Story Update! – ‘Snow in Shibuya’

Hello hello hellooooo!

I edited/expanded on my micro story, ‘Snow in Shibuya’, fleshing out a few side characters a bit more and expanding on some details. Enjoy!

-L.

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Job Interview

“Hey, there you are!”

“Hey…”

“Sorry I’m late, but now I’m here, so…ta-daaa!”

“Yeah. You’re here.”

“Aw, c’mon. I’m not -that- late. Right?”

“…”

“I mean…ok, guess I am, but…you don’t need to get mad about it. Well, maybe a bit, but just a–”

“They didn’t hire me.”

“Oh? Oh, shit…I’m sorry. Damn. But you’re more than qualified for it!”

“I know. They made a point to mention how impressed they were at my resume, over the entire interview.”

“Ok, but did they at least give a reason? Anything?”

“They didn’t have to. From the moment I walked in there and made eye contact, I knew they’d dug up dirt on me. My little trip to the hospital.”

“Those assholes! Isn’t that shit, like, illegal or something?”

“Even if it was, I can’t prove they did it. I just smiled and thanked them for their time.”

“That fucking sucks so much, man. But hey, you always land on your feet, c’mon, I’ll buy you a beer!”

“What’s going on here? Who are you talking to?”

“Oh, sorry officer. I was just talking to myself…”

Blinding Lights

We’re cramped in a room that’s too small to be a walk-in closet, gathered around a bed covered with a blue sheet; a woman lays there naked from the waist up. Neon red buzzes and flickers from the ceiling while my camera lens cups her face in its reflection. Click. The strobe of white drowns out the red above.

“Shit, my eyes!”

“Sorry. Just need a few more pics.” Everyone knows the drill.

Her face is a delicate oval with skin of light brown caramel mottled with blotches of green and gray. She was…is beautiful. I wonder if she knew or did it all happen in a flash? It doesn’t matter. Only thing left is to file it and clean up. Strands of shoulder-length hair, black as her dilated pupils, fall disheveled over the bed. She carries a smile that’s starting to give the faintest hint of a grin. I almost smile back as a reflex.

“I hate it when they do that.”

“Do what?” I know the answer, but still ask my stupid question.

“Smile. Fucking rigor mortis.”

Click. Her glassy stare shines at me like two lonely stars for a second before going dark again. There’s a small gaping hole at the center of her forehead surrounded by a purple bruise. Under her head, a dark red stain has spread and soaked over the blue sheets.

“Poor girl got a .38 kiss, probably a few days or so by the looks of it.”
“And the smell. Jesus.” You never get used to it. Not really.

“Yeah.” I chime in while I look at her through the camera’s viewfinder.

“Third one this week.”

Someone lights a cigarette, mingling the stench of smoke, blood and more than a tinge of singed rotting flesh. Click. White over red, red over blue. Click, click, click. I wonder what’s her name.

“Somebody call the morgue. Tell’em were sending a ripe one for cold storage; she’s starting to stink up the place.”

Sweat trickles down your chest, your body crying in fear. Run, run, run! Satan’s hell hounds are not far behind. The lights from speeding cars blind you, but you can’t stop. Only you can fulfill His work, ingrate as it is. You feel the gun’s warmth in your hand. Another sinner cast out, a junky corrupting his flesh, and some time ago before, the harlot who tempted your purity. But you were stronger than all of them, and their red blood is spent. Now they’re on to you, these devils in blue; you’re out of breath.

“Stop, police!” Out of time.

Row upon row of glass, brick and mortar buildings encroach upon you, caging you in. “Drop the gun, drop it, man!” There is no escape.

“Do it now!”

Gnarled trees on the sidewalk shiver their leaves. There is no fear. You turn around, catching the glint of a cross in the distance. It rests faithful atop Christ’s house. You raise your divine instrument; you shall not go to your just reward meekly.

“Oh fuck, fire!”

Flashes of light tear your body, then darkness.

“Yeah, man, shit went down! I was walking on 5th when across the street a group of cops were chasing some guy inna black trench coat, right? Ok, good. Yeah, they cornered the poor fucker, but instead of giving it up, the guy starting talking shit. Sumthing about God, crazy talk, y’know? The pigs were shouting at him like crazy too, ‘drop the gun, lay on the ground’, all that bullshit. Man, their faces were red and blue. But he didn’t listen, cool as ice, he raises the gun. Was he gonna shoot at them? Fuck do I know? Anyhow, it was all over in a blink, man. Bam, bam, bam, lights out. Dead fucker’s on the floor leaking all over, prolly crapped his guts out too. Cousin told me dead people do that, just empty themselves. After that cops were all like ‘Show’s over, move along.’ They were shining flashlights all over the place, almost blinded me. Buncha assholes, fuck’em. Anyways, I gotta deliver some fine Colombian white flour before this rain drowns me. Laters.”

Memory Of A Tune

A valley of desire runs long and untended between trembling thighs.
Carry my wishes to them with the breath of a unrepentant kiss,
then, maybe, I shall swallow your little gasps; pizzicato notes on our merry old symphony.
Oh, how this smirk -is it yours or mine?- flickers our lovers’ delight.
I’ll be sure to whisper your name, so please, spare a thought for my lonesome;
one day I’ll be sure to remember it.

Fourteen Billion Hands

Solitude extends indefinite
over a wandering gaze.
Moments of uncertain tranquility,
caught in transfixed irises.
Carrying the surface tension
of a lingering kiss.

Orange beams
bleed slowly into frame,
warming the confines
of this cage.
A flutter.
The heart speaks.
Its words lost in
the midpoint of empty spaces.

Loneliness is a word
the World is built upon.
Fourteen billion hands
hold on to
nothing.
This is not what was promised.