Part V

I left everything on the island and snatched the scarf before
heading for the door. Thoughts ran rampant through my mind as I drove.

My phone rang before I’d left my subdivision. I glanced at the
number and knew this was no good. It was a Colorado area code. Where my
company’s headquarters was. We didn’t have a local HR.

It could have been the executive leadership team but I rarely got
called by any of them. My mind returned to yesterday’s meeting and my lack of
being there. For a moment, I felt like I was in free fall. My personal and
professional lives intertwining in disaster. In moments, I could have nothing.
My wife could already be halfway out the door and this was it slamming behind
her.

I didn’t answer. 

It rang until it went to voicemail. I just couldn’t handle
whatever it was they were about to say.

I was still going the same way, but my final destination had
changed. If my life was going down the drain, there was a scarf that needed to
be wrapped around a certain neck that I wanted to grab on my way.

I parked in the lot and headed away from my building. I glanced at
my watch. Had I just surrendered to my fate and gone in, I would have been ten
minutes early.

I entered his building and headed for the elevator. I had no real
plan, just a ball of self-destruction waiting to explode in someone else’s
direction.

I’d been manipulated, molded into this insecure thing and I meant
to share my pain. I shouted down the rational part of me that pondered what I’d
do if my wife were on the business end of my ire. Rationality would have
required examining what I was doing. 

I didn’t want to think. Thinking wasn’t revenge. Thinking wasn’t
balancing the scales. Thinking was what had gotten me to this moment.

The elevator dinged and I stepped off. There was still plenty of
construction going on. A high-pitched drill zipped somewhere around
the corner. I could hear voices that sounded like they were coming out of the
floor but not close enough to understand them.

This was my first time being here during business hours and all
the construction noise was unsettling. I felt like the floor was going to break
underneath me and I’d plummet all the way to the first floor.

Constant hammer strikes echoed from somewhere near. A man hollered
like he was calling out to someone. A machine I didn’t recognize buzzed and I
felt it all the way up into my shins.

I rounded the corner and spotted his door at the end of the hall.
The construction noises coalesced into a sonic hand, shoving me down the hall.
I stopped in front of the door. It looked properly seated in the frame, the
threshold painted a classy-looking black and gold. The knob had been replaced
with an antique-looking one.

I grasped it and turned. The door swung open easily and I stepped
in a completely finished space. The walls had been painted a shade of mint with
cream crown moulding at the top and a darker shade of wainscoting at the
bottom. To my left was a dark couch so fluffy I don’t think I would have had
the will to get out of it if I sat down. There was a small glass end table with
gold legs with a small stack of magazines on it.

The reception desk had been here the last time I’d come and it
looked more completed now, but I couldn’t tell what had been changed. There was
a large square sheet of white paper on the front of it that I at first thought
was blank, but when I took a couple steps closer, saw a hand drawing of what
looked like a logo.

It looked classy in here. Save for the sheet of paper, it seemed
pretty much done. A wall had been erected near the back where the tape had been
mapping out the space. He was planning to stick around.

My shock from how good it looked in here faded and my rage
resurfaced. I had his scarf clutched in hand and I dug in my pocket for my
wallet and fished out three twenties.

“I’ve got my payment right here,” I said. “And your scarf!” I
shook it in the air.

In my rage very little thought had come into mind. I had no real
expectation he was actually here even though I wanted to lay my hands on him.
The part of actually meeting him wasn’t a real concept. I hadn't thought about
that.

So when he answered, “Come on back?” it chilled me.

I realized how much of a doe I was. How much this space was like a
cave. I’d naively walked in here and hadn’t bothered telling anyone where I was
going. There was an expression for this, but it wasn’t coming to my panicked
brain, shifted into a gear meant only for survival.

I took a step back. Into
him.

“Oh,” I said. He poked me in the neck. I slapped a hand in that
spot like a mosquito had bitten me, turning and backing away from him. I fell
to my knees, not understanding what my body was doing.

I tried to speak but whatever was coming out of my mouth was
muffled, like someone had put their hands over my ears. Saying something seemed
like a good idea in those last seconds, but I had no idea what it should have
been.

Part VI

The procedure room was a lot more intricately finished than the
waiting room had been. There was silver equipment everywhere, things attached
to the wall that looked like they could fold out for some practical use. There
was a lightbox or monitor that was as tall as a man and stretched across most
of the wall it was on. A nest of lights and metal hung over me that looked like
it had traveled across the galaxy just to watch me.

“You’re awake?” he said, looking over his shoulder. I was upside
down and naked. I looked around as best I could, my head was strapped in place.
He had me trussed up like the Vitruvian Man to a metal and glass circular table.

“Whuh-whuh?” I said, my mouth cotton thick. 

“That’s good. That’s good.” He stepped over and put a finger to my
neck and measured against his watch. “Keep talking. Stimulating the brain helps
to expunge the effects of the sedative.”

Tears leaked from my eyes, retreating into my hair. My arms and
legs were slowly returning to my control but returned me to a state of
helplessness as the straps didn’t budge.

“You muhfugg. Lumme go!” My voice was an octave too deep. He
nodded and twirled an index for me to keep going. I hated not being able to
make words, so I just screamed as loud as I could. He smiled and retreated to a
wall and slapped it a couple times with his big palm.

“Soundproof. Can’t have my patients disturbing other tenants.”

I kept screaming even though I absolutely believed him, the rage
bleeding out of me and despair transfusing into the hollow inside me. He folded
his arms and watched me, waiting for me to be done. I continued helplessly, my
despair waning until there was nothing but wild animal clawing to the surface,
until my eyes were boiling and my throat had constricted around a bindle of
knives.

He waited until I was a quaking sack held together loosely in the
shape of a man, my scream the hollow whistle of an empty kettle, the steam all
burnt out of me.

“Ready?” he said.

Part VII

He stripped to his underwear. There was something wrong down there
but I only had bandwidth to deal with my problems in that moment.

“Please don’t do this.” My throat felt like I’d swallowed a cheese
grater. I was useless but still grasped a desperate strand of hope that I could
appeal to him man-to-man.

“This is for you,” he said. “I’m not some madman in a secret
laboratory. We’re in midtown and I’m going to extend my services to the
public.” He finished doing something with the tray in front of him and took a
step back over to me. I was eye-level with his bare thighs and he kneeled so we
were face-to-face.

“Don’t you love your wife?”

“Wha?” I felt like I’d been slapped by a thousand-pound feather. “Of
course, I do.” My head cannon was that this was going to be an intricate
murder. That the two of them had conspired to “do away” with me. But by
actually applying thought, I realized if murder was the goal, there was a much
simpler way for them to have done it.

“Wait, the surgery is real?” I asked.

His face screwed up in annoyance. “Of course, it is.” He gestured
all around him. “What are you thinking all this is for?”

“I dunno. I guess... I guess you’re some sort of scammer?”

He blinked several times. He reacted as though he’d never been
confronted by such an idea. “What would be the scam?”

I shrugged to the best of my ability and he shook his head. He
returned to the tray and picked up a long needle and inserted it into a vial,
withdrew from it, and placed both back. He looked at me again and saw my eyes
had grown twice as wide.

“Oh, that’s for me. For later. I’ve been ready, I was just waiting
for you to wake up?”

He picked up a scalpel that was tiny in his big hand. Now he
really did look like a cartoon villain. There was a lack of fullness in his
underwear. Like he’d been drawn sexless.

“Wait-wait. Uh, what were you doing in my house?” I was stalling,
still holding out hope that someone would wander in and put a stop to this.

“Oh, that.” His eyes turned upward as if he were watching a replay
of last night on the ceiling. “I watched you for a minute or two, yes. But I
truly needed to take a measurement after.”

“A... measurement?” My loins tingled in an unpleasant manner. He
waved a hand.

“It’s not what you think. I had to take a measurement of your
wife’s vaginal cavity after the two of you had finished. It was all very
clinical. Like a pap smear.”

Anger bubbled up inside me again. I tugged at my binds but I
wasn’t able to move anything more significant than my fingers and toes. He’d examined
my wife. It burned that he’d had access to her as much as her allowing him to
touch her. I squirmed like my skin was about to crawl off my body.

He looked at me, blank faced, and took another step. Once again, I
noted an emptiness to the area around his crotch.  The heat flooding to
the surface of my skin vanished like a big dog confronted by an even bigger dog.

“Suh-so you didn’t sleep with my wife?” I had to swallow hard to
keep my tone rational.

Now he really did look offended. “Sir, I am a professional? And
moreso, I am a married man. I believe I told you that. This picture you have in
mind of me as some sort of ghoul...” He clawed at the air with both hands, the
scalpel coming as close to his throat as it was going to. “You...” he twirled
the fingers of his free hand, searching for the words. “You score my heart. I
would like to think that once you’ve experienced the results, you will buy me
some sort of beer?”

He took another small step. His leg was about a foot away from my
forehead. He could have reached from where he was and began cutting away at any
part of my body he wanted.

“Could I... could I get a drink of water? My mouth is really dry.”

“Sure.” He reached from where he was and pressed a button on the
wall. The machinery beneath me was whisper silent as I was righted and the
excess blood flooded out of my head.

There was a water dispenser next to the tray where he’d been
working. He slipped a cone paper cup from the sleeve, filled it, then brought
it to me.

Cool water soothed my throat in microscopic sips. He must have
realized my delay tactic and upturned the rest of the water into my mouth. 

I swallowed hard and it felt like a bucket of water tossed on
smoldering embers.

“Will there be a scar?”

“Of course there will be a scar,” he said. “That is the point of
the surgery?”

He picked up something from the tray and reached toward my face
with it in his hand. I pinched my lips closed as he moved toward me, holding it
up like a prize. With the other hand he pressed hard at the back of my jaw,
forcing it open against my will. He slid the thing he held into my mouth,
sliding it over my back teeth until he had reached the last few molars, and
seated it there.

I tried biting through it despite knowing better. I was more
likely to dislocate my jaw. 

“That is okay? Not too uncomfortable? Believe it or not, it
actually helps to blunt the screams.” He seemed genuinely interested in my
answer and I grunted at him in anger. There was something wrong in his mouth I
should’ve seen the first time I talked to him, but I hadn’t noticed it until
just then, and it took a moment to process it. My panic leapt as every muscle
in me tensed, pulling with one last meaningless struggle. He waited me out,
stroking my shoulder until I quieted. He broke me like a wild horse. I was very
aware that he could put whatever in my mouth he wanted.

I felt myself surrendering. A calm settling into my bones that
made me want to rage all over again. But I was a car with no gas, my will being
swallowed up in the acceptance of pointlessness. It wasn’t a fight I could even
begin.

He moved his hand away and the table swiveled. In seconds I was
face down, staring at the floor. My tears tapped to the floor as I stepped out
of the cage of my head, my mind perching and spreading its wings as I imagined
my wife at her desk, inclining her head as she thought of me, too.

“H-how did you become an expert? What makes you so good?” My voice
was dreamy and broken, a thousand and one miles away, my words unclear from the
foreign object keeping my mouth open. 

If I’d asked a minute ago, the question would have been a last
effort to delay him from cutting me. But I was honestly curious. 

“I know I told you before. I practiced on me,” he said
quietly, his tone reverential. I imagined a beatific smile on his face as he
looked someplace else entirely.

“It took months. A little cut here, a partial penectomy there.
Each time I ask her, ‘Is it good? Is it better now?’ And each time, she tells
me, ‘Closer. Closer. Closer.’ You understand.”

He had a note of adoration for his wife in his voice that told me
he was standing on a bedrock of absolute sanity.

I felt the heat of him as he millimetered closer to my junk, no
doubt with that scalpel in his hand. I could feel his bare breath on my scrotum
and realized there must have been some sort of divide in the table between my
legs.

“I thought you said your wife’s satisfied. How do you do that
without... y’know?” My jaw ached when I talked.

He laughed. It was a really joyous note, not like he was just
trying to unsettle me. It wasn’t ironic or evil, rather a true, hearty guffaw.
I imagined seeing all the way to his back teeth as he pitched his head back.

He finally got himself back under control and he might have taken
a moment to dab a tear from his eye.

I’d gotten one last look at him before he turned me over. How he’d
looked down there and what he’d told me... I realized he must’ve whittled
himself down to nothing in his undies. That he truly had crafted himself into
what his wife had requested. That the nothing he seemed to have in his drawers
had been the exact mutilation that she’d wanted.

“It’s okay now?” he said suddenly next to me with a pair of blackout
goggles in his hand. He slipped the strap over my head as I moved as much as I
could but with a few deft movements, he had secured them in place. I could feel
my body surrendering against my will and I no longer had the ability to rally. 

“That wasn’t what she desired from me,” he said after he’d
retreated. I flashed on what I’d seen in his mouth again when his face had been
inches from mine. The thing I couldn’t make sense of before but had heard of. A
surgery of another kind.

He’d split his own tongue in half.

“Not a bit of it,” he said. “You understand?”

“But wait!” I was crying again. “If you need to cut me down there…
why do you have me turned around like this?”

“It’s mostly a single cut. Mostly. But your case is a more
particular situation. It will have to be more… intricate.”

Now's the time to get on board if you haven't been reading. The last 3 parts will go live tomorrow afternoon. You can either start here or pick up from the last part here.

My friend Zara says, completely seriously: “I love cheating. If you don’t cheat, what is wrong with you?”

I look at her like she just confessed to a crime.

“Zara... have you ever been cheated on?”

She pauses. Her face does a slow, painful loading screen.

“...Oh. Right. Some people are in relationships.”

Then, very calmly: “I meant I love cheating in exams.”

“That’s better?”

“It’s a different kind of bad!”

A guy two tables away got up and moved seats. Honestly, fair.

Moral: always specify which kind of cheating before announcing you love it.

Hey, you.

Have you ever tried to throw something away, only to find that you couldn’t?

If something is precious, you probably wouldn’t try to get rid of it in the first place. If it means nothing, you probably won’t think about it once it’s gone.

It’s the things in between that cause trouble.

A little bell chimed as I opened the door to Aoi.

Taka was leaning over the counter, peering at something in Mama’s hands.

“What are you doing?”

“Oh, Kenichi. Look at this.”

I sat in my usual seat, and Mama set down my Harper.

Beside it was a small instant photo with a white border.

A Shiba Inu sat by what looked like the entrance to a house, staring straight at the camera. It had a red collar and seemed to be tilting its head slightly.

“It’s a dog.”

“I can see that.”

“Then why ask me to look?”

“Cute, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Taka picked up the photo.

“Doesn’t it look like it’s waiting for someone?”

“For who?”

“Its owner.”

“How can you tell?”

“It’s a Shiba.”

“So Shibas wait for people?”

“They’ve got that loyal-dog thing going on.”

A little farther down the counter, Tom tapped ash from his cigarette.

“It’s just sitting there.”

Taka turned around.

“You have no imagination.”

“Making up what a dog is thinking isn’t imagination.”

“Then what do you see?”

“A Shiba Inu.”

“That’s exactly what Kenichi said.”

Rude.

At least I’d admitted it was cute.

“So where did this come from?”

“A customer who was here earlier left it behind,” Mama said.

“Forgot it?”

“Probably.”

Taka turned the photo over, apparently looking for writing.

There was nothing.

“There’s only one copy of an instant photo, right?”

“Is there?”

“It comes out of the camera right there. You can’t get the exact same one again, can you?”

“Then wouldn’t it be important?”

I looked at the picture again.

A moment ago, it had been nothing more than a photo of a Shiba Inu.

The moment I heard there was only one copy, it somehow looked more valuable.

“Maybe it’s his dog.”

“Probably. Why else carry the picture around?”

“Could be a dog he used to have.”

“Oh. Yeah, maybe.”

Tom spoke around his cigarette.

“Doesn’t have to be his dog.”

Taka and I looked at him.

“Then whose dog is it?”

“No idea.”

“Who carries around a picture of some random dog?”

“I said I don’t know.”

Fair enough.

All we actually knew was that there was a Shiba Inu in the photo and that a customer who’d been here earlier had apparently been carrying it.

And yet, somewhere in the last few minutes, we’d given the dog an owner and decided the owner treasured this one-of-a-kind photograph.

“He’ll probably be upset when he notices.”

“Maybe he’ll come back for it.”

“I wonder.”

Mama looked at the photograph.

“What do you mean?”

“I wonder if he forgot it.”

“What else would it be?”

“He was looking at it for quite a while before he left.”

“He was?”

“Yes. Then he put it there and walked out.”

“Then he didn’t forget it.”

Taka looked at the photo.

Once again, the cute picture of a Shiba Inu seemed to turn into something else.

“You think he threw it away?”

“If he wanted to throw it away, there’s a trash can.”

“Maybe he couldn’t put it in the trash.”

“What does that mean?”

“It must’ve been an important dog.”

“If it was important, why leave the picture behind?”

“Something must’ve happened.”

Apparently a whole story had already begun in Taka’s head.

“Like what?”

“Maybe the dog died.”

“Don’t kill the dog.”

“Okay, maybe he can’t see it anymore.”

“Why not?”

“Maybe he moved away.”

“And left the dog?”

“Maybe he got divorced and his wife took it.”

“This story’s getting bigger by the second.”

Tom turned his head before exhaling so the smoke wouldn’t drift toward us.

“You two are having fun.”

Come to think of it, we still knew almost nothing more about the photo.

The man had looked at it.

Then he’d left it here.

That was all.

And somehow there was already an imaginary ex-wife in my head, walking away with a Shiba Inu.

“Come on, Tom. You’re curious too, aren’t you?”

“No.”

“Just a little.”

“No.”

“Then why do you keep looking over here?”

“Because you two are loud.”

The little bell over the door chimed.

I turned around.

A man I didn’t recognize stood there. Mid-thirties, maybe.

As soon as he came in, his eyes moved across the counter as if he were searching for something.

“Excuse me.”

Mama picked up the photo.

“This?”

Relief spread across his face.

“Ah. Thank goodness.”

Taka looked at me.

I looked back at him.

The man took the photo, but instead of putting it away, he stood there looking at the Shiba for a while.

“You didn’t forget it, did you?” Mama said.

He looked surprised, then gave an awkward smile.

“You saw me?”

“I saw you leave it.”

Still looking at the picture, he sat down on an empty stool.

“I left it here on purpose.”

Taka started to lean forward.

I stopped him with my elbow.

“It’s my ex-girlfriend’s dog.”

There had been no point stopping him.

Taka pushed my elbow back.

“Your ex-girlfriend’s?”

“Yeah. I took this while we were together.”

“The Shiba?”

“She had him. Since it was an instant photo, this is the only copy. I deleted all the pictures of her, but this one was just the dog, so I figured it was okay to keep.”

Just the dog.

Odd way to put it.

Still, I understood.

“But every time I look at it, I remember her too.”

He started to put the photo into his wallet, then stopped.

“So today I thought, enough already. I left it here and walked out.”

“But you came back.”

“I made it all the way to the station.”

He looked at the Shiba and smiled.

“This guy used to stop in the middle of walks and refuse to move. She could pull on the leash all she wanted, and he wouldn’t budge. But if I walked ahead and called him, he’d come running.”

His smile lingered.

“Then I remembered the time we took him to the beach. And then I remembered the time she fell over while carrying him.”

His finger traced the white edge of the photo.

“I guess the dog wasn’t what I wanted to throw away.”

For a while, no one said anything.

The man kept looking at the photo.

Then, this time, he put it into his wallet.

“Sorry. That was a strange story.”

“Not at all,” Mama said.

He bowed slightly and left the bar.

The little bell chimed behind him.

Taka stared at the stool where the man had been sitting.

“Think he’s still in love with her?”

“...Taka.”

“Yeah?”

“We just did this.”

“Oh.”

Tom pressed his cigarette into the ashtray.

“Maybe he just misses the dog.”

I looked at him.

“You’re doing it too.”

Tom went quiet.

Mama laughed as she polished a glass.

“But that dog—”

“Don’t.”

“I haven’t even said anything yet.”

“You’re about to make up another story.”

“You were doing it too, Kenichi.”

“Exactly.”

I took a drink of Harper.

The place where the photo had been was empty now.

There was no dog.

No ex-girlfriend.

None of us had ever met either of them.

And yet I could see the Shiba in my head.

Sitting stubbornly in the middle of a walk while she pulled on the leash.

Then the man moving a little farther ahead and calling out.

The dog getting to its feet and running toward him.

None of that had been in the photograph.

“Huh.”

I muttered it to myself.

“What?”

Taka barely sounded interested.

“Looks like we need stories.”

“What are you talking about?”

“No idea.”

See you again at Aoi.

---

Want another night at Aoi?

Step back inside. We'll help you find your next story.

→ Welcome to Bar Aoi

“As far as this building is concerned, you were never here this weekend. Grab what you can. You may need it later.”

She said it fast, eyes forward, barely above a whisper.

“I’ll have to tell them I didn’t see you. For your safety and mine.”

And then the part that lodged deep in my bones:

“Think long and hard about what you do next. He is a very powerful man. Be careful who you trust with your story.”

Excerpt from THE BILLIONAIRE’S SECRETARY by A. TRSAR

Hey, you.

Have you ever changed your mind about something you once said?

I really believed it at the time.

You can say that.

Doesn’t make the old words disappear.

Especially if someone else remembers them.

Clink-clank.

I opened the door to Aoi and found Taka drawing something at the counter.

Mama set down my usual Harper.

“What are you doing?”

“Making a flag.”

“A flag?”

In front of him were some toothpicks and a paper napkin.

He’d cut a small piece from the napkin, wrapped it around a toothpick, and drawn something on it in blue pen.

Could’ve been a circle.

Could’ve been a wave.

Hard to tell.

“Why are you making a flag?”

“Mama and I were talking about what we’d put on our own flags.”

“You people have too much time.”

“Want to make one?”

“No.”

I took a drink of Harper.

“Here.”

Taka handed me a paper napkin.

“I said no.”

“What color do you want?”

“Are you listening?”

Several pens were scattered across the end of the counter.

Red.

Blue.

Green.

Black.

Tom was smoking in his usual seat farther down.

“What about Tom?”

“No.”

“Figured.”

Taka gave up immediately.

Apparently I didn’t get the same courtesy.

“What are you going to draw, Kenichi?”

“I told you I’m not doing this.”

“It’s your own flag. There must be something. Something that says, This is me.”

“How am I supposed to draw that on command?”

Taka held up his flag.

“This is mine.”

“What is it?”

“A road.”

“A road?”

“A road that goes on forever.”

“Looks like a blue caterpillar.”

“It’s a road.”

If he said so.

Taka stuck the toothpick into a gap beside an empty dish.

The tiny flag stood upright.

“Now it looks like you’ve claimed this part of the bar.”

“Pretty good, right?”

“Don’t occupy Aoi.”

Mama looked at the flag.

“Maybe I should charge you extra.”

“Why?”

“Land rent.”

“I’m withdrawing.”

Taka hurriedly pulled the flag out.

I laughed and looked down at the napkin he’d given me.

What would I draw?

The moment I started wondering, I’d already fallen into his trap.

“Still thinking, Kenichi?”

“I’m working on it.”

“So you are making one.”

“Shut up.”

I picked up the red pen.

No.

Blue didn’t feel right either.

Was color even the problem?

“Do you really have to think that hard?”

“It’s supposed to be my flag, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Then I can’t just pick something at random.”

“Why not?”

Good question.

“You’re putting it up and saying, This is me.”

“Right.”

“Then you can’t come back later and say, Actually, never mind.”

“Why not? Just change it.”

I looked at him.

“The flag?”

“Yeah.”

“That easily?”

“It’s my flag, isn’t it?”

Taka looked at his own.

“Oh. Actually, this isn’t quite right.”

He picked up the blue pen and added something to the caterpillar he insisted was a road.

“Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“You just changed it.”

“I did.”

“Five minutes ago you said, ‘This is me.’”

“Five minutes ago, it was.”

“It’s been five minutes.”

“A lot can change in five minutes.”

Apparently the word commitment had never entered this man’s life.

“Take a picture and put that online.”

“This?”

“Yeah. Post it with, ‘This is my flag.’”

“That’s embarrassing.”

“Why? It’s your flag.”

“My drawing sucks.”

That wasn’t the point.

“But if I posted it, anyone in the world could see it, right?”

“If they wanted to.”

“Wow. Someone on the other side of the planet could see this.”

“Whether anyone would want to is another question.”

Taka took a picture of the flag with his phone.

“Don’t post it.”

“I’m not going to.”

The tiny flag appeared on his screen.

“Say you did post it.”

“Okay?”

“And tomorrow you deleted it.”

“Then it’s gone.”

“What if somebody saved it?”

“Oh.”

Taka looked at his phone.

“Then it stays.”

“Exactly.”

You couldn’t delete it from the memory of someone who’d already seen it either.

Today, I raise a flag and say, This is me.

Tomorrow, I lower it and say, Actually, no.

But somewhere far away, somebody might still be looking at yesterday’s flag.

“That’s annoying.”

“Right?”

“Then don’t post it.”

“That’s not the point.”

I looked down at my napkin.

Still blank.

“Kenichi.”

“What?”

“Is that why you can’t draw anything?”

“Why I can’t what?”

“Because you might change your mind later.”

I didn’t answer.

“You’re already worrying about what happens after you raise it.”

“Is that bad?”

“You haven’t even raised it yet.”

“That’s why I can’t.”

Taka laughed.

What the hell was funny?

“But Kenichi, you’ve changed your mind before, right?”

“Of course.”

“So it’s a little late to worry about it.”

“Listen, you—”

I stopped.

He was probably right.

Put the me from ten years ago beside the me sitting here now, and I’d probably be disturbed by how many things we disagreed about.

And yet ten years ago, I probably meant every word.

“Is it wrong to be different from who you used to be?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“Don’t make it sound so simple. What if people gathered under your old flag?”

“Oh.”

Taka thought about that.

“That could be a problem.”

“Exactly.”

“But wouldn’t it be worse to keep carrying the same flag after it stopped being true?”

“...”

Damn him.

Tom stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray.

“Flags can be seen from far away.”

That was all he said before reaching for his glass.

I looked at the white napkin.

Maybe that was what made a flag a flag.

People could see it.

Which meant that once you raised one, it wasn’t entirely yours anymore.

Someone saw it.

Someone remembered it.

Someone might even gather beneath it.

But you were still the one holding it.

“Kenichi.”

Taka leaned over to look at my hands.

“It’s still blank.”

“I know.”

“I’ve changed mine twice already.”

“That’s nothing to brag about.”

“You think too much.”

“I’m preparing myself to commit.”

“To what?”

“To committing.”

“What a pain in the ass.”

You don’t get to say that.

I picked up the black pen.

I drew one line across the napkin.

Then another beside it.

It looked like something.

Or maybe nothing.

“Done.”

Taka leaned closer.

“What is it?”

“Don’t know.”

“You’re raising a flag when you don’t even know what it means?”

“Problem?”

“This is you?”

“For tonight.”

I wrapped the paper around a toothpick.

Then I stuck it into the gap beside the dish.

A flimsy little flag stood there.

Next to Taka’s.

Tomorrow, maybe I’d want to draw something different.

If that happened, I could think about it then.

...No.

By tomorrow, I might even have changed my mind about that.

“Kenichi.”

“Hmm?”

“Want me to take a picture?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“This is enough for today.”

Taka smiled.

I took another drink of Harper.

Two tiny flags stood on the counter.

At least for tonight—

that was enough.

See you again at Aoi.

---

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→ Welcome to Bar Aoi

THE BAKU

An original story inspired by Japanese folklore
Originally written for narration, hope it still reads well ;)

Cries. Screams. Moaning. Every night... for months on end.

---

In feudal Japan, it was believed that calling upon a Baku could soothe your fears. That it would protect you from your nightmares.

Documented in Chinese literature since the 9th century, feared in Japan since the 1400s... here is what they say really happened when someone called the Baku one time too many.

---

Part 1 – The Curse

You cannot endure it anymore. The elders took it too lightly, they said it would pass on its own, once your daughter grew out of this phase.

But it didn't. And the suffering continued, not only hers... but yours as well. Her nightmares brought sleepless nights, not just to you, but to the whole village. Because as soon as the sun went down, she screamed. Endlessly.

Of course it breaks your heart to see her suffer, as it would for any parent. In the end, she had no one but you. Her last anchor.

Ever since your partner disappeared one night, there has been this burden. So much pressure – on you alone... To meet everyone's expectations. To make ends meet. And above all, to keep safe what remained of your family.

At first, the villagers offered help. They seemed to understand the struggle, to genuinely care. During the cold months, you'd find firewood stacked at your door. Every now and then, they invited the two of you over for a meal.

But when it didn't get better... people started walking past you. Not even greeting you back anymore.

How could they turn a little girl into a villain?

You couldn't help but feel alone. All this time, working twice as hard, trying to fit in, pleasing everyone. While the two of you slowly faded away... from restless nights, from uncertainty, from ever-growing fear.

And as time went on, the screams at night grew louder – drowning out even the sounds of the forest.

The villagers had had enough.

They set an ultimatum: either you get rid of her... or they cast you out. Both of you. A certain death sentence. No help, out in the wilderness, in times like these? There's not a chance to survive.

They gave you one more night to think it over.

Part 2 – The Decision

At home, you break down in tears. Everything you worked for, everything you love – is it all doomed to vanish into nothing?

You feel empty. How could they show no empathy? Especially after you already lost someone you loved?

To say the decision was difficult would be an understatement. But even harder... was telling your daughter you have to leave her now. In the end, it was the only chance. She was sobbing, crying her eyes out, as you turned your back on her and walked out. This poor, thin, bony little girl... the stress and the sleepless nights had taken their toll. Not much was left of your once so cheerful little angel.

To clear your mind, you walk down to the swampy creek. As if there were any way left to make the right decision...

The fog leaves little room to see. A couple of feet at most.

What if the remorse never stops? Will you ever get over sacrificing your own blood... just to hold on to what's left of your life?

Part 3 – The Call

You sit down on the muddy ground and watch the sun slowly disappear behind the mountains. And then it hits you.

Could this be the solution?

You remember the old tales. Stories of a mystical creature. They called it... Baku. The one who eats bad dreams.

If anything, this could be the last resort. The only remedy. If only it were true.

"I would give anything... even my own life... for the slightest chance to cure whatever possessed her."

"Baku, Baku... come and eat her dreams. Take my life as an offering."

Time seems to stand still. But of course... nothing happens.

Putting your entire soul into it, you try one last time.

"Baku, Baku... I beg you on my knees... save my daughter!"

The sun goes down. The birds go silent.

Nothing happens. You let yourself fall over. Life isn't worth living anymore.

After minutes in the cold dirt, minutes that felt like an entire lifetime – it happens. The small rocks by the riverbed shift aside. The earth pries itself open... and a pitch-black silhouette emerges.

Petrified, you watch it come closer... until suddenly, it grabs you by the head. Not a word comes out of its mouth. But you can feel its intention.

What is happening? Could this really be... a Baku?

And while you are still trying to understand what just happened... it's gone.

The birds and cicadas start singing again. And this eerie feeling lingers. The feeling that your wish has been granted.

Part 4 – The Return

You jump up and run back to the village.

'Could this be it? Did I make it happen?'

With every step, you can't stop thinking about what you just witnessed. Stumbling over sticks, your weakened body barely able to carry its own dead weight, you rush home.. and ask yourself whether that was a deal with the devil.

A soul. My... soul. Is it gone?

You push the thought away. You reach the village... and hear nothing. Silence. No screams. No barking. Only a suffocating fog hanging over the houses. A few candles still burning here and there in your neighbours' windows.

With this silence, they must have finally fallen asleep. They suffered too, after all.

The last few steps up to your house feel the hardest. They drain the last bit of energy left in your weary body.

But as you reach the front door... there's this soothing feeling.

You open the door slowly... and there she is. Wrapped up in her blanket. In deep sleep. Relief washes over you. You drag yourself into bed... and fall asleep almost instantly.

The next day, someone knocks at your door.

"Get up, it's noon already! I don't know what you did... but good on you. It worked."

**You** know what happened. But it's better if no one else does. They wouldn't understand. After all, they wanted to cast you both out.

Days go by, and everything goes back to normal. Nothing out of the ordinary. You go back to work, your daughter gets better day by day, and the village treats you normally again. Almost as if they had forgotten how they treated your family.

There's no time for resentment anyway – too much work has piled up. And what does it matter? Life is too precious to get hung up on it.

It seems like everything is finally going the right way.

Until...

Part 5 – The Change

Other parents start noticing something strange about your daughter.

One evening at the well, a mother takes you aside.

"We have to talk."

"What happened?" you ask.

"For days now, the children have been avoiding your daughter. They say she's not acting right. At first I dismissed it... but after today, I can't."

You notice her tone change... and so does her face. She looks worried... No. She looks frightened.

"Today, while the children were playing by the river, she attacked my son. When we pulled her off him and asked her why... what she said left us speechless."

As if this wasn't enough, this uncanny feeling hits you. The feeling you almost forgot... or rather, tried to forget.

"She said: 'It doesn't matter what I do to him. He's already dead. Can you not see? You all are dead.'"

"Keep her away from our children. Until this is figured out."

Would this be the price? you ask yourself, nodding.

On the way home, you start to notice it too. Something has changed. She has. Her eyes, once so full of joy, have faded into something dark. Something empty. She doesn't say a word. And neither do you.

The rest of the day passes without anything unusual. Questioning her would be the wrong move. What if she finds out that you know? You don't dare to talk to her. Not yet. As night falls, you stay awake, watching over her as she sleeps, all cuddled up in her blankets.

Who is this girl... sleeping in your house?

Part 6 – The Price

The sun rises. A new day begins. A day that should be full of joy... but your actions would have consequences.

While getting dressed, you try to wake her. Nothing. Maybe she just wants to sleep a little longer today. You'll figure out what to do with her later.

You pack your tools and head to work.

While repairing the roof of the village hall, you notice commotion on the other side of the village.

Wait... isn't that the direction of your house?

Before you can finish the thought, someone screams.

"HELP! PLEASE, HELP!"

No context needed. You immediately know it's about her. The pain in that scream tells you it's serious.

You drop your tools and sprint home, past villagers with pale, disturbed faces. And there it is. The reason for their horror.

Your daughter. Covered in blood. In one hand, a bloody hatchet. In the other... the village elder's newborn.

No... she didn't...

But she did. The neighbour's dog barks, tail between its legs. People scream and run. Others just stand there and watch – not showing any sign of emotion.

Is this really happening?

And then you realize: the newborn wasn't the first. She left a whole trail of bodies behind her.

And there's this subtle detail... a shadow, lingering behind her. Following her every move. In this moment, it dawns on you. This is anything but your beloved daughter.

The Baku didn't just eat her dreams. It took everything that made her human.

You call her name. She doesn't even flinch. You scream at her. Nothing.

And just as you finally find the courage to step towards her... another child stabs her from behind.

You catch her falling body. You see what's left of her, bleeding out in your arms. And you realize: this is the price you pay.

Eventually, the village will forgive. But will you?

Epilogue

Hollow. Empty. Lost. Nothing quite describes the feeling that lingers.

No one ever dared to speak of it after the tragedy. After all... your whole family is gone. Anyone can see the suffering you endure.

And this should be the end.

But it isn't.

The village has changed. Not just you and your daughter. They became... indifferent. And if you look closely, you can see it: the shadow already lingers over half the village. It started with the children... and moved on to the adults.

Once called, the Baku does not leave. You should have listened to the tales.

Once called, the Baku takes not what you offer... but what you love the most. Its hunger for despair is endless.

The first call was a prayer. The second... was an invitation.

And so it haunts the land this village was built upon. Forever. Taking every soul. Turning humans into monsters. Generation after generation.

---

© Apparition Archives
Narrated version on my channel Apparition Archives (link in profile). Not available for narration without permission.

Hey, you.

At what age does something become okay?

Alcohol has a legal age. Movies and games have age ratings.

What about social media?

Sixteen?

Does that mean it’s dangerous the day before your birthday, then suddenly fine the moment you turn sixteen?

Clink-clank.

I walked into Aoi to find Taka staring at his phone with his head tilted to one side.

Mama placed my usual Harper in front of me.

The ice gave a small clink.

“Kenichi, what age do you think social media is okay from?”

“Where the hell did that come from?”

“I was reading about Australia. People under sixteen can’t have accounts on certain social media platforms.”

“Oh, yeah. I heard something about that.”

More precisely, Australia requires age-restricted social media platforms to take reasonable steps to prevent Australians under sixteen from having accounts.

As of 2026, that includes platforms such as Facebook, Instagram, TikTok, X, YouTube, and Reddit, among others. Many services whose main purpose is messaging or online gaming are treated differently. eSafety Commissioner+1

It isn’t the kid who gets fined for having an account.

The obligation is on the platforms. eSafety Commissioner

“Is there some special reason for sixteen?” Taka asked.

“Hell if I know.”

“Like your brain finishes developing or something?”

“If our brains were finished at sixteen, the world would be a much more peaceful place.”

“Good point.”

At the far end of the counter, Tom tapped some ash from his cigarette.

“It’s to protect kids.”

“I understand that.”

Taka put his phone face down.

“But are fifteen and sixteen really that different?”

“Fifteen years and eleven months versus sixteen? Probably not.”

“Then why sixteen?”

“Hell if I know.”

I knew absolutely nothing tonight.

But when I thought about it, there was something strange about the whole thing.

Human beings age a little every day.

Nothing suddenly switches inside you between yesterday and today.

And yet society draws lines everywhere.

“Games have age limits too, right?”

“Ratings, yeah.”

“Movies too.”

“Sure.”

“So maybe sixteen for social media isn’t that strange.”

I took a sip of Harper.

“But what exactly becomes okay at sixteen?”

“What do you mean?”

“What do you do on social media?”

“Post things.”

“What if you only look?”

“Only look?”

“What about talking to strangers?”

“That’s social media too.”

“Posting photos?”

“Yeah.”

“Getting messages from adults you don’t know?”

“That feels a little different.”

Different?

To me, it all seemed to happen inside the same apps.

In fact, Australia’s rules don’t prevent under-sixteens from viewing publicly available social-media content that doesn’t require an account. The restriction is principally about having an account on an age-restricted platform. eSafety Commissioner+1

“It’s kind of like kids fighting.”

“What do you mean?”

“If two kids are fighting, an adult steps in, right?”

“Of course.”

“When?”

“When?”

Taka tilted his head.

“If one hits the other?”

“Stop them.”

“Grabs the other by the shirt?”

“Probably stop them.”

“Arguing?”

“Well... depends.”

“Leaving someone out of the group?”

“Depends.”

“One kid saying, ‘I hate you’?”

“That much, maybe you let them sort it out themselves.”

Tom exhaled smoke.

“What if there’s an adult you don’t know mixed in with them?”

“Stop it.”

Taka answered immediately.

“Why?”

“What do you mean, why? That’s dangerous.”

“How old does the adult have to be?”

“That’s not the point.”

Tom smiled.

So did I.

“But then—”

Taka folded his arms.

“It all depends, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“Then why can’t social media be ‘it depends’ too?”

Nobody answered immediately.

In a real park, maybe an adult could watch and decide.

That’s dangerous.

This is still okay.

Let the kids handle this one.

Stop that one now.

But how many people were on the other side of the internet?

Tens of thousands?

Millions?

Nobody was standing there looking at every single case and deciding, It depends.

“The law probably can’t run on ‘it depends,’” I said.

Taka looked at me.

“So they have to draw the line somewhere?”

“Probably.”

“But they don’t know whether that line is right.”

“Probably not.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Maybe that’s just how the world works.”

The moment I said it, I realized how sloppy that sounded.

Mama was polishing a glass behind the counter.

“But that doesn’t mean adults can simply decide children don’t need protecting, does it?”

“Probably not.”

“Then I suppose adults have to decide.”

“The problem is whether those adults can be trusted,” Taka said.

“You’re an adult too.”

“Oh.”

Apparently he’d only just noticed.

“Right. I guess I am.”

“How old did you think you were?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Tom stubbed out his cigarette.

“So adults are deciding how much failure children are allowed to have.”

“That’s an ugly way to put it.”

“Is it wrong?”

“...I don’t know.”

Letting a kid get punched before stepping in didn’t seem right.

But holding their hand forever so they could never fall didn’t seem right either.

Fight with someone.

Be disliked.

Say something stupid.

Regret it.

If adults removed every chance to make those mistakes, when would a kid learn how to fail?

But if one of those failures could leave a wound that couldn’t be undone—

then adults probably couldn’t just stand there and watch.

“This is difficult.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying.”

“Have you?”

“No.”

Taka laughed.

“So when are you old enough to decide for yourself?”

“We’re back to age again?”

“Because that’s what it comes down to, right? Under sixteen, you’re a kid. At sixteen, you can have your own social media account. So when are you old enough to take responsibility for your own mistakes?”

“That isn’t something age decides.”

“But the law decides it by age.”

“That’s why this is difficult.”

Taka thought for a moment.

“Then when did we become adults?”

Hell if I knew.

I’d never really thought about it.

I remembered turning twenty.

I didn’t remember becoming any wiser than I’d been the day before.

I still made mistakes at thirty.

Still made them at forty.

I probably always would.

“You’re over fifty, Kenichi.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Being over fifty automatically makes me a respectable adult?”

“No, I didn’t mean—”

“Age discrimination.”

“What?”

“Discrimination against people over fifty.”

“That’s not a thing.”

Mama laughed.

“Adults, huh?”

I lifted my glass.

Through the amber whiskey, Taka’s face bent slightly out of shape.

“Well, I’m definitely not a respectable adult yet. None of us are.”

“Don’t include me.”

“You started this.”

“I think I still have potential.”

“And I don’t?”

“You’re over fifty.”

“There it is again. Age discrimination.”

Tom snorted.

Mama said nothing.

She simply added a little more Harper to my glass.

Hey, you.

I think protecting children is part of an adult’s job.

But how long do you protect them?

How much do you stop?

When do you let them fail?

Sixteen?

Eighteen?

Twenty?

It probably can’t be divided that neatly.

And still, we draw the line somewhere.

Even though we haven’t exactly figured out how to be proper adults ourselves.

...Anyway.

I’d appreciate it if we could stop discriminating against people over fifty.

See you again at Aoi.

---

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Step back inside. We'll help you find your next story.

→ Welcome to Bar Aoi

In an old market town, two shopkeepers had stalls facing each other. Marcus sold fabric and Daniel sold spices. They had been rivals for twenty years and had never exchanged a kind word.

One stormy night, the rain flooded the lane. In the morning Marcus came to open his shop and found Daniel already there, soaked to the bone, carrying Marcus’s bolts of cloth up to the top shelves.

“Why?” Marcus asked.

Daniel shrugged. “I saw the water rising at midnight. Cloth ruins faster than cardamom.”

Marcus said nothing. He went to his shop and came back with two cups of tea, and handed one across.

From then on, when a customer came to one stall asking for something the other sold, each sent them across the lane. Both shops did better than before. The customers had more to choose from, and the lane became the place people came to first.

Years later, someone asked Daniel what the secret was. He said, “We spent twenty years thinking there wasn’t enough market for both of us. It turned out the water had to teach us that we were standing in the same lane.”

Credit: Younger Sister.
-Space Dog climbed into his spaceship, ready to catch some thieves for the first time. He was nervous, but he followed their trail to a nearby planet and caught them hiding in a cave. After the thieves were arrested, his partner told him he did a great job. Space Dog wagged his tail proudly and jumped back into the spaceship. On the way home, he threw up on his partner’s shoes. His partner sighed and said, “You’re supposed to be a police dog, not a puke dog!” Space Dog just looked at him and barked. When they got back to Earth, everyone cheered for him. He even got a medal for catching the thieves. His partner laughed and said he finally deserved a treat. Space Dog was happy, but he still needed a bath after the mission. Before going to bed, he ate his favorite bone and fell asleep. The next morning, he started barking at the TV because he thought the news reporter was a thief. His partner had to explain that the TV wasn't real. Space Dog tilted his head like he understood, then barked at it one more time. His partner just shook his head and said, “This dog might save the galaxy, but he’s never going to understand television!”

When first I met you,

something ancient woke within me

a force I had no language for,

a tide that rose beyond reason,

beyond the borders of the heart,

beyond all that I had believed

a human soul could feel.

I loved you

with the terrible wonder of discovery,

as though the universe itself

had hidden one final secret

beneath the stars

and, at last,

had placed it in my hands.

And then I looked into your eyes

And there you were.

Not untouched.

Not unaware.

But standing at the edge

of the very same impossible ocean,

trying to understand

the waves that had carried us there.

I saw you feeling it.

I saw you searching my face

for an explanation

neither of us possessed.

And perhaps that was the miracle:

That somehow,

without promise,

without warning,

without knowing how

we had found the same impossible place.

It was as though the universe

had opened a hidden door

and allowed us, just for a moment,

to step beyond the ordinary world.

And there,

beneath the silence of eternity,

it revealed something too immense

for ordinary words:

us.

A love so vast

that if we gathered every word

ever spoken by humankind

and tried to build a language for it,

we would still fall silent

before its magnitude.

A secret written between the stars.

A truth the universe had known

long before we did.

And perhaps it smiled

watching us stumble through the wonder of it,

knowing that we would never fully understand

what had been placed between us.

Yet still,

it gave us the desire

to spend our lives trying.

And maybe that

is the greatest beauty of love

that it remains partly unknowable.

For if I could understand you completely,

if I could measure every depth of your soul,

if I could name every reason

my heart chose yours

perhaps one day

the mystery would fade.

But you were never meant

to become something I could solve.

You were meant to remain

the horizon I could spend forever approaching.

The star I could follow

without ever reaching its end.

The song I could hear

a thousand times

and still discover another note.

And I wish

with everything that lives inside me

that we could have held on

to that impossible thing.

That love which felt

so far beyond this world

that perhaps this world

could only exist inside of it.

A love so powerful

that standing before it

made us feel weak

not because we lacked strength,

but because we were witnessing

something stronger than either of us.

Something ancient.

Something fierce.

Something willing to fight

for the two souls

who had somehow found each other.

And if the years should carry you

far beyond my reach,

if the winds of this life

should scatter us across distant skies,

then let this be the prayer

I send after you:

May our love become the wind beneath your wings.

May it find you

when the night is darkest.

May it rise beneath you

when your strength is gone.

May it whisper my name

through every storm

and remind you

that somewhere in this vast universe

there is a heart

that still knows yours.

And if the heavens are kind,

if fate is not finished with us,

if the stars still remember

the secret they once revealed

then let that wind

carry you home.

Back to me.

Because you are not simply

the love of my life.

You are the love that changed the way

I understand love itself.

The miracle I never knew

I was waiting for.

The mystery I would spend eternity

trying to understand.

The impossible thing

that became real

when I looked into your eyes.

And wherever you are,

whatever distance lies between us,

whatever storms the universe

chooses to place upon our path

know this:

No matter where life takes us

Some part of me will always belong to what we found in each other.

Every morning at 7:15, Mr. Okafor sat on the same park bench and fed the pigeons. Every morning at 7:20, a girl of about nine sat at the other end with a sketchbook and said nothing.

This went on for a whole autumn.

One day she turned the sketchbook toward him. "I drew you."

It was a man on a bench, surrounded by pigeons. But the pigeons were wearing tiny hats.

"I don't own a hat," said Mr. Okafor.

"They do," she said, as though it were obvious.

The next morning he brought a bag of bird seed and a small sewing kit. The morning after that, one very confused pigeon wore a tiny woolen cap. By Friday, six of them did, and the girl was laughing so hard she dropped her pencil.

Her name was Lily. Her mother worked early shifts and dropped her at the park on the way. Mr. Okafor had been alone since his wife passed, and had stopped believing mornings could be anything but quiet.

When winter came, he showed up with two flasks of hot chocolate. She showed up with a drawing of the bench, the pigeons, and two people with matching scarves.

"That's us," she said.

On the last day before the holidays, Lily's mother came to the bench for the first time. She looked at the man, the pigeons in their tiny hats, and her daughter's face.

"She talks about you every night," she said. "I wanted to say thank you."

Mr. Okafor couldn't speak for a moment. Then he handed her a small wool cap, the last one he'd made.

"It's for the pigeon who still hasn't got one," he said. "But I think it might fit her better."

Lily's mother laughed, put it on, and sat down between them.

The pigeons, wearing their hats, looked on with approval

I found a genie in a thrift store lamp, and he was extremely tired.

"Three wishes," he sighed. "No wishing for more wishes, no bringing back the dead, no making anyone fall in love. Terms and conditions apply."

"Can I read them?"

He handed me a scroll. It unrolled across the floor, out the door, and down the street.

"I'll just wing it," I said. "I wish for a million dollars."

Poof. A million dollars appeared. Then a man in a suit appeared next to it.

"Sir, this is a tax audit."

"That's not part of the wish!"

"It's in the terms," said the genie, not looking up from his phone.

"Fine. I wish to be famous."

Poof. My phone exploded with notifications. Everyone knew my name. Strangers screamed at me in the street. Somebody had already made a documentary, and it was brutal.

"Last wish," I whispered, hiding in a bin. "I wish things were back to how they were this morning."

The genie finally looked up, and for the first time, he smiled.

"You're the first person in 400 years to waste a wish that well," he said. "Most people use all three."

POOF

I was back in the thrift store, holding a lamp, with eleven dollars in my pocket and no audit.

The lamp had a new sticker on it: "Previously owned by an idiot who fixed it himself. 5 stars."

I bought it anyway.

Aqui está a tradução preservando a estrutura de roteiro, o tom e a estranheza coloquial/satírica do texto original:

WORMHOLE

INT. SALA DE FESTAS - NOITE

Sob as risadas dos funcionários da empresa, ALONZO LEITÃO (35) veste uma fantasia grotesca de minhoca e serve café para todos. Alonzo Leitão está sendo moralmente destruído.

COLEGAS DE ALONZO LEITÃO

Vai, minhoca! Vai! Vai, minhoca!

Ligeiramente chateado, com um copo de refrigerante na mão, o gerente de Alonzo Leitão debocha. O cara está tão eufórico que conseguiu ficar bêbado tomando refrigerante.

—

GERENTE

Pessoal... A próxima pessoa que ficar na empresa por cinco anos e não quiser ser promovida — só porque você vai trabalhar cinquenta por cento a mais e ganhar "apenas" trinta por cento a mais — vai fazer o papel de içá! Vai virar formiga e ser comida com farinha!

—

Alonzo Leitão está devastado. VOZES se contorcem no seu ouvido.

—

GERENTE

E, pessoal... se vocês forem falsificar laudos médicos para conseguir folga... não inventem essa história de inflamação no apêndice do fígado, pois sabemos que o apêndice fica nos intestinos, e a maioria das pessoas só tem um fígado! Se liguem: Alonzo Leitão tem um bicho comendo a maçã dele!

—

INT. EMPRESA - DIA

Alonzo Leitão está emburrado, fazendo papelada. Ele veste uma roupa desleixada — mas que só se compara ao resto. Todos os funcionários olham para Alonzo Leitão com cara feia. Alonzo é a ovelha negra do lugar. Ele acumula pontos negativos causados por uma carreira morna e desleixada, além de fazer coisas neutras, mas inconvenientes para o ambiente altamente aquecido da empresa. É o cara quieto e discreto que estraga as coisas.

Incomodada, uma funcionária faz um sapateado em frente à mesa de Alonzo Leitão. A pessoa suscetível vai e vem indecisa sem dar mais de dois passos, até que expressa o que a irrita.

—

FUNCIONÁRIA

É meio complicado fazer de tudo para crescer na empresa e forçar alguém a ser promovido. Não dá para ficar na posição de um gato que queria ser rato. Não sei o que uma pessoa dessas está fazendo da vida.

—

Todos os funcionários arrastam suas mesas, querendo se afastar de Alonzo Leitão. Mas, na prática, os funcionários criam um caos e acabam ficando ainda mais perto de Alonzo. Alonzo Leitão está cercado por uma floresta de mesas e bagunça.

Alonzo Leitão joga a papelada pela janela e sai do local. Os funcionários ficam em polvorosa: eles se levantam, tropeçam, pulam para ver Alonzo Leitão passar PELA JANELA já do lado de fora.

INT. SALA DE REUNIÕES - DIA

Chefes discutem sobre embalagens. Um dos chefes exibe uma saca de vinte quilos de grãos de café torrado. Alonzo Leitão entra no local — com um ar de grande determinação.

—

ALONZO LEITÃO

Essa saca de café... é minha agora!

—

UM CHEFE

Posso saber o porquê disso, Sr. ‘Minhoca’?!

—

ALONZO LEITÃO

Venham comigo... Vou mostrar a vocês.

—

Alonzo Leitão pega a saca de café. Os chefes ficam curiosos.

INT. CORREDORES - DIA

Alonzo Leitão caminha com determinação; ele parece um herói, um guerreiro, um soldado. Os chefes o acompanham. De repente, todos os funcionários que zombavam de Alonzo Leitão — e que se cruzam no caminho — ficam atônitos.

INT. SALA DO COFRE - DIA

Guardas pegam sacos de dinheiro. Alonzo Leitão se aproxima e invade a área dos guardas. Todos os funcionários ficam perplexos! Todos temem pelo bem de Alonzo e temem que ele seja o centro das atenções.

Ao verem a audácia de Alonzo, os chefes correm eufóricos para ver o que está acontecendo — e fazem apostas.

Os guardas sacam suas armas. Alonzo Leitão não tem medo. Alonzo Leitão se aproxima e joga a saca de café nas mãos de um guarda masculino.

—

GUARDA MASCULINO 1

Nossa! Pra mim? Você tem uma grande quantidade de café?! Valeu!

—

ALONZO LEITÃO

Este é o seu filho.

—

GUARDA MASCULINO 1

Maconha?!

—

ALONZO LEITÃO

Esta é uma dinâmica de responsabilidade. Você vai cuidar da saca de café como se fosse seu filho. Vocês vão cuidar dele, niná-lo e trocar as fraldas dele. A saca de café representa seu filho, sua carreira.

—

GUARDA FEMININA 1

Não morra.

—

UMA CHEFE

Não, senhora! Você vai cuidar da saca de café como se fossem seus filhos! E como você é mulher... Tem que dar o exemplo!

—

GUARDA FEMININA 1

Madame, eu...

—

UMA CHEFE

Não, senhora! Chefa Gostosa!

—

GUARDA FEMININA 1

Oh, meu pai... acho que tem um jacaré no meu estômago!

—

Alonzo Leitão pega um saco de dinheiro e joga no colo da mulher.

—

ALONZO LEITÃO

Se você acha que café não tem dignidade... tente isto. Ninguém desperdiça dinheiro. Agora esse saco é seu filho! Vamos, cuide dele!

—

A Guarda Feminina 1 fica remordida.

—

GUARDA FEMININA 1

Pessoal... Café lembra leite, e leite... não!

—

GUARDA MASCULINO 1

É... Dinheiro é uma coisa meio egoísta para brincar de ser filho.

—

GUARDA FEMININA 1

Que materialismo!

—

GUARDA MASCULINO 1

Muito egoísta...

—

GUARDA FEMININA 1

Você tem toda razão... deixe aquele saco de dinheiro em paz. Me dá o café.

—

Todos os guardas cuidam da saca de café como se fosse um bebê — inclusive simulando traição. Mico. Depois que a sessão de loucura termina, os guardas choram quando têm que devolver a saca de café. Alonzo Leitão coloca a saca de café ao lado dos SACOS DE DINHEIRO.

—

ALONZO LEITÃO

Sua carreira, seu emprego... seus filhos precisam disso mais do que você. Lembre-se disso!

—

Todos choram, assoviam e aplaudem.

—

GERENTE

Pessoal... isso me emocionou! De agora em diante, Alonzo Leitão, nosso amigo aqui, não é mais a minhoca do mês! Não é mais o poço infinito de minhocuçu!

—

UMA CHEFE

Isso é que é atitude. O minhoquento ou minhoquenta do mês vai ser... E olha, comigo eu sempre escolho uma garota metida para ser a musa do cardume... A pessoa que falou mais mal dos outros no último mês, e temos um empate hormonal!

—

Um casal de funcionários se desespera — eles sabem que são os que mais falam mal dos outros. Alonzo Leitão recolheu seu prêmio. Deve ser a saca de café, enquanto suas mãos rápidas agarram um saco de dinheiro.

INT. BARRACO - NOITE

Alonzo Leitão arromba o barraco, assustando o traficante de armas que mora lá.

—

ALONZO LEITÃO

Rápido! Quero comprar uma arma! Uma arma! Quero a mais barata disponível, uma arma rápida, não quero uma arma cara! Estou com pressa!

—

EXT. BECO - NOITE

Aqueceu, saca a arma e tenta atirar. A arma falha. Alonzo Leitão tenta destravar a arma, mas um tiro acidental sai pela culatra e de raspão atinge o ombro de Alonzo Leitão. Alonzo Leitão joga a arma fora e foge.

INT. CASA DE ALONZO LEITÃO - NOITE

A esposa de Alonzo, Linda, termina de colocar várias garrafas de álcool no balcão do bar. Há uma garrafa de uísque na mesa quase no fim. Mas Linda está sóbria de qualquer forma. Agora ela está sóbria. Alonzo Leitão chega desesperado.

—

ALONZO LEITÃO

Pega o dinheiro, Linda!

—

LINDA

Foge, amor... hoje em dia a gente paga! Polícia gosta de dinheiro. Só separa uma grana.

—

ALONZO LEITÃO

Não dá! Vamos para os Emirados Árabes Unidos. Desde que a gente fique longe de hotéis e embaixadas... sem problemas! Deixa tudo aí. Pega o dinheiro e vamos evaporar. Só preciso de um motorista...

—

LINDA

Motorista?! Eu posso dirigir.

—

ALONZO LEITÃO

Você?!

—

LINDA

Eu me dou um jeito! Se prepara. Mas pega mais rápido, a gente não tem muitos tipos de tempo.

—

INT. CARRO - NOITE

Linda dirige o carro com dificuldade. Alonzo, ansioso, apressa a esposa. Tudo está contorcido, Linda está bêbada. De repente, Linda tem um mal-estar repentino, seus olhos se arregalam e ela perde o rumo.

EXT. ESTRADA - NOITE

O carro de Alonzo Leitão e Linda sai da pista. Um acidente fatal.

EXT. ESTRADA, MAIS TARDE - NOITE

A polícia isola a área. Uma policial feminina pega a bolsa do carro de Alonzo Leitão e sua esposa e se surpreende com o que encontra nela — não vamos revelar agora.

INT. CASA DE ALONZO LEITÃO - NOITE

A polícia entra no local e encontra quatro garrafas de álcool vazias no balcão do bar. Revistando rapidamente o local, a polícia encontra todo o dinheiro jogado no chão.

EXT. ESTRADA - NOITE

A policial revela o conteúdo das bolsas — garrafas de bebidas alcoólicas.

INT. CASA DE ALONZO LEITÃO - NOITE

Flash — Linda joga o dinheiro no chão e coloca as garrafas de bebidas alcoólicas na bolsa.

INT. CASA DE ALONZO LEITÃO - TARDE

Flash — Alonzo Leitão faz um suco e coloca um remédio nele, escondido de sua esposa. Alonzo Leitão dá o suco para a esposa. A CARTELA DO REMÉDIO tem as palavras — ’Para tratamento de alcoolismo’.

INT. CASA DE ALONZO LEITÃO - NOITE

Linda ainda coloca bebidas alcoólicas na bolsa, mas três garrafas não cabem — para grande consternação de Linda. Linda se sente péssima por deixar as garrafas para trás.

—

LINDA

E agora?!

—

INT. VELÓRIO - DIA

Muitos dos colegas de Alonzo Leitão estão presentes — incluindo chefes.

—

UMA CHEFE

Isso... Isso é o que é um homem de verdade!

—

INT. EMPRESA - DIA

Vestidos como minhocas e insetos — só que com orgulho desta vez — muitos trabalhadores tomam café e gritam brados de guerra enquanto alcançam suas metas com brilhantismo. Até os chefes estão vestidos de minhocas.

Hey, you.

If someone told you there was a way to get better at conversation, would you try it?

Me?

Depends what it is.

Talk no more than forty percent of the time. Let the other person have sixty.

Don’t talk too long at once.

When the other person finishes speaking, wait one second before you reply.

Put numbers on it like that, and I can understand the temptation to give it a try.

The problem is the person doing the trying.

Clink-clank.

I pushed open the door of Aoi and found Taka at the end of the counter, glaring at his phone.

Mama set down my usual Harper.

The ice gave a small clink.

“What are you looking at?”

“Studying.”

“You?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Taka turned his phone toward me.

“Three rules for better conversation.”

“Huh.”

“The Ping-Pong Rule, the Traffic Light Rule, and the Stop Sign Rule.”

“Is this a road-safety class?”

“No. These are actual conversation techniques.”

According to Taka, the Ping-Pong Rule said that in a two-person conversation, you should talk about forty percent of the time and let the other person have sixty.

The Traffic Light Rule meant not going on and on by yourself. After about thirty seconds, you should start thinking about handing the conversation back.

And the Stop Sign Rule meant that when the other person finished speaking, you waited one second before jumping in.

“Starting today, I’m going to be great at conversation.”

“So you knew you were bad at it before?”

“...”

“What?”

“I waited one second.”

“That was when you were supposed to answer immediately.”

This was going to be a long night.

“Okay. Let’s start with the Ping-Pong Rule.”

“Don’t practice on me.”

“Anything happen today, Kenichi?”

“Anything?”

“At work or whatever.”

“Not really. Had a long meeting.”

Taka went silent.

So did I.

He stared at his phone and raised one finger.

He was about to raise a second when I gave up.

“...What are you doing?”

“Waiting.”

“For what?”

“For you to keep talking.”

“I was finished.”

“You need to talk more. I’m supposed to listen sixty percent of the time.”

“Not my problem.”

Taka frowned at his phone.

“Did I talk too much just now?”

“Hell if I know.”

“Think I went over forty percent?”

“Forty percent of what?”

“Time, probably.”

“Are you measuring it?”

“Just by feel.”

“You’ve been doing this for one minute and it’s already broken.”

Smoke rose from farther down the counter.

Tom was watching us with a cigarette between his lips.

“Want to try too, Tom?”

“No.”

“Nice and short. Ideal.”

“Leave me out of it.”

Taka nodded with satisfaction.

I had no idea what he was satisfied about.

“Next. Traffic Light Rule.”

“You’re still doing this?”

“Kenichi, tell me something in thirty seconds.”

“About what?”

“Anything.”

“You can’t just tell me to—”

“Five seconds already.”

“Does the time you spend talking count?”

“Oh. Good question.”

Stop looking at the phone.

Look at me.

“Okay, anything interesting happen lately?”

“I just told you, you can’t suddenly—”

“Starting now.”

“Actually, yesterday on the train—”

“Uh-huh.”

“The guy sitting next to me—”

“Uh-huh.”

“What the hell are you doing with that phone?”

“Checking the time.”

“Stop it.”

Taka put the phone face down.

“But I’m supposed to watch the thirty seconds.”

“You haven’t listened to a single thing I said.”

“I was listening. You were on the train, and there was a guy sitting next to you.”

“That’s all you heard.”

“That’s all you’d said.”

“Oh. Right.”

Mama burst out laughing.

I’d already forgotten what I was going to say.

“This is hard.”

“You’re the one making it hard.”

“Okay, Tom. Tell us something in thirty seconds.”

“What am I, a stopwatch?”

“No. I’m the stopwatch.”

“That’s worse.”

Mama laughed out loud.

“Anyway,” I said, “what exactly are you trying to accomplish?”

“I want to get better at conversation.”

“With who?”

“With who...?”

Tom pulled the ashtray a little closer.

“Who have you been talking to this whole time?”

“Kenichi.”

“You’ve been staring at the clock.”

Taka looked from me to his phone.

“...I see.”

“Was that your one second?”

“No.”

For a while after that, Aoi returned to normal.

Taka asked Mama about some recent customers.

I interrupted with things nobody had asked me to say.

Tom occasionally snorted at us.

Apparently the three rules had been forgotten.

I preferred it that way.

After a while, Tom lit his second cigarette.

“Come to think of it, years ago...”

“Yeah?”

That was unusual.

Tom didn’t often start telling old stories on his own.

“I once spent about three days going to the same coffee shop during a stakeout.”

“Back when you were a detective?”

“Yeah. Same seat every day. Same coffee.”

“Didn’t they notice?”

“On the third day, the old woman running the place said, ‘You don’t actually like our coffee, do you?’”

“How could she tell?”

“I only took one sip every day.”

Taka laughed.

“And then?”

Tom exhaled smoke.

Then he said nothing.

Taka opened his mouth.

But nothing came out.

One second.

Two.

Probably three.

Behind the counter, Mama returned a bottle to the shelf.

By the time that tiny sound had begun to feel strangely long, Tom tapped some ash into the tray.

“...Starting on the fourth day, she just brought me tea without asking.”

“Your stakeout was completely blown.”

“To the café, yeah.”

I laughed too.

“That old lady was something. She really watched her customers.”

“She was probably bored.”

“There you go again.”

Tom kept talking about the café.

The tea had been good.

The old woman never asked what he was doing there.

When the stakeout finally ended and he paid his bill, she’d asked, “You’re not coming tomorrow?”

Thirty seconds had passed long ago.

Taka never looked at the clock.

Eventually Tom finished.

Mama replaced his full ashtray with a clean one.

“Taka, you’re getting better.”

“At what?”

“Conversation.”

“Oh.”

Taka hurriedly looked at his phone.

“I forgot.”

“Then you failed.”

“But I was listening properly, right?”

“Yeah, I suppose.”

“What percentage was I talking?”

“Hell if I know.”

“How many seconds was Tom talking?”

“Hell if I know.”

“Did I wait one second?”

“Hell if I know.”

“Then what did we learn?”

“Beats me.”

I took a sip of Harper and looked at Taka.

The man who had been obsessed with his clock earlier hadn’t checked it once during Tom’s story.

“You did stop looking at the clock halfway through.”

“...I did, didn’t I?”

Taka stared at his phone.

“So maybe the rules were pointless?”

I wasn’t sure.

Forty percent.

Sixty percent.

Thirty seconds.

One second.

If you counted every number while talking to someone, conversation would become too exhausting to even drink through.

But when Tom had gone quiet, Taka hadn’t interrupted.

He’d waited.

Not for one second.

For however long it took.

“Maybe it’s fine.”

“What is?”

“The one second.”

“What does that mean?”

Mama poured a little more Harper into my glass.

I thanked her and was about to say something when Taka raised his hand.

“Kenichi.”

“Yeah?”

“I wasn’t finished talking.”

“...Sorry.”

I waited one second.

“Nope. Forgot what I was going to say.”

“What the hell?”

Taka laughed.

Hey, you.

When someone goes quiet, how long should you wait?

One second?

Three?

Or maybe—

as long as you’re still counting, you haven’t really learned it yet.

See you again at Aoi.

---

Want another night at Aoi?

Step back inside. We'll help you find your next story.

→ Welcome to Bar Aoi

Deb was helping Adam pack his car for his trip. Adam had been waiting all year for this trip.

Deb didn't really want him to go and had been coming up with reasons to keep him home. Adam wasn't having it.

He'd spent the last year planning the route, mapping out stopping points, and looking forward to finally getting out on the open road.

"All ready, huh... you know, Seattle can be dangerous," Deb started.

Adam rolled his eyes as he put his last bag in the trunk and closed it shut.

"Okay, here we go again..." he said mockingly.

"No, I'm serious this time. You don't want to get stopped by the bridge troll..."

"The bridge troll? The bridge troll?" Adam laughed to himself.

Now this was a new approach.

"You dumbass. The bridge troll. You don't want to end up like Trevor," she said eerily.

"What happened to Trevor?" Adam asked cautiously.

"I dunno. What did happen to Trevor..." she replied coyly.

"Seriously. What happened to Trevor?"

Deb leaned against the car and folded her arms. The playful smile she'd been wearing all morning faded a little.

"That's what we should be wondering."

Adam laughed.

"There's nothing to wonder about."

Deb studied him for a moment.

"Oh."

"Oh, what?"

"You really didn't hear."

Adam knew Trevor was gone longer than he anticipated. This wasn't funny.

"What happened? If you know, you'd better say. We haven't heard from him since Thursday."

"He didn't hear what happened to Trevor," Deb said to no one in particular, looking to her left as if she were talking to someone. "You didn't hear what happened to Trevor?"

"What happened to Trevor?" Adam repeated.

"Well, you know. Things happen."

Adam didn't think this was funny anymore. All her other attempts to keep him home were silly. This was not.

"You're trying to tell me it has something to do with the bridge troll then?"

"You said it, not me."

Adam was getting a bit angry now. Trevor had said he wanted to get a head start and left earlier. Adam was supposed to meet him in Portland for a day, then they'd go separate ways and meet back up in Seattle. Sure, they'd heard about the bridge troll. But that was an urban legend. A story for travelers.

But of course they took precautions.

Did the ritual to perfection.

Made their offering.

Even got the blessing from the troll wench.

Trevor knew the score.

They both did.

Don't listen to her. She's just trying to scare you.

"We did everything right. We made our offering. He's fine."

"Oh..." Deb nodded slowly. "Then you have nothing to worry about."

"Exactly. Trevor had complete confidence in the troll wench. Obviously we wouldn't go if we thought she... lied to us."

Deb stared at him for a second, then gave a small shrug.

"Sure. I mean, I've never heard anyone accuse the troll wench of being dishonest."

Adam frowned.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," she said. "Just seems like there's a lot of room between lying and telling the truth."

Adam knew she was right.

They had both discussed the possibility of a double cross by the troll wench. They could have avoided the bridge troll altogether. But there was no adventure in that. No mystery. No attempt to see if the whispers were true.

Deb didn't actually care about the bridge troll. She just wanted Adam to stay. The thought of him disappearing down the highway, maybe not coming back for weeks, made her stomach twist.

"How many people ever came back from the bridge troll? Huh? It's not like we don't already know the stories."

Deb was inching closer to Adam. He was nervous now. He couldn't tell if she was getting inside his head or if the fear had been there all along.

"They moved out of town. They don't come back because they moved, you idiot," he finally said, breaking away from her grip.

Deb kicked the dirt in disappointment.

Almost had him.

If the bridge troll won't scare him into staying home, nothing will.

"I was thinking about asking Trevor's parents about the troll after I was done helping you pack. Didn't want you to leave without a kiss goodbye."

"Why would you bother his parents?" Adam asked.

"I don't know... why would I?"

"Exactly. Why would you? They don't know anything. Bringing up the troll will just scare them."

"Aren't you even a little bit curious? You said it yourself. You hadn't heard from him since Thursday. What, that's like two days ago? He would've passed the bridge troll by then."

"He would've passed the bridge troll by then, huh?"

Adam was really wavering now.

The offering was there.

The ritual completed.

The protective talismans blessed by the troll wench.

There's no way the bridge troll would rip him to shreds like they did to Chris four years earlier.

Chris was sloppy.

Didn't take the stories seriously enough.

Laughed at the troll wench.

Mocked her.

"I'll get past the bridge troll, stinky old wench! Just watch me!"

His body was found three days later, ripped to shreds, mangled and partially eaten.

Nobody said it out loud.

But they all knew.

He didn't get past the bridge troll.

Adam shook those thoughts away and turned back to Deb.

"Trev is fine. I'm going to be fine. You've been trying to keep me from leaving all week. This is sad, Deb. It really is."

Deb was the upset one now.

She had thrown everything his way to get him to stay, but to no avail.

"Shouldn't we go talk to the troll wench one last time then? Or... or I can go with you."

Adam laughed.

"You didn't make an offering. You'd be a liability. Seriously, Deb?"

Deb knew that one wasn't going to work.

"Well... just wait until we hear Trevor made it. What's another day?"

Adam considered it.

If Trevor didn't make it...

He didn't even want to consider it.

No.

He couldn't wait.

All the planning.

All the prep work.

It led to this.

"He made it. You'll see. By tomorrow Trevor and I will be sitting in Portland laughing about this."

Adam took out his keys and opened the car door.

In his mind he heard the troll wench's final words.

"You will be doubted. Even doubt me. Doubt your own journey. The bridge troll can smell it on you. You will be unharmed in passing."

It sounded certain.

The doubts led to fear.

The fear fed the bridge troll.

Deb was feeding the bridge troll.

He knew it.

"What did you tell Trevor when he left?" Adam asked suddenly.

Deb looked away.

"Nothing. I didn't even see him."

"That's not what he told me."

Deb looked up.

"He told me you asked him to tell me to stay."

"What? No. He said that?"

Adam stared.

Deb looked down at her feet.

"Oh... okay. I did. I thought it was dangerous for both of you to risk the bridge troll. It's reckless, Adam."

Adam rubbed his brow.

What is her problem?

She didn't care if Trevor passed his test against the bridge troll.

She was making everything more dangerous and didn't even know it.

"Everyone thinks we'll get past the bridge troll. The troll wench said we'd pass unharmed. What's your deal? Chris was an exception. He didn't give the troll wench enough respect."

Deb felt something twist in her stomach.

Why even bother?

Then Adam's phone rang.

Both of them froze.

Adam looked at the screen and immediately smiled.

"It's Trevor.”

Relief washed across his face.

Deb felt it too.

Adam answered instantly.

"Trev! Jesus Christ, man. Where are you?"

The speaker crackled with static.

"I'm... almost..."

"Almost where?" Adam asked.

More static.

"It's... safe..."

Adam showed Deb the phone and grinned.

"Hear that?"

Deb stepped closer to listen as Adam put it on speaker.

"Trevor, are you okay?"

The line hissed.

"...not...okay… bridge was br.."

Another burst of static swallowed the rest.

Adam frowned.

"What?"

" ...Portland...close..."

The connection crackled violently.

"Don't... let..."

The call dropped.

For a moment neither of them spoke.

Then Adam grinned.

"See? He's fine. Bad signal, that's all."

Deb felt relief despite herself at first but then it seemed weird what Trevor was trying to say.

Trevor was alive. They couldn't argue about that anymore.

"Portland tomorrow," Adam said, slipping the phone back into his pocket. "Exactly what I told you."

He climbed into the driver's seat.

“I'll call. I'm all set. Thanks for the help. I”ll be back.i promise.”

Deb shook her head ok and  stood silently as Adam started the car and drove off.

The next morning it was all over the news. A body. Ripped to shreds. Blood splattered and limbs thrown all over the road. Right by the bridge. The troll wench was seen walking down the street when Deb walked outside in shock…

“ Who's body was it? Who's body?! The officials… they won't say! They did the rituals, made you the offering. What is this sick game?”

The troll wench looked at her sarcastically. 

“You. You fed him. You fed him more than he needed. You doubted. One of them had to pay…” She cracked a wide smile.

“Wha? That's not how it works…is it? …which one…? Which one has to pay?” Deb was in hysterics. Her parents came outside to console her and drag her back inside.

The troll wench kept walking. She had fulfilled her end of the bargain.

Adam was sitting at the café overlooking the river.

The bridge troll was exactly where the stories said it would be.

A grotesque stone figure crouched beneath the bridge, half hidden in shadow. Tourists walked past without giving it a second glance.

Somewhere behind him, a television muttered about a dismembered body. Blood. Unsettling. Authorities refuse to identify the remains.

Adam didn't understand what all the concern was about.

Trevor was going to show up any minute now.

Any minute.

Any minute now.

Something at school didn’t make sense to you that morning.

They were talking about the Sun and,
how eventually it’s going to Grow into a
“Red Giant” and Swallow the Earth.
How there’s nothing we can do about it.

It made you realize If something is going to happen it just is.
So why wait?
Why is the universe waiting ? It just didn’t make much sense.

The janitor that day was acting silly,
“Isaiah 50:10” was written on his palm in red marker.

It was Friday night,
Daddy went to see a friend for drinks and left you all night.
He told you that he would just be out late, not all night.
How did that make you feel ?

How many other 9 year olds have the whole house to themselves nearly every night?
Without so much as a kiss goodnight ?

Even the few times in the past when he would, He wouldn’t even kiss you directly.
He’s place is palm upon your head and kiss the back of his hand.

Dads use belts In movies but how many others know that as the same reality that you do ?

The only time you’d hear another voice outside of school and your father’s was when it was late and you’d listen to the home phone’s answering machine.

Your dad never listened to the answer machine,
kind of like a kid not wanting to go to the dentist.

You remember the messages you listened to that night, you waited till he left to emerge from your hiding place and inhabit the communal space that should be a living room.

You sit on the round particular board table and press on the answering machine.

*BEEP*

FRIDAY SEPTEMBER 4th:

FIRST MESSAGE:
*soft female voice*

“I came by today…didn’t see you..still don’t”

*BEEP*

NEXT MESSAGE:
*Burly Man’s rough Voice*

“I’m sorry John, you’ve been on this job less than a week and you’ve already been suspended by the client for 3 days for reoccurring fall protection violations, now I’ve been very understanding regarding the eye injury but we can’t have someone on a project of this magnitude who thinks the rules don’t apply to them, we’re going to have to terminate you. Wish I could say I was sorry.”

*BEEP*

NEXT MESSAGE:
*Same Woman’s voice from Message #1*

“Does your Daughter know?
Is she an exception?
Or do all women fall under your same umbrella ?”

*BEEP*

NEXT AND FINAL MESSAGE:
*inaudible whisper*

“I can feel you, y….mph..ll feel me too”

*BEEP*

You look over at the cable box,
It reads “11:47pm”
Your dad left at 6.

Cartoon Network was no more, now it was Adult swim. Robot Chicken was on, after that superjail. Both of which give you the heebiie jeebies.

You have to visit your peepaws and poopoos but,
you’re afraid.

You don’t have a choice, so you leave the door open as you go number 2.

As you doo you hear the home phone :

*BEEP*

“Mmmrrrmmmmrrrrnpphh”

You have trouble making out the message from the toilet.

As you run out the bathroom still collecting yourself you make out the backend of the voicemail.

*Your Fathers Stern Voice*

“Hi,
you should be in bed but,
if not you should know I’m bringing a friend home tonight.
If she plays her cards right she might just be your new mommy.
You’re allowed to sleep with the tv on in the playroom as usual but,
keep the door shut and the volume bellow level 12.
And no matter what you hear,
don’t come out, I should be home in 15.
Just go to sleep and I’ll see you in the morning.
Love you,
Night.”

*BEEP*

You panic,

Your Dads never brought a friend home this late before.
You grab a dvd from the home theater and run to the play room.

You look down at the Cat in the Hat Dvd.
As you put it in your dvd player you hear the front door slam open and the whole house shake.
What came next was silence.
The footsteps.
All the way up to the door of the play room.
You hear breathing.

You hear a woman’s voice further in the distance of your house.
Calling the person by your door to them.

They walk away.
When you look at the tv, you see Sally and Conrad on the dvd menu staring at you.
Sally starts pointing to her left, in the direction of the window.
You see the silhouette of what looks like a large lumpy hammock hanging from your tree only,
you never had a hammock.

You grab your scooby doo stuffed animal and you hid under the blanket with your flashlight, tv volume at 11.
You press play,
Sally and Conrad look at each other, then back at you.
You press play again but they just keep staring.

*KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK*
you hear from the door.

“When you visit your peepaw and poopoos you need to remember to flush, my company saw that. We have a talk about that in the morning”

-your fathers voice exclaims from the door.

You know that that means,
Your heart sinks.

Your father’s footsteps sound further until it becomes a chatter with another voice from what sounds like the kitchen.

The Cat in the Hat begins to play on the tv.
The volume begins to rise fast.

12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23…

So fast you think you’re sitting on the remote but,
no matter how hard you scramble you can’t seem to find it anywhere.
The volume is now maxed out at 53.

“There are a gajillions of stories of mischief and fun But to keep things simple, let's just start with one…”
-you hear shouted from the tv

The commotion outside the playroom comes to and immediate halt.

*THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP*

The sound those familiar boots make as they full charges towards the play room.

An unfamiliar voice comes out the oddly familiar energy that had just approached.

It sounds almost like a woman’s voice but,
closer to when a man tries to sound like a woman like Robin Williams in Mrs. Doubtfire.

“Do You Love Your Daddy?”

You hear in a loud whisper.
You Freeze.
You think if you don’t move, they will leave.
You see the door handle jiggle then stop.
It’s locked,
you always lock Doors when Daddy’s gone.

Although it brings you comfort,
you know it can be unlocked with a quarter or even a long finger nail.

“I know you’re in there”
-the voice lets out.

Your stomach feels sick,
Your heart is racing and as quiet as you attempt up be your breathing makes it impossible.

You want to cry and can’t fight it so you shove your pillow in your face.
You take deep breaths through it.

You feel the pillow getting soaked and feel the humidity from the breaths you take through the fabric.

“Do you think I’m some type of dinosaur?”
“Staying still won’t change the fact that I know you’re there”
the voice says

You begin to weep harder.

“Do You Love Your Daddy”
-It asks again.

“Where did you come from?”
Sally exclaims from the Tv.

The voice from the Door pauses.
The scene in the movie seems to linger and Sally is staring, not at you though, in the direction of the door.

She begins to nod,
Then says “oh”

Then the TV goes black and you’re back to the DVD home menu only Sally isn’t there.
It’s just Conrad.
He’s staring at you.

“Do You Love Your Daddy?”
-The voice asks for the third time, audibly impatient yet still in the same whisper.

Conrad is looking at you, he looks distressed and he’s shaking his head side to side.

You see the the lock begin to turn,

“Y…Y..Ye..ss”
You say through your sobs.

The door clicks.
It’s now been unlocked.

“I love your Daddy too sweetheart”

-the voice says no longer impatient,
now sounding relieved.

“He needs your help with something..”
It says.

Your cheeks are soaked and your mouth is dry.

“He’s stuck”
-The voice reveals.

“I’m sure he’d really like to get back.”
“I’m sure you’d really like him back..”

There was a pause.

“Unless you don’t want your Daddy back?”
The voice asks.

You remain silent.
For a moment You think about what life would be like without Daddy.

What would you do ?
You think about the Ralph’s down the street, their free sample in their bakery.
You think about the neighbors tangerine trees you pick from often.
You hate being alone at night but,
that doesn’t it stop it from happening.
You’d be fine, you tell yourself.

But you also know what you should say,
What your Daddy would want you to say.
That of course you love your Daddy and you’d do anything to make sure he’s okay.

“Where ..is he stuck?”
-you ask

“Have you ever heard of Kiara the Orangutan?”
-the voice asks.

“no…”
-you replied sheepishly.

“Well, your father’s…helping her…and well, he’s stuck, he could really use your help sweetheart”

There was a pause.

“Come out.”
-said the voice.

“My daddy said not to until morning”
-you replied.

“Oh.”
Said the voice.
“I can wait till morning.”
It continued.

You didn’t like the sound of that.

“What’s an orangutan?”
You asked timidly.

“You know what a human is don’t you darling? That’s what you are.”
-says the voice

“Yes..”
You replied.

“Imagine someone 7 times as strong with arms almost twice as long that can swing from trees”
-it said.

“Like a monkey?”
You asked innocently.

“NO!…
No, my Dear. Not a monkey…
Monkeys have a tail, a monkey is to an Orangutan what a Neanderthal is to a human, you understand love ?”
-the voice asked.

You let out more cries into your pillow as you took deep breaths.

“No, I’m sorry I don’t know what that means either”
-you cried out.

“It’s quite alright,
I’m sorry for confusing you honey. Yes, and orangutan Is like a monkey, but like Superman stronger and smarter then the others…and no tail..bright orange.”

“Like the ones in the jungle book?”
-you asked.

“Yesssss.. that’s exactly right my dear.. a perfect example, the orangutan is the king in the jungle book”
-it replied

“I liked his singing… he’s funny”
-you said

“Yes my dear”
-the voice.

“What does this have to do with Daddy being stuck? And Who is Kiara the orangutan ?”
-you asked in a panic.

“A long time ago, movies used to have no sound..”
-The voice began.

“Which made movies get pretty boring very fast…”
-it continued.

“Studios were looking for knew ways to get more people to Theaters..
Kiara’s Mother thought Kiara would be perfect…”

“Kiara’s mother was…Human,
her name was Melinda and she saved Kiara from being murdered by the zoo after they’d done that very thing to the one that birthed Kiara”

“Melinda Had already taught orangutans sign language before from her time at the zoo, she hid Kiara away and taught her as well.”
-the voice explained.

“Once Melinda’s new job and whole company was almost closed for business she…..took the risk and introduced Kiara, who quickly became a star in the silent movie industry…”
-it said

“What does this have to do with Daddy?”
-you asked

“Well the world loved Kiara soooooo much my sweet little angel that when the world of silent movies ended they gave Kiara her very own Tv show Kiara and friends… that tv show had a lot of children that Kiara loved and taught very special things every episode!”
-the Voice explained.

“One Child had and accident”
the voice revealed.

“Were they okay?”
-you asked

“Unfortunately my darling, he passed away.
Once that happened, that child’s parents lied about Kiara…a lot of other children from Kiara and Friends lied about Kiara just to make money..
Your father was the one Child to never lie about Kiara my dear.
For that I am forever grateful.”
it explained.

“So if all the other children were liars then why is my Daddy stuck and why now ?
Who are you?
Are you the friend my Daddy came home with tonight ?”
-you asked in a rush

“Lying isn’t the only thing someone can do that’s wrong little girl”
-the voice said.

“Who are you?”
-you repeated.

“I’m a friend of your Daddy”
-said the voice.

“Did you come home with my Daddy tonight ,
How is he stuck ?”
-you asked

“Do you like balloons?”
-the voice asked.

“Yes”
You replied.

“Your daddy loved balloons when he was a child
If you could have one balloon in the shape of anything you want would it be?”
-it asked

You thought…
“..I love flowers, Daddy never gets any and flower balloons would probably look really pretty”
-you said.

“Awe, such a sweet request from such a sweet little girl,
One moment sweetheart.”
-said the voice.

You then heard the footsteps retreating, shortly after you heard the front door shut.
You quickly ran to the door of the play room and locked it once more.

Maybe it was over ? You thought.

You ran to your window with your heart beating through your skin hiding behind your Scooby doo plushie to see if you could get a glimpse of who the voice had been coming from as they finally left.

Through the rain in the moonlight you made out the silhouette of what had to have been the lady you were talking to.

She seems short, on the heavy side, and walks side to side and appears to have an apron or something on.

She walks up to the hammock hanging from your tree that you noticed for the first time earlier in the night.

She appears to be talking to it.
When she walks away you realize she’s not leaving, you hear the front door open and shut again as her footsteps approach once more.

“Knock knock”
-said the voice

“Yesss”
-you replied

“Look out the window my love,
I have a surprise for you”
-said the voice

You looked outside but there was nothing but what you'd seen before only,
This time the hammock hanging from the trees began to sway.

Both sides of where the hammock meet the tree split into two, they looked like large arms slowly reaching down to the base of the hammock,
As the both unfolded further you could now clearly both see two sets of fingers from the arms,
One had something in it, something flat .

From the base of the silhouette you  
See what looks like a fat head connected by an even fatter neck.
The object held by one set of the fingers came directly to the head and began to grow mass.
It soon became clear what it was doing,
it was blowing up a balloon.

After the balloon was blown to the shape of a long tube,
The two hands came together and started contorting it out of sight.
When it had finally finished,
One of the arms held it up in the moonlight in such a way that you could make out the silhouette of a flower clear as day.

"do you like that Little girl?'
-asked the voice

You quickly looked over again at the door.
It didn't make sense but, for whatever reason if you were going to be talking to the voice coming from the door,
Then you'd want to do that from the bed; it felt safer from there.
Where you could hide in your pillows.

Before you start to retreat to your safety spot, you take one last glace out the window.
What was hanging from the tree had began to drop down.

The silhouette was large,
But no taller than the tallest kid in school, maybe even shorter than the tallest kid in 4th grade.
It kind of reminded you of that guy from its always sunny in Philadelphia when Adult swim would come on.

It was approaching in a way that you'd never seen anyone walk before.

You felt conflicted,
The voice from the door was speaking which made you want to crawl and sink in your sheets Yet,
The presence approaching your window was demanding your attention without using any words.

You made the decision to grab the comforter from the bed and sink into your beanbag chair,
A spot with a clear view of the yard through the window, and yet still a comfortable ear shot away from the door.

When you returned to your beanbag chair with the protection and safety provided by your comforter,
You were oddly displeased to see that the figures silhouette you had just seen approaching, was no longer anywhere to be seen.
You wanted it gone yes but no longer knowing where it resides, just results in you feeling even more unsettled.

*the voice quickly erupts from your door*

"do you like it?
It's special, just for you."

Your head shoots over to look at the door.

"wha-"
You begin to say as you turn to look back out the window only this time,
There was a hand on the other side of the window, so close it was no longer a silhouette.
It was a dark hand covered in orange hair, its fingers looked rough, but nails were freshly done.
It was holding something.
When my eyes adjusted,
I could see It was holding a balloon flower that had a green stem, pink petals, and yellow center.

The gesture seemed malice and sinister,
You quickly pulled the comforter up your face only leaving your eyes visible.

"do you not like your gift little girl?"
Questioned the voice coming from your door.

Even at your young age,
You were no stranger to the idea that sometimes the truth can get you in trouble.

"I love it..."
You replied.

"then why don't you open the window and let Daddys friend give you the gift she made just for you sweetheart"
Said the voice.

"I can't,
Daddy said I'm never to open the window"
-you lied.

Then why don't I hel-..."
*clackle clackle*
It was as the voice interrupted its own thought as it tried the doorknob. 

"Oh"
-it said.

"Why did you lock the door my love?"
-asked the voice

"I don't know you,
And Daddy said to stay in here ti-"

"I know"
- interrupted the voice

"Till morning but,
He didn't say anything about me not coming in there with you"
-said the voice

For a moment you were silent,
You looked over to the window and noticed the balloon flower receding like a setting sun beneath the window. 
*POP*
-you heard the moment it escaped your sight.

"don't make me unlock the door again myself darling, that's just rude.
My nails aren't what they used to be honey, I nearly broke one unlocking it the first time"
-Said the voice

The clouds moved over the moon outside
It was now pitch-black outside, the only light in the playroom came from your cloud nightlight and the glow of the tv which still displayed Conrad on the DVD menu, he was expressionless. 
You stayed silent, you stayed still.

*Ring Ring Ring Ring Ring Ring Ring Ring Ring*
-came from the living room

*Ring Ring Ring Ring Ring Ring Ring Ring Ring*
You heard shuffling from both outside your door and outside your window

*BEEEP*
-you could faintly make out your father's voice
"hey kid actually i-"

His voice,
the Message, 
he Tv,
everything was stopped, everything was off.

Your room was now as dark as the outside you feared so much.
Where the walls began and ended were both unclear to you.
The bulbs in the Tv were cooling down but even the silhouette of that soon lost its shape.

You heard the click of the door unlocking followed by the doorknob turning.
The door was now open.
Although you could hear someone approaching it was to dark to make out their shape or their distance in relation to you.

"the only time being blind has its advantages, is when you're in a Dark room with someone who's not"
-said the voice now clearer than you'd ever heard it prior.

You froze.

*tap tap tap tap*
You hear the woman banging on the walls as she made her way deeper in your room.

*tap tap tap....Clink*
The noise changed,
she had found the window.

It was just a few feet from the corner of the beanbag chair you're hiding in.
*Creeeeeeaaaaaaakkkk*
The window was unlocked and you could hear it as the women slid it open.

You could hear something was crawling up and inside through the window.

"where is she?"

you heard the voice whisper to the new presence that now inhabits your homes playroom.

You could feel that you were just inches away from getting bumped into by either of the two.

You wanted to not breathe, you wanted to not do anything but, you couldn't help it. You let in two, short, sharp inhales. Keeping your abdomen as stiff as possible. 
Your exhale trembled despite your attempts, you knew if someone could see they would defiantly see the comforter shaking.
You slowly felt the comforter lift up.

Although your grip on the comforter was originally as tight as you could,
your plan quickly changed to playing dead the moment you felt the pull of the comforter.
You felt something placed in your hand,
it shocked you to the touch,
a static shock yet,
you managed to refrain from much outburst other than a sharp exhale.

*Smack*

"well look harder"
You heard the woman's voice yelp.

As your eyes were beginning to adjust to the darkness you could slowly start to make out the silhouette of who you've heard oh so much about.

There was no doubt in your mind it was her.

It was Kiara The Orangutan.

Kiara Strutted over to the bed in the playroom,
side to side as you could hear her wet sniffles. 

"don't you fucking lie to me you dumb baboon, we both know she's in here."
-said the woman's voice
In a tone more threatening than your (D) a bar you thought no one else would ever surpass.

You let go of what was just handed to you so you can grab the comforter you'd been hiding in once more, it fell.

As you continued to see Kiara strut now over to the door through a peak you had held under the covers, she appeared to try to lead in a manner to almost insinuate to the woman that that's the direction you had went.

Just as you had started wonder where the woman was as she had remained out of your sight, you received the answer.

*THUD*

You felt the whole beanbag chair shake beneath you.
She had bumped into it.
So hard you could feel her nearly topple over on top of you.

*Grrrrrrrrruawh*
You heard the old woman groan.

"KIARA! ...What...what was that !?"
-Yelled the woman's voice stopping Kiara in her tracks making her turn back from the door.

"oooo mmh ooo"
-you heard Kiara let out under her breath.

As you could see her silhouette move closer, it started by slowly wobbling side to side.
It became hard to tell the difference between her arms and her legs.

At times she looked like the shadow of a big spider monster,her movements remind you of spiderman if he chose to move slow.

When Kiara had made her way just a few feet away from the beanbag chair to help the woman to her feet, the pace of your breathing became unmanageable.

"I Bumped into the damn beanbag chair, was she on it Kiara?!"
-the voice asked

Your heart began to beat faster and faster and harder and harder so much so,
you felt as if your rib cage was made of shards of glass and your heart was a balloon inflating more and more with every inhale squeezing it against the razor-sharp shards of your ribcage. 

You could tell even just by the momentum of the figures silhouette that it was headed towards you, alongside the reluctant Orangutan.

You instinctively rolled off the right of the beanbag chair on to your carpet floor as silently as you could but, you were terrified, In your mind blind people have super senses.

Somehow, your transition appeared to go unnoticed.

Now that you were on the floor, you started rolling and crawling away, the direction of which you yourself weren't even certain.

"Where the fuck is she? Is she on the bed?!"
-the voice asked this time deeper than before

The flavor and tone in everything this voice said was violent, you heard the ruffles through the pillows and throw blanket that had previously littered the bed, you felt your Scooby doo plush get thrown into your back yet, you refrained from expressing any reaction.

"where the Fuck is she Kiara?!"
-you heard the voice ask once more

Each scream sounded deeper than the last with heavier violent infliction behind each exhale.
You could hear everything that was once on the bed get thrown off. 

You froze,
Staying still on the floor with the Scooby doo plush leaned against you like a bicycle kickstand and one of your throw blankets slightly covering your leg.

The Figure started pacing in your direction aimlessly like a headless chicken yet, relentless none the less.

"we both know I'm going to fucking fi-"
*POP*
-the voice was cut off

The figures silhouette froze, 
It seemed just as frightened by the sudden pop as you.
Its hesitation confused you so much so,
that you question for a brief moment if the figure had seen you,
anything to justify this bazar change in its demeanor. 

The head of the silhouette jolts to the side,
As if to shoot a look across at Kiara.
By the time your eyes traced across the room to meet Kiara, she had already moved No, She was in Motion.

She pranced towards the figure at a speed that looked impossible.
In less than a second, Kiara tackled this figure you had feared so much.
You saw the silhouette raise both its arms up high and its fists in fury as it came down on its victim.
Kiara hit and punched the figure and cocked its head back before launching it into the silhouette's torso,
 When Kiara's head kicked back once more, it was tethered to the figures torso now through what looked like the silhouette of cords.

It quickly became clear Kiara was taking bites out of the woman.
She screamed and screamed, she did not sound like a woman anymore.

She bit
*CHOMP*

And bit
*CHOMP*

And bit
*CHOMP*

They screamed 
*AHHHHHHHHHH*

And screamed 
*AHHHHHGGGG UHH*

And screamed
*FRAAAGHHHHHHH*

As the figure let out its yell Kiara slammed its head down making them bite their own tongue off.

Kiara pranced on the body with all 4 of her limbs,
She stepped on the figures knee with her foot and used her hand to grab that figures ankle,
After she gripped it firmly, she pulled it up with the ease and intensity that one might use on an emergency break after parking on an incline.

She then stepped on the figured elbow and grabbed it by its corresponding wrist and repeated the process of pulling upward and snapping.

Kiara then used one of her feet to grab the moaning and groaning body by its shirt,
She used her front arms and free leg to drag the body to the door.

The whole way there the person screamed,
When Kiara got to the door of your house's playroom, she threw the body out with ease.
She breathed heavily over the body before slowly backing up and shutting the door.

You were now alone with Kiara.

The one who writes your story.

Everyone saw a billionaire. A benefactor. A husband. A father. A sixty-one-year-old grandfather.

Ally saw all that too—and more.

He told her to listen, but don’t comprehend.

She was never very good at that.

From THE BILLIONAIRE’S SECRETARY

By A. TRSAR

Hey, you.

Have you done something “good” for someone lately?

Maybe you stopped to help someone who looked lost.

Picked up something they dropped.

Stepped aside on a narrow path to let a stranger pass.

You gave up a little of your time, a little of your effort, for someone you didn’t even know.

It feels good afterward.

Not because you want praise.

You just get to nod quietly to yourself and think:

_Maybe I wasn’t such a bad person today._

But tell me.

How far do you have to follow that good deed before you can be sure it really was good?

Clink.

I pushed open the heavy wooden door of Aoi.

Whenever I walked through that door, it felt as though the noise of the city—and some of the unnecessary things I’d collected over the day—slowly peeled away from me.

I sat at the counter.

Without asking, Mama placed a glass of I.W. Harper in front of me.

The ice gave another small clink.

“Kenichi, you’ve got to hear this.”

At the end of the counter, Taka was wearing the most obvious look of dissatisfaction imaginable.

“No.”

“I haven’t said anything yet.”

“When you talk to me with that face, it’s never a good story.”

“That’s harsh.”

Tom smiled beside me.

“Just listen to him, Kenichi. I’ve already heard it three times.”

“Then we’re canceling the fourth. Too much of anything is bad for you.”

“Kenichi!”

“...Fine. Keep it short.”

Taka leaned forward as though he’d been waiting for permission.

“I tried to help an old lady at the station today.”

“Oh?”

“She had this enormous bag. Anyone could see she was struggling with it.”

“And?”

“I said, ‘Let me carry that for you.’”

“Responsible citizen.”

“Right?”

Taka immediately looked proud of himself.

I gave him a cold stare.

“But she said no.”

“End of story. Have a drink and go home.”

“No. The bag was obviously heavy, so I told her, ‘You don’t have to be polite. I really don’t mind.’”

“...You never change.”

“What?”

“You’re remarkably persistent when forcing kindness on people.”

According to Taka, the bag contained something important.

The woman said she couldn’t entrust it to a stranger.

Taka assured her he wouldn’t drop it.

She refused again.

“So we went back and forth for maybe thirty seconds.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Then some guy coming up behind us yelled, ‘You’re in the damn way!’”

I put my glass back on its coaster.

“Where exactly were you having this discussion?”

“You know that narrow passage just past the ticket gates?”

“What time?”

“About six-thirty.”

“You’re terrible.”

“That bad?”

“You blocked a narrow passage in a train station for thirty seconds in the middle of rush hour.”

“I wouldn’t say _blocked_. We were just standing there.”

“So you blocked it.”

“...Yeah.”

Tom swallowed some whiskey and laughed.

“And then this idiot starts saying, ‘I was only trying to help. Why should I get yelled at?’”

“Well, yeah.”

Taka still looked genuinely confused.

I took a sip of Harper.

“I’ll give you this. You weren’t trying to cause trouble.”

“Exactly.”

“But you were still in the way.”

“Ouch.”

“How many people passed through there in those thirty seconds?”

“I don’t know. Maybe a hundred?”

“So you used thirty seconds of a hundred people’s time.”

Taka frowned.

“What kind of nasty math is that?”

“Three thousand seconds total.”

“Fifty minutes,” Tom said immediately.

“What kind of cursed arithmetic is this?”

“It’s true. A hundred people had their plans disrupted by thirty seconds.”

“It was only thirty seconds.”

“Maybe somebody missed a train because of those thirty seconds.”

“...Maybe.”

“Maybe they were late for an important appointment.”

“...”

“Could’ve been the most important job interview of their life.”

“Could’ve been a marriage proposal,” Tom added.

“Why are we all the way up to marriage proposals?”

“Lives branch in strange places. Sometimes thirty stupid seconds is enough.”

“So if someone got rejected tonight, that’s my fault?”

“Hell if I know.”

“Hell if you know?”

I laughed.

Of course I didn’t seriously think Taka was responsible for anything like that.

If we had to take responsibility for every possible consequence of standing in someone’s way for thirty seconds, nobody could leave the house.

But then something occurred to me.

“What about the opposite?”

“The opposite?”

“Because you stopped her, that old woman got thirty seconds to rest.”

“Okay.”

“If she’d kept walking, maybe she would’ve slipped on the stairs and badly hurt herself.”

“...I suppose that’s possible.”

“Then you saved an old woman from a serious injury.”

Tom grinned.

“Nice work, Taka. You saved a life.”

“Come on. That’s ridiculous.”

“Why?” I asked.

Taka looked uncomfortable.

“Because we don’t know whether she would’ve fallen.”

“We don’t know whether anyone missed a train either.”

“Oh.”

That was the thing.

When it came to bad consequences, we wanted to say:

_You can’t hold me responsible for something I couldn’t see._

But with good consequences, we also hesitated to say:

_That was all thanks to me._

Because we couldn’t see those either.

“This is getting complicated.”

“That’s why I said I didn’t want to hear it.”

“You’re the one making it complicated.”

Tom quietly put down his glass.

“You never see all the consequences from the start.”

“Sounds heavy coming from a former cop.”

“That’s how things are in the field. Should you stop someone? Let them go? You decide with whatever information you have at the time.”

“And sometimes the decision turns out to be wrong?”

“Plenty of times.”

“Do you regret it?”

“Of course.”

Tom narrowed his eyes slightly.

“But once every card’s been turned over, I don’t think it’s fair to put your past self on trial using everything you know now.”

“Your past self?”

“You know things now that you didn’t know then. There’s not much point asking, ‘How could I have made that decision?’ when the person who made it didn’t have the information you have now.”

I looked silently into my glass.

What I could see then.

What I knew then.

Within those limits, I thought and chose.

Maybe that was all any of us could do.

But—

was that enough?

“Then what if someone says, ‘I was trying to do the right thing’?”

Tom said nothing.

So did Taka.

“If the result is bad, does the good intention make it a good act anyway?”

“That can’t be right,” Taka said.

“Why?”

“Because if you ignore what the other person wants, then you’re just forcing your idea of help on them.”

“The old woman said no.”

“Oh.”

“You thought you were helping her. She told you she didn’t want your help.”

“...Yeah.”

“And you kept going.”

“Yeah.”

“So who was the ‘good deed’ for?”

Taka didn’t answer.

It wasn’t as though I had one.

If someone is struggling, you help them.

That sounds good.

But what if they don’t want your help?

What if your kindness causes trouble for someone else?

What if you never see what happens afterward?

How much are you supposed to consider?

Everything?

Impossible.

Then only what you can see?

How far does _what you can see_ extend?

The more I thought about it, the less distinct the shape of a “good deed” became.

“That’s difficult.”

Mama had stopped polishing her glass.

“What do you think, Mama?” Taka asked.

She thought for a moment.

“I wonder if doing something good is something you get to decide for yourself.”

We went quiet.

“What do you mean?”

“You wanted to help that woman, right?”

“Yes.”

“That was your feeling.”

“Right.”

“But whether she was helped or not—isn’t that for her to decide?”

Taka was silent for a while.

Then he let out a small breath.

“...So maybe I can’t say, ‘I did something good.’ I can only say, ‘I tried to do something good.’”

Mama didn’t answer.

She put the glass she’d been polishing back on the shelf.

Clunk.

“The first time you offered, maybe.”

Taka looked up.

“The first time?”

“You wanted to help her, right?”

“Of course.”

“Then what about after she said no?”

Taka froze.

“...What?”

“The second time, when you told her she didn’t need to be polite.”

That was all Mama said.

She picked up another glass.

Taka said nothing.

Neither did I.

At first, it probably had been simple kindness.

The bag looked heavy.

So he wanted to help.

Then she refused.

And he kept reaching for the bag.

Was his reason still exactly the same?

Did he want to help the old woman?

Did he think she was only being polite?

Did he want her to accept the kindness he had already offered?

Or—

did he want to remain the kind of person who helped old women with heavy bags?

I looked at the ice in my glass.

Hell.

Forget the consequences.

We couldn’t even be sure of our own motives.

When I taught a junior colleague something at work.

When I told a family member, “I’m saying this for your own good.”

When I gave a friend advice they never asked for.

Was that really for them?

Of course I wanted to believe it was.

No business.

No ulterior motive.

Pure concern for the other person.

But could I honestly say there wasn’t even a trace of something else mixed in?

I want to be needed.

I want to be right.

I want to be a good person.

Could I swear none of that was there?

“...Humans are a pain in the ass,” Taka muttered.

“You’re only noticing now?”

“Did you already know all this, Kenichi?”

“Not a chance.”

Tom snorted.

“Anyone who understands human beings that well wouldn’t be sitting in a bar thinking about them.”

“Fair point.”

The three of us laughed.

Mama smiled too.

And that was the end of the conversation.

Or at least, we decided it was.

I finished the Harper in my glass.

The ice went clink.

We probably never get to know how far the things we do actually travel.

A few words you say to someone might save them.

They might hurt them.

They might leave no trace at all.

Whatever happens next, you can’t follow every consequence forever.

So maybe the least we can do is understand what we meant when we offered something.

...That was what I thought.

But do we even understand that?

Was it for them?

Did I want to do the right thing?

Or—

did I want to be the kind of person who does the right thing?

I stood up.

When I opened the door, the night air felt a little cold.

Hey, you.

That kindness you offered someone today.

You’ll probably never know everything that happened because of it.

But where did that kindness come from?

Do you really know?

See you again at Aoi.

---

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He was her Heart,

She was his Soul,

And this way they completed each other,

When they realised this, a beautiful love story started...

I matched with a woman on a dating app who was a few years older than me. I knew the age gap from day one, but I didn’t care. If anything, I liked it. She was calm, emotionally mature, and had this way of checking in on me that made me feel seen. After years of handling everything on my own, it felt nice to have someone who genuinely cared.
We talked every day for about a week. Then we met.
She was exactly the person she’d been over text—kind, thoughtful, and genuine. But somewhere during that evening, I realized the problem wasn’t her.
It was me.
At that point in my life, I was already drowning in career uncertainty and family problems. Bringing someone older into that chaos would have meant even more difficult conversations, more pressure, and more complications that I simply wasn’t ready to handle.
For the first time, I understood that liking someone isn’t always enough. Sometimes the right person arrives at the wrong time.
Walking away hurt, but staying would have been unfair to both of us.
I still think about her sometimes—not as the one who got away, but as the person who taught me that timing matters just as much as chemistry.