Andry's Trashbin

“Oh! Mornin’, Momo! Lookin’ cute as always today!”     “Hee-hee-hee! Yeah…”     After a quick greeting, we passed each other by. That was the thirty-seventh encounter today.     It was early morning as I walked through the nearly empty shopping center, far removed from the shortest, most direct route to school. Right now, there were no shops open, no customers milling about—or there shouldn’t have been. But the place was quickly beginning to come alive.     A steady stream of people flew out of the stores I passed, as if waiting for just this moment to try to strike up a conversation.     “Ooh, Momo! Off to school again? Try to enjoy summer break at least a little, eh?”     “Uh…yeah. Thanks. Ha-ha…”     Number thirty-eight.     I gave an awkward greeting to the produce seller who popped out from behind his stand. Looking ahead, I noticed the road begin to swell up with people.     “Ngh…!”     I recoiled for a moment, but there was no time to sit and ponder over it. I made a right at th

I had a terrible, hateful dream. A dream where you went away, right before my eyes.      I had it time, and time, and time again.      I had it yesterday. I saw everything.      How many times will I have seen it today?      How many times does yesterday make?      Ho w many times have we talked to each other in this park?      It’s the first time for you, maybe, but I lost count long ago.      I remember talking to you about this before.      Many times before. And you always believed in me.      You were always so seriously concerned.      But every time, you always die in the end.      When I bring up this topic with you, you get worried for me. You get sad.      So I decided to stop talking about it any longer.      It’s all right. Now, it’s all right.      I’ve even started to like talking to you, here in the park.      Just listening to you speak is enough.      You’ve told me the same thing so many times, I’ve memorized every word.      But that’s fine.      That’s fine, so I ju

I was jarred awake by the sound of a blaring siren. My heartbeat shot upward as I was greeted by the plain white ceiling above me. Still unaware of my surroundings, I flailed around, knocking over the small desk by my side, and fell out of bed.      “…Ngh!”      I banged my right shin, hard. A beat, and then the burning discomfort was relayed to my brain.      My eyes tearing up in fear from the pain and the furious noise, I pulled the sprawled-out comforter toward me, cocooning myself inside. Then the siren stopped.      “Good morning, master!”      The moment I heard that voice, I finally understood the situation I was in.      Here I was, Shintaro Kisaragi, body unnaturally twisted on the floor, clad in underpants and bedsheets, tears in my eyes. And there she was, Ene, looking on from inside the monitor display, tears in her eyes as she tried to choke back her laughter.

My eyes are blinded. In an instant, the world flashes to monochrome. Amid it all, the blue of a clear, cloudless sky, and a red…a red sign, and then…! Those two colors alone, bursting in stark contrast, burning themselves deep into my retinas.      This sight now spread out before me—what is this?      The sound of the cicadas’ mindless, frenetic cry stabs into my ears.      The smell of iron intermingles with your scent. Every one of my senses pounds directly into my brain, bypassing my consciousness completely.      A set of tire tracks, burned across the pedestrian crosswalk, along with a line of red, as red as your tiny body. There’s nothing I can do, not now, but when I run to the scene anyway, choking heat sears my eyes, my nose, my head, beating the reality home all the more.      This isn’t you here.      This isn’t the girl I was speaking with just now.      This is just a red lump of something.      I don’t care what anyone says. This—this isn’t you.      …Nausea wells up in