Panorama - II

I see a dragonfly, beating its wings.

A b.u.t.terfly follows it, but its pace doesn’t slacken. The b.u.t.terfly tries to

keep up with the dragonfly, but it is a futile effort. As it flies further, I see

a glimpse of the b.u.t.terfly as its strength failed and gravity took hold. It

makes an arc as it falls, and then trails its way to the ground like a snake, or

a broken lily. A sad and cruel scene.

Perhaps, even if they could not travel together, they could have kept

each other company for a while longer. But I knew that was impossible. To

something like the dragonfly, whose feet don’t touch the earth, even such

freedom was denied.

I hear the distinct buzz of conversation, and I wake up.

My eyelids were screaming for two more hours of sleep, even as my

mind warred between sleeping and waking. In the end, the battle was won

by the latter, and I set to work on the laborious task of opening my eyelids.

Sometimes, I wonder if I worry about these things too much. I was up

all night working on the blueprints and diagrams, and I must have fallen

asleep in Miss Tōko’s room. I raise myself up from the sofa with a hint of

enthusiasm, pushing up my gla.s.ses so I could see better, and I realize that

this was indeed the office.

The office was a cluttered place full of occult oddities and research that

Miss Tōko had acc.u.mulated throughout the years. The midday sunlight illuminated

this mess, as well as the two people conversing; Shiki, wearing a

smooth kimono as always, was leaning with back to the wall, and Miss Tōko

was sitting cross-legged on a chair.

Miss Tōko always dressed smart, with thin black pants and a collared

white blouse that seemed to look new every time you meet her. Combined

with her short hair and the way it made her neck show, it gave her the

image of a company secretary, though I thought that with her scary, piercing

look, especially if she didn’t have her gla.s.ses on, it would probably be

impossible that she would ever get such a job.

“’Morning, Kokutō.” Miss Tōko gave a glance in my direction, like she

always does, to acknowledge my presence. No gla.s.ses were worn over her

hawk eyed glare today, a sign that she and Shiki were probably talking business.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I guess I fell asleep.”

14 • KINOKO NASU

“Don’t start with excuses. I can see well enough. If you’re fully with us

on planet Earth now, then go make something to drink. A cup of coffee

would be good. It should warm your bones a bit after that long rest.”

Long rest? Well, I did feel exceptionally tired, so it wasn’t a completely

strange thing to say. I don’t know why Miss Tōko would say it, but she’s

always talking cryptically at the best of times anyway, so not asking her has

become the standard operating procedure.

“How about you, Shiki? Need a drink?” I managed to ask in my groggy

state, only half aware of my surroundings.

“Nah, I’m good. I’m about to hit the sack soon, anyway.”

Lazy eyes and sagging shoulders tell the story of Shiki’s sleeplessness

well enough. Probably went and did another one of those nightly strolls

again last night.

Next to Miss Tōko’s office room was another one that served the purposes

of a kitchen, at least to her. To me, it looked more like a laboratory,

or at the very least it used to look like one. The sink had three faucets in

a row, just like you’d see in a lab. Two of those had wires strapped around

them, either disabled or possessing some unearthly, forbidden function ,

the operation of which I suspect only pa.s.sed between G.o.d and Miss Tōko.

G.o.d sure wasn’t revealing anything, and Miss Tōko is of the same mindset,

and I was in no particular rush to find out. Either way, it gave the entire

room a disturbing air.

I turn on the coffee maker, and it emits a low hum as it processes the

drink. The first thing I do upon arriving here every day is make coffee for

Miss Tōko, so it’s come to the point where I could do it with my eyes closed.

It’s been almost half a year since I’ve started working for her. “Work” in

this case being a very loose term. This place could hardly be called your

typical office environment. Despite that, I stay on, probably because I saw

something in what she worked on.

Just after Shiki lapsed into a coma, I graduated high school and entered

college with no motivation or any particular purpose. At some point back

in our high school days, me and Shiki made a deal to go to college together.

Even if Shiki had no hope of waking up, I still wanted to keep that promise.

But my life after Shiki’s coma was one of aimless drifting, just watching the

calendar as the days swept past.

One day I was invited by an acquaintance to a doll and puppet exhibit,

and it was there that I found it: A doll in the shape and size of a human, so

finely made that it must have taken its craftsman years of hard work; some 

/ PANORAMA - II • 15

measure of his soul went into that doll. Though I knew it was just a doll like

anything else there, it looked more like a human being, frozen in place, and

one I was sure would move any second now, if someone breathed into it. A

thing on the brink of existence, but didn’t live, preserved on the boundary

that no one else walked.

I was attracted to that contradiction, maybe because it reminded me so

much of the person that Shiki was before. Apparently, the maker of the doll

was unknown. Even the pamphlet of the exhibit didn’t mention any names.

I dove into investigation, desperately seeking the person who could craft

such a beautiful doll. It turned out to be someone not entirely connected

to the business of doll making, and did it with no real intent for fame. A

mysterious recluse named Tōko Aozaki.

Apparently she makes dolls as her main occupation, but was also an

architect on the side. She seemed to be involved in just generally “making”

things, whatever those thing may be, but she never accepts requests. Mysteriously,

she just knows who needs things made, goes to them, announces

her intent, and proceeds to make whatever it is they want after receiving a

generous advance payment.

She must be the world’s greatest freelance craftsman, or the world’s

biggest weirdo.

I got even more interested in finding her after that, even though I got

a sense that I really should have quit at that point. Something seemed to

pull at my effort, almost as if she didn’t want to be found out. Eventually,

through much time and record searching, I found out she lived in some

place away from the city, not in the suburbs, or the industrial district.

It wasn’t even a house.

It’s an abandoned building.

Well, to be more specific, it’s a building where construction was stopped

when it was halfway done, probably because whoever funded it ran out of

money. It has the shape of a building, seen from afar, but inside the floor

and walls are bare. It was left as it was, neglected and surrendered to time

and the weather. Had it been completed, it would have had six floors, but

there’s nothing above the fourth floor. Nowadays it would be more efficient

to start the bulk of the construction from the top, but I guess they

were still using the old methods back then. Now the fifth floor has been

dragooned into the service of a roof. Though surrounded by a high concrete

wall, anyone who wanted to go in would have an easy time of it, since

the gate was always open. It’s a miracle the local kids don’t mess around

in it. They probably just see it as some suspicious, dangerous building they

should stay out of. Pretty convenient.

16 • KINOKO NASU

I don’t know if Miss Tōko really bought the building, but it seems that

way, so for now, she stays here. The laboratory-slash-coffee room I’m in

right now is situated on the fourth floor, and the second and third are Miss

Tōko’s various offices, storage rooms, and workshops, so we usually talk

shop on the fourth floor.

After finding Miss Tōko, I got to know her and asked for employment

of some sort, just to sate my interest in this master craftswoman. I quit

college, and started working for her. And amazingly enough, I actually get

paid. She once said to me that humans can be divided into two types with

two attributes: those who craft and search, and those who use and destroy.

She made it clear to me that I wasn’t someone who “crafted” but one who

“searched” or some such, and that’s why she hired me.

“Running a little late there, Kokutō,” said an accusatory voice from the

other room. It was Miss Tōko, her patience obviously running thin. Well,

the coffee maker’s just about done, and the black liquid sits there, waiting

to be drunk.

“Yesterday makes the eighth,” Miss Tōko says abruptly, while stubbing

out her cigarette. “Soon people are going to take notice of their connection.”

She is, of course, talking about the recent case of high school girls falling

to their deaths. There’s nothing else to talk about anyway, so I guess this

was as good a topic as any. But wait…eight?

“Huh? Weren’t there only six people?”

“A few more popped up while you still had sand in your eyes. All this

started in June, and it’s been going at about three per month. Maybe

another one’ll happen before the next three days are out, eh?” Miss Tōko

is in the habit of saying really ominous things, so I’m kind of used to it. I

take a quick glance at the calendar, noticing that there’s only three days left

in August. For a moment, a flash of worry enters my mind for some reason,

but I quickly dismiss it.

“They’re saying the suicides have no relation, though,” I remark. “Different

schools, no friends of the third degree or anything like that. It could

still turn out that the police are withholding information from the media

to better their chances when they interview the perp…if this case even has

one.”

“What, Kokutō, you don’t trust the police on this one? That sleep must

have really done a number on you to suddenly be skeptical of people like

that.” She grins. As usual, her spite knows no bounds when her gla.s.ses are 

/ PANORAMA - II • 17

off.

“Because they didn’t leave behind a suicide note, right?” I explain. “Suicidals

usually leave behind a note or some sort of last message to the living.

I mean, what is it six…erm, eight people now? At least one of them

should have done it. That only means one of two things: that the police

aren’t publicizing the note so that it serves as leverage against a suspect,

or it could mean a statistical improbability.”

“Which by itself becomes the only thing connecting these incidents,”

says Miss Tōko. “The girls weren’t taking drugs, nor were they members of

some weird cult. By all accounts their lives were perfectly mundane. Neither

their family nor their friends know any reason why they would throw

themselves off a building. So it follows that they probably killed themselves

over some emotional or psychological distress, or perhaps to prove something.

That’s why they don’t leave behind any last words.”

“So you’re saying that it’s not that the police are hiding anything, it’s

that they truly didn’t have any suicide note?” I ask.

“Well, statistically speaking, most people don’t leave behind any note

when they commit suicide…but yeah.” Miss Tōko leans back on her chair,

sipping her coffee while looking at me funny. I put a mug to my own lip and

tip it, tasting the bitter coffee inside. I think back on what she said, something

nagging me in the reasoning.

How could there be no suicide note? It didn’t fit. The girls were, as far

as we knew, all happy and content, very much attached to the world of the

living. In a situation where one is forced to die, final words are what you

leave behind to cement that connection. Not doing so means you have

nothing to leave to this world, and you can decide to bravely face that great

unknown of death. A suicide without a note, or parting words, or even

the remote chance of discovery of the incident: that would be the perfect

suicide.

Jumping off a building, then, is far from the perfect suicide.

Such an exhibitionist act makes the suicide clear and attention-grabbing.

In a way, the suicide and the resulting publicity itself results in having the

air of a “suicide note”, so to speak. If the suicidals picked as obvious and

public a method as jumping off a building, then they did so knowing they

would be seen by many. Publicity formed at least a part of their choice of

death. In that case, why the lack of parting words at all?

I can think of only one reason. Perhaps, like Shiki said once, they were

just accidents, or at the very least, they did not intend to die. Then they

wouldn’t have any reason to write a suicide note, just like running into a

traffic accident while going home from school. Unfortunately, I can’t fath-

18 • KINOKO NASU

om why you’d jump off from a building while taking your daily commute

from school, though.

“There won’t be any more girls. .h.i.tting the pavement for a while after

the eighth, ‘least not ones related to these incidents.” Shiki, now standing

beside the window, joins the conversation.

“How could you possibly know that?” I say.

“How else? I checked. There were eight of them floating around that

building. I took care of ‘em, but they’ll be there for a little while longer,

even if it does make me sick.” Shiki faces away from the window, posing

with arms crossed. “Say, Tōko, do all people end up flying that way when

they bite the bullet?”

“No one really knows for sure. Everyone’s different. All I can offer you is

an observation.” Miss Tōko puts down her cup, her smile morphing into a

more scholarly demeanor, as if she was about to teach the most important

thing in the world. “The words ‘flying’ and ‘falling’ are inextricably tied to

each other, because we humans can’t fly by ourselves. And yet, as expected

of men, the more we reach for the sky, the more we forget this. Even those

who live after death can try and reach for this goal, to fall towards the sky,

forgetting that it is the hubris of Icarus that led to his doom.”

Shiki seemed perturbed by Miss Tōko’s cryptic response, more so than

usual. I can only guess as to what offensive statement Miss Tōko said that

has Shiki in such a defensive att.i.tude. I decide to break the mood.

“Er, I’m sorry ma’am, but I can’t seem to understand the topic.”

“Apologies, Kokutō. We’re talking about the ghost at the Fujō Tower. I

don’t really know if it’s the real thing or just some mage’s illusion. I wanted

to check, but if Shiki really killed it, then there’s no way to know for sure

now.”

So it was about that. The conversations between Shiki and gla.s.ses-offMiss

Tōko are always about the occult and the magical, so it wasn’t that

hard to guess anyway.

“You know that Shiki saw those girls floating around in the Fujō Tower,

correct? Turns out there was another human figure flying around among

those floating girls. Since they couldn’t be removed, we figured perhaps

that place was something akin to a net to them, or something along those

lines.”

In my mind, I am frowning at this story’s sudden turn for the complex,

and then, as if sensing my confusion, she offers her layman’s summary of it.

“Well, to put it a bit more simply, there is one girl floating around that

building, and tagging along with her are what looks like our famous suicide

girls. I suspect that they’re something like ghosts or some other supernatu-

/ PANORAMA - II • 19

ral occurrence. The end.”

I nod my understanding, but the way Shiki put it, I gather that the deed

was already done and taken care of. Once again, the story seems far past

me. It’s only been three months since I let these two get to know each

other, but already I’m the one lagging behind on their peculiar conversations.

Not that I had any particular interest in being involved in them either

way. However, since being ignored was also an unacceptable outcome, I

listen anyway. The way I’m stuck between their stranger world and my own

willing or unwilling ignorance of it sort of fits me, in a way. It’s one of those

small blessings I can be thankful for.

“That sounds like a story out of a dime novel,” I blurt out. Miss Tōko

nods her agreement, smiling. Shiki, on the other hand, is somehow growing

more wound up, casting accusatory sidelong glances at me. Because

provoking a reaction out of Shiki works about as often as Mercury in retrograde,

I have to wonder if I did something colossally idiotic without my

knowing again.

“But then, Shiki saw the ghosts only at the beginning of July, right?” I

sound dumb for asking the obvious, but I do it just to confirm. “So there

were only four ghosts back then, Shiki?”

A negative shaking of the head from Shiki. “No, no, there were eight,

right from the start. I told you right? There wouldn’t be any more suicides

after the eighth. In their case, the order is reversed.”

“Uh huh. You gotta clarify with me whether or not you’ve gained any

future predicting powers like that one girl we talked to some time ago.”

“It’s not like that, Mikiya. It’s more like that place…the air there isn’t

normal. How do I put this?” Shiki’s voice uncharacteristically wavers a bit as

a proper description fails to materialize. “It’s sort of like a strange sensation

of being in the middle of boiling water and freezing water.”

As Shiki struggles with vocabulary, Miss Tōko steps in to help.

“It means that time there flows differently. Understand that there is more

than one way for time to progress. The speed upon which entropy acts on

something differs for each object. The same holds true for our memories.

When a person dies, the record of him existing doesn’t disappear instantly.

There are people who remember, people who have observed and watched

over his life and death. As long as these exist, the memories…, or rather,

their record of existence, doesn’t suddenly disappear, but only fades into

nothingness. If the observer of death was not a person, but instead a place

that resonates to people such as those girls, then they will remain even 

20 • KINOKO NASU

after death as a sort of image, of wandering ‘ghosts’, or what have you.

The only ones receptive to this image are the ones that share and keep the

memory of these ghosts, such as close friends and family. And people like

Shiki and me, of course.”

Miss Tōko lights another cigarette before continuing. “Entropy acts on

memory too. People forget, and eventually the memories disappear. But

on the roof of the Fujō Tower, the entropy of those memories are slower, as

if the building itself doesn’t want to forsake them. The record of their time

alive hasn’t caught up to their current state, and as a result, the memories,

and the images of those girls remain, in that place where time is crooked

and broken.”

Miss Tōko seems to finish her explanation, which I suspect managed to

be even more puzzling than what Shiki would have eventually gotten to. So

what she’s saying is that, when something dies or is lost, that thing doesn’t

truly disappear, as long as someone remembers it. And that remembering

it is to acknowledge its existence, and because of that, it can sometimes be

seen again. That just sounds like deluding yourself.

Well, Miss Tōko probably kept using the word “image” because it is

something of a delusion, a thing that can’t be real.

In a surprisingly frank display of annoyance, Shiki is led to that timeless

impulse of headscratching. “Enough of these explanations, already. What

I’m really worried about is her. My knife did a pretty good job of proving my

point, but if there’s actually some mage using projection, then this’ll never

end.” Another soild glance comes my way. “I’m tired of being Mikiya’s

guardian, thank you very much.”

“I agree completely, Shiki. I’ll settle things with Kirie Fujō, so just go on

and take Kokutō home…wait, he still has five hours to clock in, so you might

want to sleep. You can use that place.”

Miss Tōko pointed to a spot on the floor that looks like it hasn’t been

cleaned for at least half a year, littered with paper like a dirty furnace. Shiki,

naturally, ignores her.

“So what was she, anyway?” Shiki asks Miss Tōko. The mage walks over

to the window and stares outside, her footsteps inaudible, and with a cigarette

still in her mouth. We don’t really have any light in this room, not

electric light anyway. All the light comes from outside, and in certain areas

of the building where the sun doesn’t reach, it can be surprisingly difficult

to tell the time. In contrast, the view outside is clearly morning, perhaps

somewhere closer to noon. For a few moments, Miss Tōko stares silently at

the sun-bathed panorama.

“Before, you could have said that she flew.” She puffs out a cloud of 

/ PANORAMA - II • 21

smoke, indistinguishable now from the white sunlight. From my position,

framed by the sunlight and smoke, she looked like some sort of mirage.

“Kokutō, what would you a.s.sociate with a high place? What imagery comes

to mind?” The sudden question snaps me back into focus. The only thing I

could think about was the time I went atop Tokyo Tower. I remember trying

real hard to spot my house, but in the end I couldn’t make it out among the

many tall buildings I saw.

“Maybe…small things?”

“Trying a bit too hard there, Kokutō.”

Well, fine, I didn’t think that answer through too much anyway. I try to

think of something else.

“Well, I can’t really think of anything in particular, but I do think that a

panoramic view is beautiful. Just the sight of the scenery is overwhelming.”

This was a more spontaneous response, which she somehow seems

to note, acknowledging it with a little nod while still staring at the window.

And like that, she continued to talk.

“Scenery seen from select vantage points is always wonderful. Even an

otherwise mundane landscape becomes something special. Looking down

at the world you live in, though, stimulates a different urge. In such a commanding

view, there is but one impulse.”

As the word “impulse” leaves her mouth, she cuts off her sentence.

An impulse isn’t something that comes from reason or intelligence, not

something that comes from within, but something that is triggered by an

external force, even if one rejects it. Like a murderous, destructive urge.

Then what is the destructive impulse that a view from on high brings?

“It’s how far everything is. A view too wide makes clear the boundary

between you and the world. People can only rest easy with things they are

familiar with. Even with an accurate map telling you your exact location,

you know that’s only information. To us, the world only amounts to something

we understand and feel from experience. The boundaries and connections

of the world, and of countries, and of cities, are only constructs

of the mind, not something we feel ourselves. But with a view too wide,

there appear gaps in our understanding. You have a ten meter radius that

you feel, and the ten kilometer s.p.a.ce that you’re looking down on. They’re

both one and the same, the same world that you’ve been living in, and yet

the first one feels more real.

You see, now we have come upon a paradox. Rather than recognize the

small world you can feel as the world you live in, you ascribe it to the wide

world you can only see. But within this wide world, you cannot feel that

you truly exist. Because the closer objects are to your person, the more 

22 • KINOKO NASU

sure you can be of their existence, of their reality. In this way, reason, represented

by your knowledge, and experience, represented by instinct, will

start to conflict. Eventually, one will lose, and confusion sets in.

‘Viewing the city from up here sure puts it into perspective. I can’t believe

my house was down there. Did the park always look that way? I didn’t even

know that street or that alley or that building ever existed! This is a city

I’ve never seen before, like I’ve gone far, far away.’ Those are the sort of

thoughts that run through your head in a panoramic view.”

In a lull in her speech, I manage to sneak in a question which has been

nagging me since the start.

“So, what, looking out from a vantage point is somehow bad now?”

“Only if you gaze for too long. Remember that in the old myths, traveling

the sky was akin to traveling another world. To fly was to ascend to a

higher world, or perhaps to meet one’s final reward in the afterlife. Mortals

who ascended the skies became mad, unless they armed themselves with

charms or the power of reason. And always, lunacy was cured by returning

to solid ground.”

Now that she mentions it, I did have this indescribable urge to jump

from the school roof once, just to see what would happen if I did. It must

run through everybody’s minds at some point, when looking at that view.

Of course, I didn’t really want to do it, but why did I think that way when it

clearly leads to my own death? Why do other people think that way?

“Does that mean that, if only for a moment, you go mad?’ After I mention

the question, Miss Tōko bursts into laughter.

“Kokutō, you have to understand that thinking that is normal. Dig into

people’s dreams and you find them dreaming the taboo, eventually. We

possess the extraordinary ability of indulging our own fantasies with our

own imagination. Though you are right in a way. What’s important is that

we know that the fantasy has its place. Well, I guess that’s obvious. But in

your example, it’s less ‘crazy’ and more like a ‘numbing of thought.’”

“Tōko, this has gone on long enough.” Shiki interrupts, sick of the onesided

conversation. Well, we have drifted quite far from the main topic so

it wouldn’t be uncalled for in this case.

“There’s nothing long about it. In fact, were this an actual thought

experiment, we’d only be ankle deep into it.”

“Well, cut it down to a phrase, will you? When you and Mikiya talk, it’s

like a G.o.dd.a.m.n thesis committee.”

Strong words, but words which I can accept have an all too valid point.

“Shiki…” Miss Tōko starts, rubbing her temple in frustration, but Shiki

continues to complain, ignoring the both of us.

/ PANORAMA - II • 23

“And then there’s this business of views from high places. I hope you

remember that just by walking around, we’re already ‘viewing from a high

place’ already.” Air quotations by Shiki. “There’s no ‘normal view’ by your

logic.”

Well, someone’s wound up. As expected, Shiki’s already trying to punch

holes in Miss Tōko’s argument. Certainly, a person’s eyes are higher than

the ground, which would qualify them for a “high place”, I guess. Miss Tōko

nods in approval at Shiki, and continues her speech, probably condensed

now for the sake of Shiki’s temper.

“Even if we count the fact that the ground isn’t actually flat but at an

angle, we also don’t usually call our normal vision to be a ‘commanding’

or ‘overlooking’ view. There’s a reason for that. Your vision isn’t exactly as

your eyes see it, but something more of a signal the mind interprets and

comprehends. Protected as we are by our ‘common sense’, we don’t perceive

such sight as ‘high’, and we don’t call it such. It’s ‘normal’…whatever

nebulous value anyone might ascribe to that word.

Our mental perceptions, on the other hand, also stand perched on its

own vantage point. Different minds perceive different things, but all are

imprisoned, asleep in a paradigm of material reality. Awakened minds

bearing a more malleable paradigm, such as those of mages, can bend its

rules, but never truly break them. To cross that boundary is to become

something more and less human. A G.o.d, but absent the restraint. And so

Hypnos becomes Thanatos.”

As she says this, Miss Tōko continues to look out at the window, in a

commanding view of the street, the town—perhaps the world. She’s looking

at the world with her feet firmly in the ground, which I thought was

important for some reason. I suddenly remember my dream.

Before it ended, I remember the b.u.t.terfly fell towards the ground. Were

the b.u.t.terfly not so intent to follow me, she could have flown more gracefully.

If she had just floated and not flapped her wings so hard, she could

have flown longer. But perhaps, seeing the dragonfly and how it flew, it

could no longer bear to just float. That’s why it flew.

Miss Tōko threw her expended cigarette out the window. “The fluctuation

at the Fujō Tower might have been her perception of the world. The

uneasiness in the air that Shiki felt were the bars of the prison. A place

steeped in numina.”

A few seconds pa.s.s without Miss Tōko saying a word, which Shiki and

I take as a sign that she’s finally finished talking. The long sigh and wandering

eyes tell me that Shiki’s melancholic demeanor calms down at last.

“Bars of the prison, huh? I wonder if that girl was inside or outside.” Saying 

24 • KINOKO NASU

this dismissively, Shiki’s head is tilted to one side, tired of talking.

“Well, I’d say wherever you are, she’s on the opposite side,” counters

Miss Tōko.

-> / 4 • 25

--> / 4

It’s 2:00 in the morning, and the bone in my nape creaks from the cold.

I shiver in spite of myself, and I wonder if it’s the chill that’s doing it, or

my own mind. For the moment, I cast aside my reservations and enter the

Fujō Tower, no sight or sound of life indicating any sort of welcome for me.

Only the electric light illuminating the cream-colored walls of the entrance

hallway, a light that looked too artificial and lacking in human warmth that

it ended up being more eerie than the darkness it was supposed to sweep

away. At the entrance lies a card checker for the former tennants, now

unused and broken. Without stopping, I pa.s.s by it, going through the hallway

and into an elevator. The situation is the same as it looked outside: no

people except for me. The elevator has one of those mirrors that people

can use to ogle themselves while they wait. It reflects a person wearing a

light blue kimono with a black leather jacket, with the lazy eyes of someone

tired of doing this job.

I press the b.u.t.ton that leads to the rooftop while looking at my reflection

in the mirror. With nothing but the low hum of the elevator accompanying

me, I wait as the world begins to rise.

For now until this mechanical box reaches the rooftop, this elevator is

a prison. The events of the outside are from an entirely different world,

an entirely different existence. For now, this is all that is real. I allow this

thought to slip into my mind unbidden, though I should be focusing on the

task at hand.

The sliding door opens with only the slightest hint of a sound, leading

into a small storage room whose only feature is the door leading outside

to the rooftop. The room has this oppressive lack of light that makes me

think that the door to the roof opens to that different world I fleetingly felt,

the world that I saw in the reflective circus of the buildings’ windows. It’s a

boundary of emptiness. Crossing the room with my footsteps resounding

against the narrow s.p.a.ce, I open the door.

The room is black as pitch, but it melds into the now visible void of the

endless night sky. My eyes take in the view of the city from on high. There

was nothing special about the Fujō Tower. It had a perfectly constructed

and level floor made of concrete, and a chain-link fence surrounding the

roof. Aside from the water tank that stood atop the room I just exited out

of, there isn’t anything else here. Except for the view.

The height is at least ten stories higher than any building in the vicinity,

giving it a lonely feeling. It’s like being on top of a tall ladder, staring 

26 • KINOKO NASU

down into the depths of the world below you. If the world below were the

ocean, then the scattered lights of buildings would be the anglerfish, the

only lights in an otherwise black world where neither sunlight nor moonlight

reach. A beautiful sight.

The world is sleeping, perhaps for eternity, but unfortunately only for

the moment. The stillness grips my heart tighter than any cold wind, and

it feels painful. Stars glitter in the sky like jewels, and the moon is out,

brighter than anything. In my education at the family manor, I was taught

that the moon was not the sun’s mirror, but a window to a different reality.

A polar opposite to stand as a gate to twilight.

The moon has long been a.s.sociated with the arcane, femininity, and

death. And as that moon shines brightly over our world, the figure of a

woman floats eerily in the sky above, silhouetted harshly against the moonlight,

accompanied by eight girls flying around her.

The floating woman specter is wearing a white cloth that looked like it

could pa.s.s for a dress, and she has black hair that reaches down all the way

to her waist. What little you can see of her arms and legs through the cloth

reveal how slender she is. Her eyebrows, too, follow this mold, and her

eyes hold inside them piercing cold, making her countenance one of the

most beautiful I’ve seen. From her looks, I’d say she’s in her early twenties,

though it’s probably foolish to attach anything like “age” to something like

a ghost. And yet she doesn’t possess the distorted air of a ghost that marks

them so well. She looks as if she could pa.s.s muster for being alive. The girls

swimming in the air around her, who fade in and out of sight, look more

the part. Above me, this lonely procession continued; the womanly figure,

and the girls floating in a protective formation. I found it unsettling, not so

much repulsive, but more like…

“I see. This is all a spell of yours, isn’t it?” I sneer.

I didn’t notice it before now, but I note the woman’s face again, seeing

some inhuman quality to its beauty. Were the wind blowing strongly

tonight, her smooth black hair, each strand finely combed, would strike an

otherworldly chord in anyone’s heart. Otherworldly, and inhuman.

“Then I’m gonna have to kill you.”

As if noticing me for the first time, the woman’s eyes finally cast downward,

and I return the favor, our eyes taking in each other’s measure. No

more words are spoken. None are needed.

From inside my jacket, I draw a blade, a fine weapon seven inches in

length.

-> / 4 • 27

The woman’s gaze from above fills me with the urge to kill. The beautiful

white dress sways in the air. The slender arm moves like water, and points

an accusatory finger at me. Those slender limbs no longer seem beautiful,

and look more fragile now.

“Like a bone, or a lily.”

Tonight, there was no wind, and my voice reverberated in the night sky.

You can fly. When the woman points her finger at me, I hear a voice

intruding in my consciousness; perhaps hers, were she able to speak. It

buries itself inside, digging in, and telling me I can fly. The mental a.s.sault

makes me lose balance for a moment, but with only one step I regain composure.

Overhead, the woman hesitates. Now I see.

You must fly. She tries again, this time stronger, more a.s.sertive. It is met

with similar resistance. And then, finally, finally, my Eyes look at her.

And there they are. One on each leg, one on her back, a little one in her

left chest. I can see the lines, separating her body into little sections. The

one in her chest is likely the best target. Hitting that’d mean instant death.

This woman could be some sort of image, some delusion, or a ghost. But in

the end it doesn’t matter. Because with my Eyes, even G.o.ds can die.

Holding my knife in a reverse grip, edge-out, I raise my right hand, narrowing

my gaze at my enemy while doing so. But she attacks me again.

I can fly. I can fly. I loved the sky since I was a child. I flew yesterday too.

I can fly higher today. Freely. Peacefully. Smiling. I have to go quickly. To

where? To the sky? To freedom? Let’s escape from reality! Yearn for the sky!

Fight gravity. Be restless enough not to stay in one place. Fly unconsciously.

Let’s go. Let’s go. Let’s go. Let’s go. Let’s go. Let’s go. Let’s go. Let’s go.

Let’s go. Let’s go.

GO!

“You gotta be f.u.c.king kidding, right?”

I raise my free left hand. The mental suggestion doesn’t work. I don’t

even lose my balance anymore.

“Can’t seem to take a liking to flying. Don’t know how to feel alive—

been that way for a while—so I don’t know the pain of living. To be honest,

I don’t really give a d.a.m.n about you,” I murmur, almost singing it. It’s true

though. Joy and sorrow, freedom and restraint; I can’t feel any of them.

That’s why I can’t see this fuss about being liberated from pain.

“But taking him was a big mistake. Finders keepers, and I found him first.

You’re going to give him back.”

My left hand grabs the air like a rope, and I pull back. The woman and 

28 • KINOKO NASU

the other girls are pulled towards me, like a fisherman plucking a good

catch.

The woman’s expression changes. She tries her last, vain hope of controlling

me, trying her best to put as much power into her suggestion.

FALL!

And again, I disregard it completely. With all the firmness in my voice I

can muster, I answer her back.

“You fall.”

As she comes toward me, I plunge the knife deep into her chest, as naturally

as I do stabbing a fruit, and so exquisitely performed that it gives even

the victim pause for admiration. The knife runs from front to back, clean

through her.

She doesn’t bleed. Unable to move from the shock of being stabbed

straight through, she convulses just once. With only a nudge and a slight

movement of my right arm, I fling away the useless “corpse”, and the incorporeal

body slips through the fence without a sound into the shining city

below. Her hair still lies motionless, and her dress embraces the darkness,

a white flower sinking to the bottom of the ocean.

And with that, I depart from the roof, the ghosts still floating in the air

behind me.

/ 5 • 29

/ 5

With the impact of steel lightning on my chest, I awaken.

It was a staggering attack, one that proved how strong my opponent

was, if one can drive through a person’s chest that easily. But it wasn’t a

strike born out of anger, or desperation. A singular thrust delivered with

no wasted energy, one that would slide easily in between bone and sinew.

It wasn’t the pain that hurt me. Rather, it was the feeling of me being

ripped apart, and the sound of the knife plunging deep, deep into my heart.

That incomparably bittersweet fear. My body shook and trembled at the

thought of it. My silent weeping contained my uneasiness, my loneliness,

my will to live. My tears aren’t from the pain either, or from the fear of the

encounter. It was for the brush of death that I had never before experienced,

but had now fallen in love with, even though I pray every night for

the strength to live.

I hear the distinct sound of the door opening, a sound that I have grown

very familiar with. Even though I know it’s nighttime, the far off glow of

the buildings in the city induces the same sensation as sunlight. It’s not yet

time for my regular examination, so the person who came must be a visitor.

I have a private room, so I’m almost always alone. My sole company here

is the bed, the cream colored curtain which never flutters in the wind, and

the lights from the outside world, ghostly yet radiant.

“Excuse me. You would be Kirie Fujō, correct?” Even her deep voice

can’t mask that the visitor is a woman. After greeting me, she goes to

my bedside, ignoring the chair and choosing instead to stare down at me

coldly. A frightening person, one who I feel can destroy me with a snap

of her fingers if she so wished. Yet, in my heart, I still feel happy. It’s been

many years since I had any sort of visitor. I couldn’t turn her away, even if

she is Death herself come to take me.

“And you are the enemy, correct?” I reply. The woman nods. Perhaps it

may just be the light from the faint shining beacons of the city, but when

I try to focus my vision on the visitor, I can barely see her. Her clothes are

without blemish, reminding me of the neatness of a school teacher. It

makes me rest more easily, somehow. The gaudy orange necktie she wears

contrasts sharply with her white blouse, however, making her look vaguely

amusing.

“Do you know that child who stabbed me?” I say apprehensively, “or

perhaps it is you?”

“No, fortunately. I’m an acquaintance of your attacker and your victim. 

30 • KINOKO NASU

One of them anyway. We meet the strangest people, you and I.”

She takes out something from her breast pocket, but puts it away just

as quickly. “Apologies. Smoking isn’t allowed here I suppose? For someone

with lung damage like you, it would be like poison.” I guess what she took

out was a cigarette carton. The image of her smoking fits her look, I think,

like a mannequin with lizard pumps and a bag.

“But it isn’t just the lung, is it?” Her voice is one of curiosity as she looks

me over. “Certainly, that’s where it all started, but there are tumors all

over your body. Sarcoma is only the beginning, but it’s worse inside. Your

hair is the only thing that’s left. You have much strength. A normal person

would have died long before as this sickness ate them alive.” She pauses a

moment to look at me straight, then offers a smile.

“How long has this gone on, Kirie Fujō?”

I can’t answer. “I have no idea. I stopped keeping count.” Because there’s

no meaning to it. Because dying was the only way out of here.

She murmurs a soft-breathed “I see.”

I hated her voice that lacked any compa.s.sion or hate. The only thing I

can receive from people is their sympathy, and she denies me even that.

“Shiki told me the cut was around the area of the left ventricle and

the aorta, so it might have been the mitral valve. Is it all right?” She says

such an absurd thing so normally. The peculiarity of her manner of speech

catches me off guard, and I smile despite myself.

“You’re a strange one, aren’t you? If my heart had really been cut, then

we wouldn’t be able to talk like this, would we?”

“Quite right. I was only confirming.” I see. She was a friend of the person

who stabbed me after all, perhaps trying to tie up loose ends on the battle

that took place in the rooftop. “But it won’t be long until it affects you as

well. Shiki’s Eyes are potent, perhaps even beyond what that child knows.

The sympathetic connection between your double existences means that

the spell will reach you in time. There are a few inquiries I need to make,

which is why I’m here.” She means the “other” me when she mentions the

double existence, I’d imagine.

“Because I haven’t personally gone to the Fujō Tower, I haven’t seen

your floating image there,” she continues. “What was it really?”

“I don’t know, to be honest. For the longest time now, the scenery outside

the window was the world to me. I looked down on the panorama,

watching the seasons fly past, and the coming and going of people in the

hospital. My voice is never heard, and my hands never reach anything. And

I grew to curse this view as I continued to suffer alone in this room.”

The woman’s eyebrows crease as she contemplates on something. “I 

/ 5 • 31

see now. So you really are a woman of the Fujō bloodline. Your dynasty is

an old one, and pure. It’s thought that you and your dynasty granted blessings

of providence, but now I see that your true abilities lie in cursing. The

clue was in your name, as Fujō can also mean “defile.” A fitting name, don’t

you think?”

Dynasty.

My family.

But that too is a chapter of my life that’s forever gone. Not long after

I was hospitalized, both my parents and my brother met an accident and

lost their lives. My medical expenses have been paid by a man who calls

himself my father’s friend, a curiously named man that had the air of a

monk about him.

“But a curse is not so easily performed. What was it that you wished for

so hard?” I can’t help but smile a little bit. Finally, we have something that

even she doesn’t know about.

“Have you known what it is to look down on the outside world for so

long? To look at such a view for years and years, even as your consciousness

erodes? I have hated, cursed, and feared the outside world for so long

now, seeing it all from on high. And one day, something happened. It suddenly

seemed as if I was in the sky above the hospital courtyard, the one

outside my window. I could look down on everything. My body and mind

were still in the room, but I felt my vision fly in the sky. But I still couldn’t

move from here, and my vision didn’t go anywhere beyond this hospital.”

“Your mind must have gained correspondence with the surroundings,

considering how long you’ve been here. Your spatial awareness must have

been quite strong.” For the second time now, she pauses before she says,

“Is that the time when you started to lose your eyesight?”

It seems there is little about me this woman doesn’t know even before

she entered the room. It’s true, though. I will soon be fully blind. I nod my

answer.

“Yes. I could do nothing as the world slowly turned into nothingness. At

first, I thought that everything was just turning into a deep darkness. But it

was the void I was gazing into. But this didn’t bother me, because my real

eyes were floating high up in the sky. I can only see the view around the

hospital, but I was never going to get out of here anyway. Nothing really

changed, if you think about it. Nothing ever changed…”

I have a short coughing fit. It’s been such a long time since I talked to

anyone for this long, it hurts my throat and lungs, and focusing too much

makes my eyes burn.

“I see,” she replies after I compose myself. “You projected your con-

32 • KINOKO NASU

sciousness in the sky. But if that was your consciousness, then you should

truly be dead, since Shiki killed your ‘ghost’ consciousness.”

In truth, I’ve actually been thinking that as well. This woman keeps saying

the name Shiki, who I a.s.sume to be my a.s.sailant. How was that person

able to stab me? The me floating in the Fujō Tower can’t touch anything,

but also cannot be affected in turn. Yet this Shiki slashed me as if that was

my real body.

“Answer me. Was that truly you in the Fujō Tower?” she asks with a tone

of curiosity laced with the forcefulness that has never left her voice since

she came inside the room.

“It…wasn’t. I only stare at the sky, while she exists in it. That other me

turned its back on me. Self abandons self.” Wording it that way made it

seem like more than an affectation. I did truly turn my back on the world,

as it had abandoned me. And I abandoned myself, of any hope that my

sickness would get better. Being separated from the world outside the window

and unable to break through that boundary no matter how hard I

prayed every night, both me and the other me couldn’t put our feet firmly

on the ground, and were resigned to an ephemeral, fragile existence. We

share that similarity, despite parting with each other. I suppose it’s what

this woman called a “sympathetic connection”.

She draws a short breath, perhaps in surprise. It’s the first time that this

person has shown any sort of uncalculated emotion, and it surprises me

a little. “So it’s not that your consciousness was separated, but that you

were acting on two vessels with one state of mind. Someone else gave you

this vessel. It’s unlike any work I’ve seen yet, I understand that much.” A

small nod before she regards me with a frighteningly disappointed look.

“But why go through so much just to lure children to throw themselves off

buildings? Why were you not content with just looking at the world?”

Ah, those poor, enviable girls. What happened to them still saddens me.

But I had nothing to do with them. They fell because they wanted to.

“You used the image of you at the Fujō Tower as more of a channel for

your will, didn’t you? You reached out to them in sleep, in their dreams of

flight. And in those dreamscapes, at least one or two of them were probably

on the verge of awakening to magic, which is why you could notice

them in the mess of other minds in this city, and why you can snare them

so easily. But it was you who made them think about flying while they were

outside of sleep, even as they weren’t really ‘awake’. They tried to fly, and

they got the natural result of trying to do the impossible.”

Yes. In the fever dreams, they always fly around me, and I thought that

we could be friends. But they never noticed me, never talked to me, never 

/ 5 • 33

touched me. All they did was float around like fishes without consciousness.

I thought that, when they were outside of sleep, in the times when

they were conscious, they could notice me. That was the only way I knew…

“You’re trembling, friend. Are you cold?” The woman’s voice returns to

its previous icy demeanor. I clutch myself as the unearthly wind fails to subside,

despite the window being closed. “I’d like to ask you one more thing.

Why yearn so much for the sky of a world you so detest?”

A difficult question. I answer to the best of my ability. “In the sky, you

can fly as far as you want, go as far as you can go, because it never ends.

I thought I could find a world that I didn’t hate, and a world that could

accept me in turn.”

“Did you find that world?”

My shivering doesn’t subside, the chill acting like invisible hands shaking

my body. My eyes sear with pain from being focused for so long. I nod yes.

“Before I sleep every night, I fear that I will not wake up the next day. I

fear that one day, it will be morning, and my eyes will never open again.

But it’s also the reason why I feel alive. Strange, isn’t it? My hollow sh.e.l.l of

a body and poor excuse for a life is always shadowed by death, but it’s that

shadow which I rely on to keep myself alive.” Yes, that’s the reason why I

yearn for death more than life. Death is release. To fly without end, to go

anywhere one wishes…that’s the world I can yearn for.

“So you took my acquaintance as a companion to your world?”

“No. At that time, I didn’t know. I was still longing for life, and while

doing so, I wanted to fly. I thought I could do so if I was with him. Those

times are long gone now.”

“You and Shiki aren’t so different from each other. Both of you believe

you can find salvation in someone like Kokutō. It isn’t wrong to think you

can feel alive and be saved by someone else.”

Kokutō. I see. So this Shiki confronted me to take him back. Even though

I know now that my savior is also the harbinger of Death, I feel no regrets.

“He’s still a child. Always looking at the sky. Always so honest. That’s why

I thought he could take me anywhere if he put his mind to it. I…I wanted

him to take me away from all of this.” I start to cry, and it stings my eyes so

much they seem to scream in pain.

It’s not really because I’m sad. What happiness it could have been had

he been able to spirit me away! But it will never come true. It was always a

far dream. But it was such a beautiful dream, and because of that I couldn’t

stop the tears. In my eternity in this prison, it was the only dream I’ve had

in so many years, the only delusion I allowed myself.

“But Kokutō has no interest in the sky. Those who long for the sky are 

34 • KINOKO NASU

the farthest from it. Ironic, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is. People always seem to have the things we don’t need. I could

never truly fly. Floating was all I could do.” The burning in my eyes subsides,

a feeling that will probably never happen again. The wind’s invisible hands

grip my spine and make me tremble even more strongly.

“I’ve been a burden long enough. This question will have to be my last.

What are you going to do after this? I can cure the creeping pain Shiki gave

you through your other vessel, if that is your wish.” I don’t answer her,

save for shaking my head no. I can’t see for sure, but it seems like she’s

frowning. “I understand. There are two ways to escape: escape without a

purpose, and escape with a purpose. I call the former ‘floating’, and the

latter ‘flight’. You are the only one that decides which of the two your view

of the world from on high was. But you don’t choose these paths because

of the weight on your soul. We don’t choose the path we take because of

the sins we carry. But we carry our sins on the path we choose.”

After saying her parting words, the woman leaves. She never said her

name, but I know now that she didn’t need to. I don’t doubt for a moment

that she knows what I am going to do. Because for me there is no choice: I

can’t fly. I can only float. I can’t do what she says because I’m weak. That’s

why I can no longer resist this temptation: The flash of realization when I

was stabbed in the heart. The overwhelming torrent of death and the pulse

of life. I thought I no longer had anything left, but I was left with such a

simple, sweet thing.

Death.

It was not the nonexistent wind, but death, that little fear, that gripped

my spine in these last moments. I need to experience more of death to

feel the joy of life, the glory of everything I had ignored in my life until

now. But that death I experienced on that night, the pain that pierced me

like a needle, like a sword, like lightning, would be impossible to replicate.

I cannot hope for such a vivid end now. But I will try to come as close to it

as much as I can. I still have a few days to think on it, but the method need

not even be said.

I think my last moment should be spent on a high place, a place where

I can look down on a panorama of the world, and fall back to the embrace

of the reality that has rejected me so.