he had let go of Fina’s hand and let her continue onward as he looked down at what had caught his eyes.
There was a bloom of bright red with a black center, sitting atop the grass bed beneath it. How peculiar, Tsurumi noted, intrigued enough to kneel to take a closer look at the flower. It was already strange that a lonesome flower bloomed in the relatively plain lands of Vladivostok. It was even stranger to see a poppy flower, of all things, blooming outside of its native land. A hand reached out towards the flower as he crouched, and…
(Wait, what’s this?)
Right as he blinked, the terrain in front of him changed. He could swear that the poppy flower in front of him was resting by the side of the dirt path he was walking on. He could also have sworn that the flower was right beneath him when he crouched down. Now, somehow, the flower had seemingly moved from its initial position, sitting a few feet away from him. He wouldn’t have seen that flower had the dirt path beneath him not changed, too, branching off towards the flower’s direction and stretching far behind it.
Tsurumi’s head shot up in surprise, stumped. Is he hallucinating? His eyes instinctively tried to trace the path from where he crouched. It led off to the distance, going upwards and following the hills before him, stretching almost endlessly to the horizon.
Only when Tsurumi’s eyes went up to the end of the horizon atop the distant hill did he spot something standing in the distance. It looked to be some sort of monument. A memorial, perhaps?
When Tsurumi squinted, his vision fighting against the sunlight, he spotted something else standing beside the monument. Something in the shape of a man, their eyes visible despite the distance between them, as if they reflect the sun’s rays—
“Koichi!”
Tsurumi’s head sharply turned to where his wife’s voice had shouted from, wide eyes meeting the already-distant figure looking out for him.
“Sorry- Coming!” Tsurumi shouted back, quickly standing back up. He dusted off his uniform before looking back up to see where—
…
Where did she go?
He swore he saw Fina in the distance just a second ago, in a specific spot in his vision at that precise moment. One moment, she was there. The next—at this moment—she disappeared, nowhere to be seen.
“... Fina?”
Something shifted in the air as Tsurumi held his breath in shock. The gentle breeze came to a subtle yet sudden halt. Time came to a standstill. His blood ran cold, and so did the air around him.
“Fina?” He called out again, stepping forward once, twice, then several more times toward where he saw her last. Soles scratched at the dirt as his steps grew more frantic by the second.
Briefly, he glanced back to look for the monument and the figure he saw in the distance. Perhaps they could help? This idea was quickly shut down when, somehow, the monument and the figure could no longer be found. The dirt path that led to them, too, seemed to have disappeared into thin air alongside his wife.
This couldn’t be. Tsurumi turned his head to the left.
This shouldn’t be. Tsurumi turned his head to the right.
No trace of her anywhere—not even her footsteps on the dirt path, nor any imprints on the grass bed bordering the path. How did she—and that figure and that monument and even her footsteps—disappear just like that?
Earlier, he thought this place was Heaven, and wondered what God thought he was deserving of Heaven. Perhaps, as he thought, that was the truth: no God would deem him worthy of Heaven. This is purgatory, if not Hell, and this is some form of cruel punishment.
Tsurumi stood.
Tsurumi gazed at the top of the hill where their house resided.
Tsurumi ran.
He picked up the pace as much as he humanly could. Suddenly, his ankle gave out, and he staggered before quickly regaining his footing and continuing to run. It didn’t matter if he was merely chasing phantoms or if he was truly chasing the figure of the woman he once loved.
“Fina!” Tsurumi yelled through the burning in his lungs. Each beat of his heart pounds against his ribcage. Each step he took strained the muscles in his legs as they struggled against the pace he set. He cared not for these physical aches. Not when he just saw his love for a fleeting moment, only for her to be taken away again.
Darkness surrounded his vision as his will fought against the physical constraints of his body. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision, but to no avail. The wind zipped and howled past him, as if nature itself was trying to push against him. It was a futile attempt from nature’s end as Tsurumi continued to run and push through, despite how his knees threatened to buckle and how his heart was practically punching him from within his ribcage. It hurt to breathe, it hurt to run, but he kept going and going, up until his ankle gave out once more and he tripped and suddenly—
Suddenly, his entire body was punched by the force from his fall as he crashed down—not onto dirt, but onto a hard surface. A warm light illuminated his surroundings from above, contrasting with the muted rays of the northern sun outside. His body ached from the fall, and his legs were sore. He laid there for a moment, letting his heartbeat reduce to murmurs in his chest as he caught his breath. As he pushed himself up from what he now realized to be wooden floors, footsteps rushed to him before a figure swiftly crouched in front of him.
“Koichi, are you alright?!”
Fina’s voice, calling out to him. Fina’s face, etched with concern as she and Tsurumi locked eyes.
She was quick to hold Tsurumi and help him as he staggered up. Once Fina let him go and his weight entirely rested on his feet, he groaned at the ache in his legs. His breathing slowed to deep breaths in an attempt to ground himself after… whatever that was.
So disoriented from the bizarre visions he had, he didn’t register the change in scenery until he looked up from his feet. No longer was the wind howling past him. No longer was the air around him still and cold like it was before―in fact, there was a newfound warmth carried within it, a familiar one at that. It was the warmth of…
“... home.” Tsurumi finished his line of thought. “I'm… home.”
His dazed bewilderment was greeted with knitted brows and a confused frown as Fina’s question fell unanswered. “You are, Koichi. You are.” She affirmed, despite that. Her hand went up to hold his cheek. “But Koichi, what happened to you? Are you alright?”
Tsurumi’s hand went up to hold Fina’s. Her hand was warm against his skin. Her palm carried a familiar softness that took him back to a time long since forgotten. If he were to be in the past, he would have leaned into his wife’s touch and melted into it. This was not the past, however—at least, not in his current perspective, if he were to be standing right within it.
“I’m… I’m fine, Fina.” Tsurumi dismissed as he held Fina’s hand and lowered it to her side, his eyes following their joined hands. “Really, it’s nothing… Now, how about we prepare for dinner, love, just like you said? You did say you wouldn’t want it to go cold earlier.”
Tsurumi’s words, honey sweet and affirming, didn't seem to have the intended effect on Fina. The average person would nod at his words and trust the firmness in his tone. Someone like Fina, however, who had seen and known him as a husband and a person, did not buy into his sweet lulls so easily. His words only made the creases in her brows deepen and the frown on her face harden in stumped confusion.
“... Koichi,” Fina muttered, her voice rigid, uncertain, “I’m going to ask this again: are you alright?” She let go of Tsurumi’s hand, not letting his saccharine sweet gesture sway her insistence. “You haven’t been your usual self today, you know that?”
He hasn’t been his “usual self” for a while now.
That had been the case for about 14 years now. The young photographer Fina once knew was long gone. Now, a weathered lieutenant was taking that photographer’s place. Now, that lieutenant was struggling to fit in his old role, despite it being the life he so desperately wanted to return to.
Tsurumi’s mouth parted. Something hung in his throat. A moment passed before he ultimately decided to bite his tongue and swallow down his words, shaking his head as his only form of objection to Fina’s words. “I’m fine,” he insists. “I apologize, I’m just... I’m just tired.”
It was a half-assed reason, and he knew that. Judging from Fina’s unconvinced look, it seemed that she knew that, too. Despite that, her eyes softened a bit as she sighed, relenting. “If you say so.”
Even with Fina relenting, unease still pools in Tsurumi’s guts. Why had she not put up a fight or firmly insisted on her concerns?
His train of thought halted when Fina turned her back and went down the halls of their home. “Let’s get you something to eat, Koichi.”
Right, that was what he had insisted on earlier.
Tsurumi nodded as he followed Fina to their dining room. It was as simple as he remembered, with a wooden table and chairs for both of them, and in case they had guests over. Bowls and cutlery have been placed on the table alongside a pot of stew. When did Fina have the time to prepare the table? Was it already set before Tsurumi came here?
Tsurumi gave a long, quiet exhale through his nose, putting his line of questions to a halt. God knows how long it would take to get through them all, and how much longer it would take for him to find the answers to his questions. For now, he pushed these worries aside and sat down at the dinner table. Fina followed suit as she poured two servings of stew for both of them.
Dinner was nothing out of the ordinary. All that filled the air between them was the occasional clinks of cutlery against their porcelain bowls, but Tsurumi did not mind the silence between them. The quaintness was a refreshing change of pace, given everything that had happened prior.
He contemplated everything that had happened so far. How he had suddenly woken up in the plains of Vladivostok and met his wife for the first time in over a decade. How he saw a distant monument and a man, before they disappeared without explanation. The poppy flower he saw on the ground. How he ran to chase Fina after she disappeared, and how his surroundings changed to something sinister. How the stew in front of him is still warm, even though Fina had left it sitting on the table for God knows how long while she was looking for him outside. How they’re having dinner even though it’s still midday.
Logical fallacies built on top of logical fallacies… Had the world around him felt a little more real, he would’ve been content to stay in it a while longer.
Perhaps that is the point. Perhaps it’s time he finally wakes up.
Tsurumi was lucid. Tsurumi had always been lucid. He was aware that he was merely traversing through his memories, playing it off as the present, as if not to rouse suspicion from Fina. As if he really had travelled back in time, and Fina really was in front of him, and the world around him was real, and reality didn’t break in front of his eyes just a moment ago.
Despite everything, his chest still ached at the knowledge that the world around him was merely built out of a scripted pipedream of a time that once was. It made his lips curve to a solemn frown as he placed his spoon on top of his bowl, the clink of silverware against porcelain picking up Fina’s attention.
“You’re finished with dinner already?” Fina asked, looking at the still-full bowl. “But you haven’t even taken a bite!”
Tsurumi could only sigh at his wife’s objections. He pushed his chair back and stood up, stepping away from the table. “I have to go, Fina.” He said bluntly, the unintended bitterness in his words searing his tongue.
“To where…?!” Fina protested, swiftly standing up as well. Agitation clear in her voice and in her eyes, which Tsurumi found hard to look at for even a second. “Koichi, you… You’re not acting like your usual self. I don’t like this. Please, tell me, what’s wrong?”
“I…”
The sight of Fina’s distress at his strange behavior made his heart feel heavy. Something blocked his throat, as if it were a last-ditch effort to keep him here. Here, where it’s safe, and he could spend time with his family.
“I’m sorry, Fina.” His voice cracked. “I have to wake up.”
Darkness engulfed him as he was suddenly transported somewhere else, his words being its cue.
The warm atmosphere of home snapped into cold, still air, and Tsurumi almost choked at the sudden change. The ground beneath him turned from solid wooden floors to coarse, uneven ground, causing him to lose his footing before he stumbled and regained his balance. It took a while before his eyes adjusted to the looming moonlight and distant stars above him as his only light source, and for his eyes to take in the new view in front of him.
Presented in front of him was a sea of red. A myriad of poppy flowers stretched on as far as he could see. Right in the center where he stood, the all-too-familiar dirt path he stood on cleaved the endless flower field in two. It would make for a scenic route, had darkness not swallowed everything past his immediate surroundings.
(An unfamiliar twist to a familiar sight he saw earlier…)
I have to go home, Tsurumi thought, looking around.
“I have to wake up,” Tsurumi said, taking a few steps ahead—
“You wouldn’t go far in that direction.”
—before he was stopped by a voice, calling to him from behind. A familiar voice.
His body snapped in a full-body turn, aghast with what, or rather, who he heard. Sure enough, an all-too-familiar figure stood before him. He had a humble attire of a white shirt and a vest, with a pair of round glasses adorning his face. Tsurumi’s eyes met with the familiar stranger’s, sharp and weathered just like his own. The stranger’s eyes carry a solemn gentleness which Tsurumi lacked, having lost it a long time ago.
“You…” Tsurumi almost laughed in disbelief. Nothing in this world is to be believed anymore, sure, but this…
“Why are you here?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” The figure tilted his head. “I’m you, after all. At least, a part of you. Or some past version of you that you tried to mimic earlier. Whatever manner you want to see your past, that’s what I am.”
That did not answer his question.
“I have to wake up,” Tsurumi expressed to the man in front of him. “If you want to say something, say it fast. I have to return to my men.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll make it worth your while.” The figure raises his hand, palm facing the other. “I swear on it.”
Tsurumi knew to trust anyone but himself when it came to oaths.
“Do you have time for a question, Tokushirou?”
“Fine.”
“Wonderful.” The figure smiled as he lowered his hand. “When you wake up from this dream… Where will you go?”
What?
“To my men, of course.” He answered curtly. “We will plunge into the depths of hell… and we will make sure the bones of our fallen comrade rest in Japanese soil. Is that all?”
At the answer, the figure frowned, displeased. “I thought you knew better than to lie to yourself.”
“I’m telling the truth, though.”
“You’re not telling the full truth,” the figure corrected. “You and I both know that’s the equivalent of lying.”
“If you really are me, wouldn’t you have known this so-called “full truth” yourself?”
“I’m only part of you. The full answer to my question lies within yourself.”
Tsurumi never knew he was such an insistent man. It almost irritated him.
“Where I’ll go…” Tsurumi trailed off, trying to find the words. “I’m afraid my answer remains the same. I fight in this war both for the prosperity of Japan and my fellow men. Although…”
Tsurumi’s hand went down to one of the many poppy flowers beside him. “I will say, I don’t find it wrong to mourn for my own personal losses throughout this journey, if that’s the answer you’re looking for.” His fingers caressed the petals with care, eyes softening in melancholy. “So long as Manchuria belongs to Japan, your bones will rest in Japanese soil. I don’t think it’s wrong to hold this prayer for both my comrades and my family. Surely, you of all people would know this.”
The figure’s lips curved to a faint, bitter smile. “I do, yes.” He gave a solemn nod. “So, when you wake up, you will fight for your comrades and your family. Is that correct?”
“If that’s how you interpret my answer, then yes.”
“There’s one thing that bothers me about that, though.”
Tsurumi clicks his tongue in annoyance. “What is it now?”
The figure, by comparison, appeared as composed as ever.
“Tokushirou,” he began, “do you even remember who you’re doing this for?”
As if on cue, Tsurumi was hit by a harsh gust of wind. It howled at him, nearly toppling him over, had he not shielded himself with his arms and taken a step back in a stance. All the while, leaves and red petals flew past him, some even smacking at him like projectiles.
Thankfully, the winds did not last forever. They dissipated and died out, letting the night fall into silence once more. Tsurumi lowered his arms, breaths heavy in anticipation. He hadn’t realized he’d held his breath until now.
The figure still stood in front of him, unfazed by the winds. Right beside him, Tsurumi noticed the flowers had cleared to form a dirt path, branching off to the distance. Tsurumi’s eyes followed where the trail led, and there he saw someone facing away from him. Her arms were out of view, as if they were carrying something in front of her, and from the way she gently rocked her arms, Tsurumi could safely assume she was not carrying something, but someone—
“Fi… Fina?”
“No, no, Tokushirou.” In the corner of Tsurumi’s eyes, the figure shook his head. “You and I both know you need to return to your men, but not because you want to fight for them. And if you’re doing all of this for your family, or for her… Why go the extra mile of fighting a war just to make sure two people rest in a land you could call home?”
“You don’t get it,” Tsurumi rebuked, realizing the irony of arguing with himself a second too late, “I’m not just doing this for her. I’m doing this for my living and fallen comrades, too. For their bones to rest in Japanese soil is as big a wish for my men as it is for me. I fight for them, and I fight for my family, and—”
“And therein lies the problem.”
Another voice cut Tsurumi’s words into silence. A voice that was not of his own, but still as familiar as it is bone-chilling—not because he fears it, but because of the searing fire that lit ablaze in his heart upon hearing it. He did not dare turn away from the distant mirage of his wife to face the man standing in front of him, lest he see those damn blue eyes—
“Lost in the preparation for the birthday party, you forgot who it was for.”
The air around him came to a standstill. Even the sea of flowers before him was rendered motionless by that man’s words, much like himself.
“So tell me, Tokushirou… Who is this party for?”
Quiet. He needs that man to be quiet.
“Who are you fighting for?”
Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.
“What path have you been walking on all this time?”
Tsurumi did not say a word before he lunged at the figure in front of him. For a split second, he anticipated some sort of impact, be it from his body colliding against the other or from shoving him to the ground,
only to be met with nothing, nowhere, nevermore.
All that met him was darkness as he was sent flying and tumbling down nothingness, falling down,
and down,
and down…
… and back to the waking world, after his ears registered the murmured yells of field medics alerting their comrades that their lieutenant’s eyes are opening.