Whack-a-Mole

How long has it been since I blinked? My fingertips numb to the keyboard, I sharply inhale and slowly breathe out as I press my eyes shut, opening them up again to take a glance at the time.

<8:42>

Ah… Is it that late already? I suppose I should head home now. I pack my items and stand up, popping out of my cubicle in the empty office like a lone meerkat peeking out of its burrow. The subtle monotonous hum of the train reverberates in the back of my brain on my commute back, almost enough to wash out any intrusive thoughts that might snap me back to reality.

“I’m home.” I push out with a defeated voice as I enter the one-room apartment.

Hikari turns and stands up to welcome me home. “Papa! Papa, look!” She spins around in a frilly dress. I can’t help but smile.

“It’s adorable, Hikari. What’s it for?”

She perks up, skipping in a circle before fetching a flier out from her backpack. She runs up to me, tugging on my pant leg. “We have a dance recital at school next Friday!”

I take the flier and take a look at it before turning to her glowing eyes. “You’ll come, right? Right?”

I fail to hold back my disheartened sigh. “Dearie, I would love to, but I have work that day.”

“No fair! You never come! Nami’s bringing her mom! She’s so talented! Her singing is so good! And her dancing too! But I’ve been working really hard too! You have to come!” She begins tugging on my leg with intensified enthusiasm.

“Dearie, you know I can’t miss work.”

She stabs my emotions with a pout. “C’mon! C’mon! Am I not good enough?! I’m going to the world’s #1 idol, you know!”

Her childish naivety gnaws at my cynical shell, her ghostlike appearance a reminder of why everything has to be so difficult. How do I tell her that she could never be a successful idol with the freak genetics I gave her?

She begins rhythmically banging her head against me, her hysterics leaving snot trails on my leg.

“Hey, knock that off.” I sigh again, my heart twisting as she wails.

“Let me show you, papa! I’ll show everyone!” She begins sniffling, her tears covering my pants.

It’s hard not to cry watching her, knowing her life will only be hardships and disappointments. Her crying grows louder as I try to purse my lips, trying not to cry before my own daughter.

“I said knock it off!” Her crying halts as we lock eyes for a moment, tears continuing to well up in hers. “Wait! I–” I hang my head as she stomps off, sitting in a corner and refusing to face me. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to yell at you. It’s just that–”

“Fine, papa. Don’t come. I don’t need you to come. I’m going to be such a popular idol that you’ll have to watch me!”

I slowly nod even though she’s not looking at me. My nodding hastens in pace, as though I’m rocking myself, comforting myself. If only she still had her mother… I’m sorry I can’t find you a new mom, Hikari, but society doesn’t want anything to do with people like us. Or maybe that’s just the excuse I give myself to not try. This drifting heartache flows through me as I meander over to the kitchen countertop. “H-how does porridge sound for dinner?” I ask solely out of routine, having had porridge for the past week.

Some time passes and she doesn’t answer, not that her answer would matter. We eat porridge in silence.

She seems to hold a grudge over the course of the next week, and I even consider going to the recital. I could easily make it if I just didn’t stay around in the office until as late as I do, and I’m only staying around late in hopes of promotion once the branch manager notices my effort. My contemplation is interrupted when one of my senior colleagues approaches me.

“Hey, Ishiguro. The branch manager wants to go out to an izakaya tonight to welcome our new hires. You should come.”

Huh, that’s odd. That invitation sounds like they actually want me to show up. Usually, they only extend me an invitation out of courtesy, but it looks like I have plans for tonight after all. If I don’t show up to this even after being invited, I can kiss that promotion goodbye forever.

I get a few drinks out of courtesy at the izakaya but count my pints to make sure I don’t go home completely smashed. Even though she’s not around anymore, I suppose old habits die hard. The cheer and conversation never get thrown my way anyway, so I zone out, staring down at an empty glass.

I take a deep breath as I further slouch over the counter, getting drunk on melancholy and indulging in breathy ethanol sighs. Is this really going to secure a promotion? Does my presence even matter? Has it ever mattered? They've never wanted me here... My brain tunes in on the ticking of my wristwatch, filtering out all the other noise.

<7:09>

My presence... I could still make it if I left now… I could still make it! The next train leaves at 15… I can still make it! I stand up as strikingly as the realization came to me amongst the crowd, once again sticking out like a meerkat amongst an empty field. Now, they finally give me their attention. I bow until my forehead presses against my shins. “I’m very sorry to be leaving early! I have a family emergency that I must attend to.”

Fuck this! Fuck this company! I’ve been working overtime without missing a day for a decade straight and haven’t even gotten the hint of a raise. Fuck this conformist shithole of a society for making everything tougher for me just because I was born with supernatural abilities that I never use! My daughter wants me to be there for her! That’s what matters, and I’m going to be there damn it!

Racing to the train station, all that I can feel is the wind in my face. All that I can hear are the tapping of my shoes against the floor with each step I take. All that I can see is that smile. I need to see it. I catch the train just before its departure and catch my breath as I board. Tapping my foot impatiently, I pace around the train as everyone else gawks at me. Even all of the most disapproving stares in the world can only softly settle beneath my spiteful apathy.

As the train comes to a screeching halt, I partially deatomize my body and leap towards the station, phasing through the train walls before the operator could open the door. It’s been a while since I’ve done that. I wince a bit as the object collision assaults me, but it cannot halt my sprint towards Hikari’s school.

Passing by a set of bikes, an idea comes to me. I run over to a bike and grip onto the bike lock, and with a forceful tug, I phase the bike lock off. It feels like a knife has been stabbed directly through the palm of my hand, but whatever. I guess this is probably why everyone stares at me with cynical caution, but if I’m going to be treated and assumed to be a monster, then I may as well just be one.

<7:48>

I kick the bike into motion and begin cycling away. The ten minutes of cycling that should have otherwise worn me out felt like a waltz through a field of flowers with the adrenaline surging through my body. The school is in sight, and I can make out figures of parents and children. I’m going to make it!

Tossing the bike aside as I dismount it with a phasing leap, the crashing of the bike draws the attention of parents and children as I enter the school gates with centered eyes. I turn to the teacher holding a clipboard by the gate. “Did… Did I make it?”

She blinks at me as murmurs and giggles emerge from the crowd. “Sir,” she stops herself from laughing as I look around me, the bike crashed to the side of the school. “Sir, the recital has already ended.”

“What?”

“It started an hour ago. Everyone’s leaving now.”

I nod, standing there and blanking out as though I could just evaporate into thin air. The exciting crowd pushes me aside as I try to decipher between the noise and confusion racing through my mind. I nod faster as my body begins to rock itself until I feel a light tug on my pants. She looks up at me with shattered eyes. “You didn’t come.”

“I’m sorry.”

There are no more words to be exchanged between us. I can’t afford any excuses. I walk her home, too ashamed to speak again, and she simmers in silence too. I feel as though I spent the whole night in that ghastly semi-conscious state when I woke up the next day to the ringing of the doorbell early in the morning.

The police greet me from the other side as I open up the door. He seems to be a bit shocked when he sees my pale face. Ah… I see… That was faster than I expected. “Is this about the stolen bike, sir?”

The officer raises an eyebrow at me. “Stolen bike? Sir, are you Ishiguro Asahi?”

“That’s right, officer.”

“Fantastic, sir. You’re under arrest for second-degree murder, you.”

He may not have outright called me a freak, but he may as well have. In this society, the mole that pops out gets hit with the hammer. The days before the trial passes with foggy lenses as confusion, frustration, and self-pity cloud my mind. My body seems to move on its own, and every now and then I suddenly realize I’m in a new place. It’s a lot of being asked to cooperate.

My lawyer seems to also be a xenohuman born with a freak mutation, but I can't tell if that’s helpful or detrimental to my case. Considering that no other lawyers wanted to represent me, I don’t think I’m in a place to complain. He asks me questions about the night. I try to provide them. Surely, the justice system wouldn’t find an innocent man guilty, right? Something like that only happens in stories, right? I don’t even know anything that might point to me murdering one of the company’s new hires. The burden of proof is on them, so there’s no way I’ll be found guilty, right? Right? I can’t say I’m optimistic considering Japan’s rate of conviction for criminal trials. I’d be lucky to avoid a death sentence.

I fail to pay attention during the trial, even though the trial will determine my fate. It’s not really in my hands anyway. My future has already been decided in my mind, so I start dwelling on other matters. Who will take care of Hikari once I’m gone? Will she be okay waking up without any parents? What will she think of her father being convicted of murder? I catch a few passing arguments of the trial as I sort through my thoughts.

“Yes, he did leave early that night claiming to have ‘family matters to attend to.’”

“No, I didn’t see anyone that looked like him exit the train.”

“No, he wasn’t at the recital.”

“He’s been working at the company for years and hasn't gotten a promotion yet, so he may be spiteful towards the company.”

“Yes, I saw him run away from the scene of the crime like his life depended on it.”

“As he has admitted on record, he has a tendency to use his supernatural abilities to commit crimes.”

The lay judges murmur and gawk, yet their stares would not settle beneath my apathy. The judge picks up his gavel and strikes down at the mole that stuck out, delivering my sentence.