The Setting Sun

Southern Japan

What do you think the word freedom means?

I day dream about my father's words as I my feet dig into the concrete road that stretches out into the setting sun.

I look up at the dusty evening sun—already a deep sea of dark orange. Having nothing to do I glance around the city I’ve become so accustomed to.

My calves ache from walking, watching the sun pass coast to coast. The smoldering heat of the sun would soon be smothered by the dark veil of heavy night fall.

This street, sat right on the edge between the honking of car horns and silence of dense forestry is far from where she told me to wait for her. But it didn’t matter to me. Not anymore at least.

I did my usual routine of walking around the outskirts of the city, counting the number of birds that flew through the clouds—killing time. 

Their feathers were the only keeping me sane at the time.

Whenever she would bring me to the city, she'd bring me to a dark corner of the alleyway where no eyes—other than ours—ever laid. 

As soon as she left, I would take a winding path between the traffic lights and skyscrapers, down a hill where I came across this street between the two contrasting sceneries.

I’m sure my mother couldn’t have cared less. Right about now she should have been scouted by another man who was too drunk to care about his sins. It was getting dark, and soon I would have to go back.

My heart swells at the kind of women my father had curated from his absence alone, and just for a moment I began to wonder more about his words of freedom.

My eyes glisten through the changing of sun to moonlight.

The callouses on my bare feet quicken their pace towards the alleyways, and the cawing of crows could be heard echo in the distance the moment the moon peeked itself over the horizon.

I could hear the bloody rushing of river water bite into my neck as I left for the spot to meet my husk of a mother.