Inappropriate Acts
I woke up a few hours before the first train and bought an energy drink from a vending machine.
I looked at her, still holding the bottle. Perhaps because of what a sweltering night it was, she’d taken her summer cardigan off and put it on her lap, revealing her delicate shoulders.
…Maybe I was just confused.
Or maybe I really did like how this Miyagi girl looked, moreso than I’d expected.
Well, it didn’t matter. At any rate, I had a sudden impulse to do something terrible to Miyagi. More bluntly, I wanted to push Miyagi down. I wanted to use her as an outlet for all my emotions.
So I’d gladly die doing what I wanted to do. I had written not to go against my desires on my “Things to Do Before I Die” list.
I had previously considered her outside the range of those desires, but once I started looking at her that way, there seemed to be no one more suitable than Miyagi for that kind of desperate act.
“I’ve got a question for you.”
“Once an observer sees their target doing an "inappropriate act” or whatever, how much of a lag is there before their lifespan’s terminated?“
“Basically, I want to know how long it’d take before I got killed if I were to get violent with you right here.”
However, she didn’t look so surprised.
“I can make contact immediately. After that, it wouldn’t take twenty minutes. And escape would be completely impossible.”
Miyagi looked away and weakly said “Nobody said anything like that.”
Silence prevailed.
I reached my hand for her.
I’d planned to insult her and hurt her, but as soon as I touched her bare shoulder, her sorrowful face made my body stiffen.
Maybe once it was all over, she’d just make a sarcastic remark as if totally unfazed. “…Were you satisfied?”
And would I really be satisfied?
When I saw Miyagi’s resigned eyes, it went so far as to make me sad too.
She continued to look away. “So long as you understand.”
Miyagi gently shook her head. “As a matter of fact, you are an easy case. There are many who go to much further extremes,” she said, trying to preserve my calm.
I wanted to ask about the wound on her knee I’d been curious about since we met, but I kept quiet. It’d be like a slap in the face for me to try and show concern now, and only result in depression.
“Tell me the not-simple version.”
“That’s not true at all. If I didn’t feel some charm in you, I wouldn’t have tried to do what I just did.”
“Well, I have nothing particularly to hide in my past… Um, I already told you that other than lifespan, one can sell their health and time, yes?”
“Well, I sold my time. Roughly thirty years of it.”
…That’s right. I’d been wondering about that from the beginning.
“I see… And if you sold your time, that means…”
“So you were a normal human until then?”
But from what she was telling me… maybe she was forced to acquire those traits to survive.
“You still age, right? So if you sold thirty years… once you’re free from the job, you’ll be about forty?”
That meant she’d keep being invisible for decades to come.
“…Why would you need money that bad?”
“I mean, you don’t have to answer, of course.”
“I’m sure it’d be more interesting than why I sold my lifespan.”
Then she began telling me the answer bit by bit.
She didn’t seem to be overcome with emotion or anything. Maybe she’d realized her words were unintentionally sounding like a reach for sympathy.
“Indeed. I had to sell a bit more than thirty years of my time to pay back the debt. …And so I now work as an observer. It’s a lonely line of work with many dangers, but for what it’s worth, it has given me deep insight into people’s lifestyles and the value of life. Once I do finish paying the debt, I feel I would be able to live a more "proper” life than anyone. Thinking of it in those terms, it’s not such a bad job.“
She talked about it like it was her salvation.
“What’s it worth?”
“Yes, you’re right. You’re absolutely right. And yet I suppose I can’t do so because I take after my mother. I’m a hopeless fool. There’s no point in living, yet I’m compelled to live longer. Perhaps we may be the same even down to the way we die. But… You see, it’s not that simple. Perhaps something good will happen someday.”
"I know a guy who died at fifty saying that to himself but getting nothing out of it,” I joked.
She held a lighter up to light it, but it seemed to have just run out of oil, the flint never sparking on repeated attempts.
I’ll at least make her remember me as the easiest subject to be around.
I looked across the tracks. The sun was starting to rise.