Confessions Of Memories. | • 7.
Confessions Of Memories. | • 7.
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Days had started overlapping with blurred faces and rotting emotions that dried on the hill that was her memories. Her feet could only remember one dance, and that was to shuffle around the room of scrolls and books. Her mind was clattered, rearranging the books in pointless positions.
"You've been so mindless, gosh! Take a week off, that should be enough." Her co-worker sighed.
Please don't fire me.
I'm ting my best. I promise.
The sun made its way down the sky as she left, leaving her key with them. Her body was as heavy as broken heart. Her eyes were burdened with bags of dis-ease, yet empty with confusion.
One person was to be forgotten, yet they kept disappearing. No matter how many wishes of her mother's she pushed herself to fix, she was still left forgotten.
She slid the door open, letting her hair down. She glanced at the hairpins, hopelessly rolling them around in her hands. The house smelt of burnt rice, the flowers that grew outside dulled without water. Maybe she could tidy the house.
But she couldn't bring herself to do it. Her body just felt too heavy.
"Jiji? Are you there?" Xiao asked softly, peering his head through.
He saw her, quietly glancing at the window he was perching on. He exhaled in relief, his eyebrows relaxing.
"What's wrong?"
"I wanted to come and personally thank you, but you weren't there."
"Just, my memory has gotten foggy."
Are you beginning to forget me?
"Ah." He stopped.
"Yeah."
His hand clenched, his lips twitching with a frown. His heart choked in his chest.
Summer.
The hot night wafted the area with a starless night, and a lonely moon. The wind brushed his scent onto her. She smiled, despite her chest aching. The emotional agony was sitting at the back of her mind, the dull reality of her eternal life being paused by his presence.
He brushed kissed her forehead, as if to kiss her doubts away.
Of course it could never work.
But, she'd like to pretend. The temporary feeling that grew, only had so much space.
"Please stay, Xiao."
"Call my name, whenever you need me." He looked at her once more, his hand resting on her head softly.
With that, the wind that burst around her left only a hint of him in the room. Once again, she was alone.
Her bed made her hostile. What nightmare was on the menu tonight? Whether it was marble or molded faces, she didn't want to see it. What could she do? Beg?
"Mei?"
"Who else brings you to the beach?" She chuckled.
"This is your favourite moment at the beach, isn't it?"
The sun spiralled into the ocean, the sky tinted with setting grey. The sand was cold, and damp. The small rocks were littered across the vast area. Her face was missing once again, but she could see her expression.
It was smothered.
"You have a good memory." Mei pranced.
"Sometimes,"
Sometimes I can't remember want I want to.
"Sometimes?"
"It feels like a curse."
"How can having a good memory be a curse?"
Li looked felt her eyes burn, as she grabbed Mei's arm, her grip pleading.
"Because whatever I remember never makes me happy." She sniffled.
"It's tiring. I'm forgetting everyone. I don't want to. I don't want to!" Her voice was absolute, the beach dead with her resolve, Mei silent.
She sighed, patting her head.
"How much happiness are you going to sacrifice?"
You don't have to live like this.
-
More Posts from Strwcherri and Others
fuck you
50 BILLION MISCELLANEOUS SHIBUSAWA DOODLES ATTACK
he is so the love of my life look at the hat he’s ready to go fishing 😫 my fashion king
What a nice brain you got there!!
I want to pick up that book but it's like 600 pages long and i- I want to see the world I want to explore life, but it's also like, I want to know what that man was up to
There is a film adaptation of the book though, or at least a part of it, on YouTube!! It's very interesting, Genji is 🧍🏾♀️ Genji is actually pretty similar to Fyodor and Dazai when I think about it?
I'm calling it right now, the Book is gonna be an ability based off Genji Monogatari by Murasaki Shikibu
Dazai Screenshots because I need to put them SOMEWHERE
"Tattoos hurt, don't they?"
Just a random prompt I had in mind! :) It was inspired by this Yakuza tattoo fanart of Dazai and Chuuya, if I can find it again, I'll link it!
Dazai entered the private room, a giant traditional painting hanging on the wall behind the woman. She did not move, and a veil left only her mouth visible. Her fingers were delicate like a that of a pianist, her back straight and her eye contact made with the wall. He sat down, his back facing her.
“You’re the tattooist?”
“Are you the prodigy?” She replied, a faint smile on her face as cleaned her knife. The pale complexion of the cloth was irritated with the splotches of red from a previous client. She glanced at him, though unclear through the opaque veil.
“I don’t like questions,” He said. “But I’ll take it that you are the Port Mafia’s new tattooist.” He revealed his back. It had a few scars, merely sketches on the surface. He lay down, looking ahead to the open window, his chin resting on the edge of the futon. The moon glided through the seas of the sky, aggressively resting it’s eyes on him.
“The moon is bright today,” Lotte commented, looking at the open wound on her palm, pulling the skin to separate the scabbing. The skin was puffy, a gently feverish red surrounding the cut.
He was silent, looking at her hand. “Is that so.”
She nodded. “The moon shines the brightest on the coldest nights.” She examined the blade, her smile soft. “How sweet the moon is, to try and mimic the sun’s warmth.”
Dazai looked at her once again, the brown hue of his eyes now tainted with the night. She barely moved; he could only tell by the hushed shifts of her clothes against the knee pillow. Her skin was dark, like water under the sunset. She had no presence, she was careful not to exist in a manner that would let her be seen easily. At the same time, she was as prominent as the last ember on the tip of a candle.
“Can I have your hand?” She asked.
He offered it in an uncaring manner. Even after she had made a small cut on his fingertip, he did not flinch. She rested the knife on a new white cloth, the old one miserably curdled in the bin, sagged.
“My apologies, but it makes the process easier if I use my skill,” Lotte said, a glow emitting from their open wounds. She had not summoned it verbally, and the only glow emitting around her came from the moonlight.
She took to the tattoo, working in silence. As she did, the scent of chrysanthemums became more pungent. She hesitated, before lifting the pen. She lay it down, withdrawing from him.
“Your skill must be effective for this.”
“I suppose so.”
She then looked at his face, which was barely contorted with a look of pain. He scoffed. He had barely changed, his presence eerie whilst charismatic. There was only the presence of a ghost, as if he wasn’t truly there, only his body holding him hostage in his pain.
“You should’ve realized my ability nullified yours, most of your clients talk about the ungodly scent of earth during the process. I didn’t smell anything.”
Lotte glanced at him, tilting her head to the side carefully, the veil slanting alongside her actions. She cleaned the knife with one clean swipe, casting aside the used cloth into the black bin, disappearing amongst similar cloths with similar blotches.
“Silent suffering is a sin. Take it as punishment.”
________
Going to read The Poems of Nakahara Chuuya just to understand him, his perception & why he was put with Dazai
Some style experimentations with The man
Literary Stray Letters
Hello! I always thought the sea was Romantic in Winter and Summer, but I wonder about Autumn?
This is the second short story of Lotte's collection, however I also feel this is my weakest, but I hope you enjoy it.^^
"Is There Anyone Else You Can Call?"
UHM this has been in my drafts for a while so ‼️ Enjoy‼️ I haven't edited this and haven't really looked this over either so 🧍🏾♀️ This is from months ago, I don't have any other written pieces in drafts DJDJ
A white ceiling. How crude.
"Sorry, miss? We can't reach your emergency contact. Is there anyone else you can call?"
Ah. The only remaining contacts were those that she hadn't talked to in a decade at best, forever at worst. The rush of noise blinded her ears, as she hopelessly ran through names.
"... Dazai Osamu." She sighed. Should she cry at her stupidity? Or should she cry at her misfortune?
Could she even cry, in this state? The physical cauterised her emotional wounds, a gentle but unnerving ease that she succumbed to, becoming a shell of herself.
-
Like a doll with a soul, she woke up. The scratchy fabric brushed against her thin fingers, her hair still tainted by her own blood. Lotte suddenly regretted her actions - perhaps she shouldn't have called anyone at all. What could they do for her? Sleep restlessly as a sign of affection?
She sighed. The gothic hand of sorrow that stitched her emotions tightly had fallen limp, reducing her to a needy child. A craving so disgusting, a gentle love she so wanted, for someone to waste and kill their time by her side.
In spite of her childlessness, she could tell he would never arrive. He could never love like that; he wasn't that person. There was no space for her, and for him there was none either.
The room was so white it looked blue. The walls stared back at her, the click of shoes passing the doors, an overwhelming sense she was alone. All of her contacts were dead and useless. She had become - no, made - an insentient doll, one that could not be remembered with fondness.
"Lotte?" His voice called out. That annoying and wretched man had appeared once again, despite her best assumptions. Why had the heartless brang her comfort?
Dazai walked closer, calling her name once again. Her eyes grew hot, her nose flaring. She sobbed, her body like a plastic bottle, sniffling and gasping as if she was drowning.
"There's other ways to tell me I smell bad, okay?"
"It's not that!" She said through her unpaced tears.
__________
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