Chapter 10:
Ink Dreams
The trip back to the apartment was painful. All the finished copies were packed into a reinforced box and I was made to carry them all the way home. Quite frankly, I should try and sue for cruel and unusual punishment, but I can worry about that all another time.
Once we arrive at the apartment, the box goes on the table, sitting like a king on its throne. The contents inside appeal to all my innermost desires as I reach out, touching the cover of my first one-shot. It's real. I'm touching it. Kei puts down the bags from the bookstore and picks up a copy of my doujin and me and Sami indulge as well, gleefully opening up our work. Now, it is only 20 pages in total, so it wasn't very thick, but thumbing through the thing was still very satisfying.
“Uncle Taro did amazing, as always.” Keisuke makes the obvious observation as he smiles down at his own blood and sweat's labor. Clearly they don't just go to this guy because he's the uncle. His work has an effort and care that plenty would only wish for...well okay, that's probably exaggeration, but you get the idea.
It's nice.
"This is definitely selling out tomorrow." I say, determination filling my eyes. Sami nods along with my assessment.
“Hmm? No.” Kei immediately shoots us down
“W-why?!” I look over at him, my eyes wide,
“Erm, well...oh, how do I put this? Hmm..." He takes a deep breath, rubbing his temples. Eventually, Kei cautiously looks at the pile of copies of our one-shot. “Its name…Deadmen in Heaven…is heaven supposed to be a joke?” Kei asks, his facial muscles cringing.
“Depends on your viewpoint.” I say, narrowing my eyes at the non-believer before me.
“Okay then, my viewpoint is you’re a torture addict.” He claims. To that, I raise an eyebrow, but upon consideration, I just take it, and sigh.
"I...I guess that's true." I say. "I did my best to make it more than just another slaughterhouse fic like everything else I make, but if the story is that problematic...ah, god, now I'm stressed." I crouch down, head in legs, and groan.
"I-I'm sorry. Was I mean? I didn't mean to be. I-I was just sharing an opinion. I'm really sorry Yuta." Kei seems panicked.
“Don’t insult my author Kei. I don’t need him having an existential crisis…a crisis of faith…which one is the one where you doubt yourself?” Sami asks.
“It’s called a headache.” I mumble, lifting my head up. "Don't fret Kei. You're not the only one who feels negatively. Lets just hope the buyers feel differently." I say.
"R-right. I hope so." He says, clearly still feeling awful. I sigh, unsure how to make him feel better. Before I can come up with an answer, I feel a can tap my shoulder. It's a canned coffee.
“The caffeine addiction has probably already developed. I'm mostly sorry." Sami gives me an apologetic smile as I take the can.
“I’ve been lured into hell. Whyyyy?” I complain jokingly, drinking from the can. My headache already starts to disappear. "Ahh, much better."
“Oh, such a cute look of relief. I could pinch your cheeks." She giggles, squeezing her fingers together threateningly.
"You're cruel." I respond, taking another sip.
“So, you two are a couple now?” Kei asks as he seems to finally snap out of his daze.
“Yep, that just about describes it.” I say, standing up and pinching Sami's cheek.
"N-noooo, don't turn it arounnnnnd!" She whines as I pinch.
"This is karma. Woah your skin is soft. What kind of face wash do you use?" The conversation moves its way over to beauty products until Kei interrupts.
“Unsurprising.” He says before grabbing a doujin out of his bag. “I kind of figured it was bound to happen when she brought you here.”
“K-Kei!” Sami yelps, blushing wildy.
“You never bring people over. Clearly he was special. Don’t blame me for just being observant.” He whines lightly, and is met by a dishcloth landing on his face. “Ah!” He falls as it strikes him gently, leaving us to watch as he checks for dirtiness on his face. Of course, it was a clean dishcloth, so the moment was met only with silence.
“...I’m starving.” I break the ice.
“Same.” “Same.”
And so, dinner was made.
…
“Mmm…god…I love tomato soup.” I whisper.
“I mean, it’s pretty good, yeah.” Kei chimes in, earning an ear pinch from his sister.
“Why thank you Yuta, I’m glad you appreciate a home cooked meal.” She smiles.
“Well…now what?” I ask. A confusion spreads between the siblings at my question. “I mean, our one shot is finished. Tomorrow we go out and try to sell the thing. What do we do after that?" I ask.
“I mean, you still have web novels to write. Take a well deserved manga break and focus on that until after tomorrow.” Sami suggests. I look away, towards the piles of pages.
“...I suppose, yeah.” Sure, that’s a logical thing to do. I have no opposition towards just writing more. But…it also feels wrong. Why? “I guess working with you feels so much better than working alone.” I admit. In response, red spots form on Sami’s face.
“J-jeez, you say the most embarrassing things.” Sami sighs. “But…I’m happy, at least.”
“...cute.” Kei says.
“Sh-shut up Kei!” We both yell.
…
Sitting on the couch, I write quietly. I try to recall when last I wrote something. Probably yesterday, but all my memories are balled up by that energy high. Ah well, what matters is that I finished another novel, and now need to make another. Thankfully, I've already been chewing on one in the back of my mind after looking through one of the books I picked up. In my ears, my buds play the sounds of screamo. Specifically, Maximum the Hormones album Bu-ikikaesu. I need to take the time to listen to their other albums, cause this one is incredible. I smile as the sound of the lead singers roaring vocals echo in my brain.
“Fan of screamo, huh?” I hear Kei appear just above me, looking from the back of the couch. I move my book and see his face staring down at me.
“How’d you tell?” I ask, eyebrow raised. "Do I got a stalker on my hands?" I joke.
“I can hear it from across the room.” He says. “Don’t break your ears please.” I chuckle at his concern, turning my music down.
“Is that what you usually listen to when you write?” He asks. Well...kind of, yes, but probably a good moment to explain some of my process for what it's worth.
“Hmm, well, sometimes. It depends.
“On what you’re writing.”
“No, my mood." I scratch my chin, thinking of how to best explain. "Music is like the key to my brain. If you put in the wrong one, the lock ain’t turning, you know?” I explain. He nods along, like I'm spouting gospel. “It just so happens that usually, the right key is Maximum the Hormone.” I say.
“Seems right for you.” Kei says, his arms crossed.
“Heh, my writing really ain’t your cup of tea huh?” I ask.
“Not really." I feel a rant oncoming. I brace myself. "It feels unnecessarily violent. It also feels like things are happening out of nowhere. Isn’t a story supposed to build on itself?”
“Well, if that’s what you want from a story, then I suppose yes.” I nod along
“You can’t seriously try and defend all the stuff you write, right? I understand that gore and violence have their place in any story, but the excessive amount you use them feels lazy. Adding in some emotional element doesn't change that the biggest thing your stuff has going for it is gross out." His ruthless words cut deep. I do my best not to get ticked.
“Hmm…I don’t really know how I feel about my own writing. In truth, I only really remember a small percent of everything I’ve written. It’s all just what I want to write at that time. Let me ask you though. It's not your thing, you think it's gratuities, but does that make it valueless?” I ask. He looks down at the floor, the cogs of his brain seemingly going into hyperdrive.
“I think it does.” He finally answers.
“Really now?” I put my chin in my hand. "Why's that?"
“I think a story should be something with a clear reason to exist. I don’t think your writing has that. Like, Time Change Infinite. It has so much going on, but at the heart of it, the point is about the consequences of not holding on to the connections you have with people. Your stuff…is just vomit pretending to have meaning. It angers me.” He crosses his arms. "It angers me because I know you can do better."
“Wow, you’re ruthless.” I say, looking up at the ceiling. Though, what I once thought was his spite turning into disappointment really just has me sad. “Hmm…a reason to exist. I don't believe that anything is pointless. Whether it only has a point to one person or millions, something's existence will have a point. So, my bad, let me rephrase. Kei, is there a bad reason to exist?”
“I mean…like, to brainwash people.” He scratches his head, not sure where I'm taking this.
“True, I’d say that’s a really bad reason. What if something exists just to exist? Do you think that’s a bad reason?” I ask.
“I…yeah, actually, it is. It's not immoral, but being pointless is just a waste of the reader’s and writer’s time, you know? Wasting someone's time is a selfish thing to do." He says.
“I don’t think that’s the case.” I retort. “I believe existing to exist is a plenty fine reason. Because I’m not writing for anyone but myself.” I say. “I’m a selfish guy. I just want to empty my brain of all it has before it bursts. The fact that people enjoy it or not holds no consequence to me. But if they do enjoy it, then that’s still good. If they don’t, that’s reasonable, but the work has fulfilled its purpose either way. All it had to do for me to be happy was to exist.” I explain.
“...hmm. So, it’s like we said about success?" He asks.
“Right.”
“Then…does succeeding at what you aim for automatically make you a good writer, even if your aims are so low?”
“I’m not worried about that. To me, I’m the best writer there is. Because no one writes the story I want like I do.” That sounds right. Though, that ignores the many authors that write better than me who's stories are nothing like I would write them.
“That’s...that's still a bad reason though. That's just vent art, existing to be edgy or to look for attention, and the last thing the world wants is more people using their art to suffocate them with their problems." I sigh at his response. That's a hard thing to argue against. Not because I agree, but because it's so connected to the morality of an action that it boils down to your own moral compass.
"Do you think vent art is morally bad?" I ask.
"If it is shared online, it is morally reprehensible." He retorts.
"Okay...I want you to pretend that the moral feelings you have about it don't exist. I'm not smart enough nor do I think highly enough about my own morals to critique yours. This is entirely based on the merits of what you see as vent art. I'm going to stick with your main idea that this kind of art is meaningless and attention seeking." I say.
"...alright." Kei nods.
"I acknowledge the fact that some pieces you classify as vent art are, in fact, attention seeking. That's not all of it though, and that ties into the meaning."
"What's the meaning?"
"To connect with people who are suffering like you are. To show the world you're struggling because the rest of your life wants to silence you. I acknowledge that there is a time and place for this kind of art, but to call it meaningless is just incorrect."
"I...I still don't see it. I think you can express all those things in ways that have more to them than just the meaningless suffering." Kei says.
"I'm fine to stop there then. Clearly there's no convincing you...nor other people." I feel my heart sink.
"H-hey, don't get down. I'm sure plenty of people will enjoy it." He says entirely from sympathy.
"Sure Kei." I respond.
"..." Kei sighs, getting up and walking away. "...I took it too far. I'm sorry."
"It's fine." I say. After a moment, I hear the bathroom door open and close, leaving me with Sami. Her silence throughout, as it would turn out, was only to keep from ganging up on anyone. Now that she could freely talk, she could only say one thing.
"Your words have meaning."
I smile at her faith.
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