Jolly Good, My Dear Jimothy-Kun
Bitter embrace embarking. Frost claws at skin a foul message. Speaks coldly, call not, the hidden whispers of a beaded bird. A painful realisation was met. Second of promised neverland: fun memories unfulfilled. Deen adaptations. Second half Franxx. A tang that lingers, sticks—unable to be washed out. Sweet liquorice. I spot some on the trays of desserts and tear into it. Wrong. Not sweet. Black liquorice. An unfamiliar taste. My face scrunches up. I place the liquorice aside.
Cold warmth pictures in my head; I see idiotic naivete. And too, a blush face of anger. Hit. A punch to the gut. A void-like hole. Cliché.
But for them, one of fury, a two-faced coin with no shame and no regret. A beastly thing. Crooked teeth and cheesy breath. My, a thing to loathe. Not the wandering witch of a bystander but one to meddle and scheme. Envious eyes peel their sight. A long road stretches before them. Oh, the many homes to explore. Oh, the many hearts to destroy. Clays will into playful figures, falling into their owners hands. I sneeze and take a sip from my tea.
Cold. Warmth. Strained breathing. Snivel and sniffle I do. Bite my lower lip and avert my eyes, a drought from what was a well, and take a deep breath. I take another. Another. I am reminded of my youth. A worry free past. A calm one. One with ease and security. Mostly. Back to the present.
Eyes of envy. Eyes of greed. Eyes of money. Eyes of thieves.
I clear my throat and open my mouth:
- What defines a tsundere?
Hateful love and furious volcano. A red blush of violence, putrid and sickly sweet. Full of flavour to the people who wander the streets and bland as fickle cardboard to the mind of another.
I itch my nose. I avert my eyes. I scratch my heart. I cross my arms.
Opens their mouth Jimothy does. To my question, one I never shall wish to forget.
- A tsundere's one who's not truthful of their love are they not?
- To be truthful are they? Or to keep it to themselves without telling another?
- Perhaps they speak from the brain instead of the heart?
- How so?
- They may be kept by their brain's woes to listen to their hearts desires.
- Maybe more.
- A strange question.
- Where did you come across it?
- Struggled sleeping the other night and the thought just popped in.
- Must've been excited to come up with conversation for our reunion.
- Maybe so.
- A curious one.
- Very curious it is.
- But for a tsundere to say who they are, what causes that?
- A tricky one, eh James?
- Quit the James.
- Quit the kun.
- I refuse. I refuse refusingly.
- Then I also refuse. Refuses Jimothy-kun refusingly.
- How picky. Speaks myself.
- Says the one who won't eat cauliflower.
- The devil’s veg I tell you.
- Maybe the devil has feelings too.
- Bah! Can't say that without a heart of religion.
- Just a bit of banter James.
- Maybe to you.
- Wait, are you not joking? Are you actually religious?
- Did you not know?
- No, not at all.
- After all these years we have known?
- Surely not enough then.
- Perhaps not.
- What do you mean perhaps?
- What is wrong with that?
- I want to hear a 'yes it's not been enough'.
- And saying perhaps is not good enough?
- Not at all.
- Goodness, how grouchy you are today.
- Go ahead, guess.
Jimothy-kun opens his mouth. I interrupt him.
- The answer is no.
- No to me saying no or is it the answer that's no?
- This is getting rather out of hand is it not?
- It is.
We both catch a chuckle from our grins before it leaks. A smirk seeps from our faces. Golden glee. It runs and trots away on a field of warm grass before a titan swoops up and devours it.
Shinzou wo sasageyo.
Devote our hearts to them we praise, religious beliefs of gods unknown. Oh, the thrill of life. Oh, but a bizarre chase of adventure. Laughing tracks play; golden glee once more. I bite into a Snickers bar and clear the tang from the liquorice left on the table. Transparent. Clear: obvious.
I wipe my smile from my metaphorical face, and the tears from my mask, and listen out with my ears. Oops, mixed them up. A wry cackle appears behind the cracks. I drown it in sips of tea, as Jimothy-kun opens his mouth, my golden glee escaping.
- Lord and gravy, what maniacal laughter you have there James.
- None fits more for me—right Jimothy-kun, my dear?
- Righty so. A jolly old time, today is.
- Indeed, that so.
- And, while we're still on the topic of archetypes, how about yanderes?
Averting my eyes for a split, I look into my cuppa and notice something.
- I'm going to stop you right there Jimothy-kun, I've ran out of tea.
- Well, think about this, how long has it been?
- Hmm, let me see. Jimothy-kun looks at the silver watch on his wrist.
Hands of gold, sharp in shape like a jagged javelin. I hear its jittering in the silence of the room. A teetering tatter. A tick to another tick. Another tick. Yet another tick. It feels like a freezeframe. I await the continuation. The patience burns. Integrity of conversation. Fire turned to ice. Slippery. Smoke-breath. Yet, oh so warm the room is. The sun mirrors an opposing rock; vanilla ice eats those around it. Breathing against the immortal. Smoke-breath. Frozen tides of relativity. Bizarre. It is but though a scene out of a supernatural. A stop in time. I close my eyes and breathe in the solitary air around me.
The conventions are aligned. The silence of speech. The silence of actions. All but the monologue of a person. Myself. Me, a good gentleman. Robert E. Speedwagon explains events of exaggeration. I use useless alliteration.
- Ah, alrighty—around about twenty to four. Jimothy-kun says.
Cheerfully chuckle, I do. Useless alliteration may not be exclusive to me it seems.
- How long has it been since I arrived—is what I asked—not what time is it.
- Oh. Well, we said over phone to meet here at around quarter-past three.
- 25 minutes, it should be.
- Well, why did you not say that first?
- A bit of a slip-up in listening.
- What job do you do nowadays?
- An office job, he tells me, writing spreadsheets and answering calls.
- Should you be slipping up listening, when working with such a line of work as that?
- My apologies Jame—
- No. No, I shouldn't.
- Everyone makes mistakes, but get yourself a touch bit more organised—would you Jimothy?
- Thanks, Morris.
- Anyways. I believe to have eaten enough, how are you holding up?
- Getting there. He says, patting his flat belly. If you mind though, could you take your plates and the lot to the sink? I'll help out once I'm done.
With an okay, I stand up and gather all that is mine. Forks, knives, spoons and plates and cups. I bring them all over to a tightly packed kitchen on the right side of the room. It matches the white of the rest of the home. Shiny, marble surfaces and snow-like, wooden drawers. Electronic ovens and microwaves and toasters and smart fridges with little screens. So much in the kitchen. What kind of pay check do they get to afford all of this I wonder?
I walk to the sink and pick up a sponge, to start scrubbing the plates with some washing up liquid. Ah, too much soap I've squirted. I wash it out in water for foaming bubbles to prop up and spread. I wash it out some more. And some more. And even more.
My hands are squeaky clean, yet perhaps too much so.
I get to cleaning.
Sea of seas. Tide of tides. A grand one washes over the dishes. Sticks and stones and clawing bones pick at the waters; fish of sweets delight wash up, dry on shore. Sandless sand. Boiling feet. Sweaty palms and a sweaty face. How warm it is today.
Creases crack hands without wart. Yet, unblemished it is not. Pavement. A crack in stone. Faded red: pinkish flesh next to white skin. Never to heal, never to be forgotten. A crimson reminder. A blazing warning. Terror of tears and the fear of worrying not. Yet to worry not is to be eyed for, nonetheless. Confliction. Split. Dreary of drear and dreary of none. Dreary to the life that could have been. Or not?
I wonder. A time without or a time with? Wandering not: a journey with nothing else to gain? I question; I wonder. What could it be? What it could be? My answer wavers in tide.
I have finished the dishes.