Reality

At ten at night, I was losing the perception of the continuously blurring reality, which made it harder to perceive or think anything. It was on that unusually cold February night that I thought my hands would finally shatter into pieces. The heater was damaged. It probably had never worked properly to begin with; at least, I had never seen it being useful throughout all my time in the company. Gossip about the times when the heater worked would be all around the place every time the temperature was around forty Fahrenheit degrees or less, like if it was a sort of fantastical urban myth. Whatever the circumstances could have been, one thing was certain: pain. A silent and environmental pain, slowly replacing all other sensations, neither in one particular place nor everywhere, being boosted by the freezing environment. But even when reality was harsh, even when our bodies were past our farthest limits long ago, work had to be done. Work HAD to be done. But why? Why did it have to be done? Reasons were everywhere but in sight.

At last, eleven o'clock arrived—time to wrap up. The mood in the workplace eased up almost immediately. Workers started to relax, but they lacked the energy to express anything meaningful. I made sure to return my job equipment at the corresponding place and bowed to my boss and coworkers one last time before departing.

"Good work," I said.

"Good work," they replied.

No one dared talk to me after that, as everyone was so exhausted today. It was the fifth day in a row that we left this late, and, fortunately, it was too late to go for a drink, so they were minding their own business.

Immediately upon leaving the building and seeing again the beautiful moonlight, I wished to run home as fast as I could, but my legs were unresponsive, strained, and overall difficult to use. While my muscles felt as if they were being torn apart while my tendons tightened, I walked clumsily, step by step, being as careful as I could to avoid hurting myself, or at least to prevent the growing pain post-looseness.

Trying to indulge in groceries, and with the purpose of buying today's dinner, I walked to the nearest convenience store still open. I was shocked when I realized that the clerk looked scared of me.

"Do I really look that bad?" I thought.

I didn't have a mirror back then, so I didn't realize that I looked like a ghost, scary and evil, looking for new victims to terrorize with poltergeists and apparitions of all sorts. I had disastrous hair, as if a whirlwind just passed nearby; it would be hard to guess its length or what kind of hairstyle it even was. Pale skin, almost translucent; a little more and you would be able to see what was inside or, more ghostly, what was behind. Dirty factory working clothes—I was not able to wash them properly because I spent so much time at work that I just went home to sleep. And finally, my face was not helping either; I had problems focusing my vision, and my eyes were struggling to be opened, looking a bit angry or unfriendly.

I chose not to buy anything at all. I just didn't want to make the clerk more uncomfortable than he already was. I also had emergency food stored at my apartment for this kind of situation, so it was not a big deal. The path ahead would be uphill anyway.

I tried to think about the peace of my apartment to relieve the fatigue of the way from work to the subway station, but I got so distracted by my thoughts that I caught myself deviating from the usual route, daydreaming about different people I had heard of and what kind of lives they could have. It was obvious that the situation was overwhelming for someone like me, but without more options at my disposal, I tried to put myself together, only to realize that I didn't know where I was. I checked my pocket, searching for my cellphone, but it wasn't there. I probably left it at work, with the rest of the work equipment, or maybe I had dropped it somewhere. In both cases, I was lost.

My first idea was to ask for directions. That was the worst idea I ever had. People seeing me at night led to screams or them running away. I also might have created rumors of an evil spirit lurking in the shadows of a couple of streets. Fortunately, with the wonderful power of modern-day Kyoto urban planning, I managed to find the way to another subway station—by which I mean the use of local maps on the streets.

Weirdness started when I arrived at the subway station. It was dead dark, and normal people were asleep at this hour. Even so, it was strange nobody was around, more so that I was the only one walking in the corridors. The atmosphere was peaceful and, at the same time, unsettling. I started to feel a little creeped out, so I searched for people in the surrounding area. No one, not even noises, just silence. I looked at the walls for posters or announcements to distract myself, but there were none. If mist had appeared, I would have left at that exact moment, but it was either being here or sleeping on the streets again, and I didn't want to do so. I wouldn't let it happen again. Yui-chan was surely waiting for me at home, and I couldn't leave her alone. Yes, I can't do that, absolutely not.

I anxiously looked at the clock, and it said midnight. I had arrived just in time for the last train. Conveniently, while I was thinking about waiting, the train arrived.

"Lucky after all," I thought.

The eerie setting didn't end at the train. There was no one except for me, but I was determined. It was too late to run away, so I sat down and started to forget everything again. My body slowly began to relax, and reality faded from my mind. Then I started dozing off.

"You! Are you dying too?" said a voice in my head.

"Dying? No, I'm fine," I replied in thoughts.

"Are you sure? You really look terrible. Oh! Well, I suppose you were born like that, no offense. No being can choose its body, Yokai are no exception," said the voice calmly.

"Yokai?" I thought, confused.

"Open your eyes, dude."

I woke up, and there was a dead weasel on the floor.

"A dead weasel," I said, with respect for the poor animal.

"I'm not dead!" said the dead-looking weasel, without moving its mouth.

"You seem dead to me," I naturally replied.

"You are a dead man. You're no one to talk," replied the dead-looking weasel naturally, too.

I didn't know what he meant by being rude. I didn't think that I looked as bad as a dead man. I grew irritated, which made me begin to think about the situation I was in. It was simply absurd. I was not feeling like I was in a dream, so, ignoring the question from the deceased animal, I talked.

"So, what is happening right now? A prank? Is there someone recording or something? Using dead animals is a little disgusting." Then I rethought. There was a dead animal on the train, someone definitely had to put it there. So I grew scared of the person who could do something like this, and I consequently said, "Although, I can forgive you! Just don't do harm to me, please!" I did a dogeza, even though I didn't do anything yet.

"… Are you human?" Said the dead-looking weasel, awkwardly.

"Yes? I guess you can tell." I was increasingly scared. Maybe it was some new lunatic free in the country, and I didn't want to die.

"No, I can't. I thought you were a Yokai," said the dead-looking weasel, with a bit of sadness in his voice.

"Yokai? I am not a Yokai. Sorry!"