Chapter 1: Where More Sunscreen Next Time

She was strange, very strange indeed. However, she was simultaneously
clean cut and beautiful. A strange, and strange alike, girl is sitting in a tree inside
me. I think she is like that one long haired, orange scented, scotch tape looking ass
hole at every campsite in America. You know that sprite smelling teenage boy at a
camping ground, skateboarding around like some crazy kids with more sense then
to do drugs.
Back to some sain storytelling, she was a strange girl with strange ways, her
name spoke once by a bamboo tree on the date of her birth. Nobody else has
uttered her real name and thought about her sense the dawn of all cosmic time,
since that one simple tree spoke it. The date of her birth was the date of all cosmic
time. What once was a black expanse of emptiness, suddenly became everything.
Red flowers sprung to life and lions fell down from the sun. Mountains began to
grow and snow began to fall and gently sleep like they normally did. Life was being
created and as life generates so does this beautiful woman, this cell of complete
star energy, she was born never hungry and never evil. However, was it even
possible for a person to be born with no flaws and no anger. No hate lie in her
heart, and no food rest in her stomach.
Tsugi was her name, uttered by a bamboo tree as spring came to life among
other things. Tsugi meant ‘you’ in her foreign language; however what was
language to somebody how spoke all tongues. She was born full grown, like a star
or some sort of mystic Buddhi, but was she really full grown? Tsugi was a split
second and a million years old all at once, she was like time, ever ending and
infinite all at the same time.
Stepping out of the first tree of existence, Tsugi’s barefoot touched the first
blade of grass to grow. Her toenails sung songs to the grass, cooing them into
slumber, they had never been stepped on before and it the experience scared
them. Her toes hugged them and told them to sleep for awhile, while her foot
kissed them gently like a mother to her first born child. This all happened within the
span of a thousands years and exactly one day. Tsugi explains later that that one
last day felt longer than any of the years she had spent stepping out onto the
grass. Imagine the purity and softness of the first step known to man and woman
kind alike. The sheer thought could put an elder man into soft sleep in the barber's
chair. Just as the barber continues with the haircut, trimming with snips and snap
making the same sounds a snappea does when it’s trying to communicate, Tsugi’s
bones crackled for the first time.
Her skin was softer than a child’s and her bones were still like clay. The
woman was still forming, like a fetus in the womb her brain began to shift and fold
over itself, as she walked through the birthing world. The star like woman was
wrapped up in the finest silks and the most elegant wooden jewelry. A small frog
sat on her head as if to say “My my what a beautiful world we are”. For they were. I
am the world, Tsugi is the world, that simple minded frog is the world, it takes each
of the energies to make the world what it is today. The jewelry never made a
sound, not a twinkle or a chime. No, this jewelry was as silent as Tsugi was, not
wanting to disturb the peacefulness of the world with its sound. Not even the three
footed frog croaked a message. The silence was beautiful enough to bring a
rockstar to tears, Hitler would shed a single tear that day. Maybe if he were to have
heard that level of silence before, he wouldn’t have caused all those souls to make
so much noise. Tsugi was born with glossy nails and a even glossier agenda; but in
reality her agenda really was to just exist. Shouldn’t that be everyone’s agenda? To
be nothing and everything at the same time. I as a person exist to be a person, but
my agenda can be anything I want it to be. Tsugi understood that and embodied it
to a finite key.
The frog on her head gripped her black silky hair trying to hold on for dear
life. Even though she was just walking slowly through the world, the toad had never
experienced motion before, so even the smallest bit of movement threw him from
side to side. Luckily for him, each pad of his fingers was welded to the top of her
head. He was stuck with her, even though he would not consider it stuck. This toad
would consider it being with her, he was her and she was him. Male and female
energy needed each other, and it is not to be forgotten with descriptive words and
colors. This three footed toad of luck, blinked away tears. Who said animals couldn’t
feel, his frontal lobe might be smoother than a stone, but behind it was wrinkles of
emotion. The world was just so beautiful through her eyes, for the toad was blind.
Instead of lively, black eyes, lay two brilliant rubies. The stones glinted in the first
beams of sunlight to hit the surface of the planet, the earth beneath them was
warming under the gracious light of the exploding star. Seeing that the frog was
blind, he could only see through the eyes of Tsugi. She held his deep brown eyes in
her sockets, while he held her precious stones in his. You would be surprised how
normal a human can look with toad eyes instead. However, Tsugi was not human,
nor was the toad, she simply took on that form because it was her favorite future
thought. Little did most know, Tsugi was the reason we look the way we do, she
thought for thousands upon thousands of years on what her outers shall look like,
and once she finally formed millions of years later, she was a standing, pale
skinned beauty with large eyes of a toad and a small mouth that shall never speak
a word.
The thing was, that seeing that Tsuji was almost completely all knowing (the
only thing she didn’t know was what your naked body looks like in the mirror of a
gas station stall), she spoke all tongues. She knows what a flower sounds like, she
compares it to the humming of a thousand African children as they sing in sadness
over their dead mothers and father. She compares the language of bears to the
taste of mountain air and long days before a beer. Seeing that this woman, this
Goddess -but she doesn’t like that name, can speak all these tongues, her brain
works too fast for her human mouth to command these literally unspeakable songs.
That is why the toad owns her mouth and her lungs, he breathes for her and
speaks for her and articulates everything for her. His voice can be compared to a
mixture of that of a lion’s low cough, a smoking old man in a headshop, and of
course the most beautiful voice you can ever imagine. If there is such a thing. After
all, I could just be lying about this whole mess. The saddest part about Tsuji’s
inability to speak is that her voice is one of the most captivating sounds to ever
exist. She was the builder to her own self, she a spirit had the ability to make
herself whatever she wanted, and she decided that a cherub voice was one of the
most important aspects of life. Small bits of her voice can still be heard through the
toad, but they are faint and sound as if they are coming through a pair of lungs that
have been smoking for centuries.
The toad’s name was Watashi, meaning ‘me’ in Japanese, a language that
had yet to ever be invented by man, yet both Tsuji and Watashi found it to be one
language that is both pleasing the senses or mind aesthetically. The way all letters
are utilized and sculpted into something better than actually is there. No American
nor Swedish citizen has anything on a native speaking Japanese man. This isn’t
racist, Tsuji just loved the way the words sounded.
I’m tired of writing about careful girls sitting on river banks, letting their
black hair drip into the water like oil. Tsuji was one of these girls, I shouldn’t even
say girls I should say girl. For she was the only one here. The only one standing at
this newly formed river, no dams, no boats, no strange patterns. Only the river and
how the world wanted him to look, he curved back and forth from snowy
mountains, pouring his body over his beautiful wife the cherry blossoms. One can
consider the river and the blossoms to be in love, the pink trees grew right up to
the river and her pedals kissed his face thousands of times a day. And now Tsuji
and Watashi swim with him and her. They both get bound up in the warm embrace
of the river and the cherry trees that grew beside him. The gentle pink petals fell on
her eyes and now both were blind. Two pedals placed themselves in her sockets
and hugged her eyes with kind words. The river held her body and allowed her to
nonabrasively drift her down his back and legs to the ocean. Wataski croaked when
the water touched his bumpy, golden skin. He loved the water like most toads did,
not in a romantic sense but in a sense that mattered more than most. The water
cooed his rashes and cured all his impure thoughts about Tsuji. Wataski, the toad
father of the Universe, he understood what it meant to be in love, and he wasn't
going to waste that on the water under his skin. His blood was worth more than
anything, not in riches but in wonders, he was attached to the first being to exist
after all.
Both Tsuji and Watashi wisped out into the ocean, she, with her pale
hands and mind touched each fish to swim up to the surface to greet them. Clown
fish dug and lived in her hair, the long , black strands reminding them of a home
they never really thought about before. They were just as new as she, and Tsuji
understood that. They were confused but drawn to her powerful heart that leaked
gold and red rubies into the water. Each ruby and drip of liquid gold fell into the
deep. Some of the smaller fish gobbled up the gold and became sharks. A ruby
touched the eye of a whale and he became a piece of coral. It says in some ancient
texts, or perhaps some sort of ancient text message somewhere, that this gold
turns you into things that you never thought possible. Do you think a blue whale
knows what a human is? Or how about a clown fish? Do animals understand what it
means to be alive just as we do? Well, Tsuji made them understand with a touch of
a finger, if she wanted to of course. Like a slippery sock in a wet hallway, an eel
crawled and swam around her neck, choking her. She wouldn't die, neither would
this eel. His name was Kawa and he was something else entirely. Watashi didn't do
anything either, he just looked at the eel with his black eyes placed gently on the
face of his lover, he understood what it meant to be okay. Kawa, the eel mister that
would rather be a highschool student on a busy train track in Japan, didn't
understand why he never changed. But maybe that was a good thing. He just sat
on her neck and maybe had a thought or two about strangling this woman. In the
end he never did, for if he were to, we wouldn't have a story would we? The thing
about Tsuji is that a thousand years seemed more like a day to her, it was hard to
keep track of a single year let alone 999 more. What was the point anyway? Maybe
that day she wished the eel would have strangled her to death until all the life she
built up was gone completely. The eel swam away because he got too sunburned,
however.
Chapter 2: I'm So Tired Of The Summertime, It Brings Flies
Red chimes outside of her door began to ring. It was midsummer and
morning breezes happened all the time so it wasn't because it was a midsummer
morning. It meant something new; a young boy crosses the path with his new dog.
That must have been it. He doesn't take notice of the slow moving chimes, they
were just chimes after all; just red beads hung by a thin string. However, behind
the chimes and a white, paper door lay something bigger than a new hound or a
more than normally windy day. What lay behind was a family, something that
comes around rarely, a small Japanese family enjoying tea together. Small chirps
from a bird awaken a fly caught in a web in the corner of the ceiling. As the fly
wiggles, the girl stares. She thought about how the fly was going to die and looked
out the window to make sure a giant spider monster wasn't here to consume her
too. Yet, instead of seeing this goliath, she sees the boy skipping, scooping, and
stomping along the road. Little things in life, like smiling with a dog, can make the
difference between life and death. That dog could have been that girls last saving
grace, or the final push. However, that dog was neither, it was just a dog and a
boy; and she herself was just a fly in a web. Maybe.
This girl, born in Japan and living in Japan, thought about things too
much. Thinking is food for the brain, but she ate gray matter buffaes everyday.
What if this tea is too hot and I burn myself and die? Her small hands
gripped the cup, the green liquid pouring down the sides like emeralds out of a
dragon's mouth. Her fingers were like the dragon's teeth, clamping down harshly on
the cup with thin, spindly power. If this girl were to be a dragon, she would have
flowers and dirt in her mouth instead of emeralds, however.
Wareware was her name and she thought too much. I know I already
wrote about her and her thinking, but there was just something about how she
thought milk was liquid crystals of death strained from a poor mother's teat. The
whole weight of the world was on her shoulders and it scared her, for she was only
4'8 and the world is and unfair 24,900 miles -131472000 feet to be exact.
Understandably the world really wasn't on her shoulders, it was on the shoulders of
that small fly in the corner.
She decided that if she were to finish her tea, she was going to end up
exactly like that fly and the reality of a giant spider coming through her kitchen
window was very probable. So with that last thought about emeralds and being a
wise, old dragon of the mountain, Wareware shifted nervously and drank her tea,
hoping she had not mixed up the cups. The creaking eyes of her mother were upon
her in a certain way that could even make the President uncomfortable. Just as her
black eyes glinted in the mid morning sun sprinkling down from the widow, so did
her jewelry. Black web like earrings drooped on her lobes and a wooden token with
the markings of a spider danced across her neck in a menacing way. The older
woman adjusted her feet underneath herself and sipped her tea as well, not as
nervously as Wareware. Wareware sat back in fear, she hoped her didn't drink the
wrong cup or she would be one smite dragon of the mountain. Mother looked at her
again, squinting as if that would give her the ability to look deeper into the anxiety
on her daughter's face; but, realizing that everything must have been okay, she
turned to her husband for another opinion on the flavor of this green concoction.
A single bead of sweat dripped down Wareware's forehead, it wasn't
very lady like to sweat, but sometimes nerves just got the best of Princess Diana.
The girl taped her hands gently on the side of her cup and took another long sip. It
didn't taste any different, but maybe it was just a ruse. Maybe she was about to get
eaten by the giant spider and that was going to be the end of it. The constant
buzzing of the fly in the corner was driving her mad, buzz bizz biss bloo buzz, the
fly was trying to live and nobody could do a thing. She buzzed and bizzed and
bissed and blooed too yet nobody could do a thing.
Her father was a strong man who always held a pipe in his mouth, and
even as he took a sip of the green leafy water, his pipe dangled by his bottom lip.
Thin and ashin wisps of smoke trailed up from his pipe, brushing gently on the
ceiling and out the window. Even the fly in the corner was rubbed down by the
small trail.
The white smoke curled around his face giving him the appearance of
a wizard with too much time on his magic hands. The smoke patted down and
began to sleep on his upper lip, twisting and tangling in between his teeth as he
opened wide for a smile. His Chip Skylarks glinted, her jewelry glinted, their eyes
glinted. Even the rose colored eyes of the simple fly glinted for just a second before
almost everything changed in Wareware's intangling web.
Her mother was the first down. The elderly woman's forehead
smashed harshly against the short table they sat at. Her cup of green emeralds
spilled and splashed on her face, drip drip drip went her white face powder. Her
body began to start shaking rapidly, her heart pumping so loud that even Wareware
could hear it from across the table. Unlike a normal child would act in this situation,
Wareware simply sat across the table from her dying mother, watching her body
shake and quiver. The poor woman must have broken her nose when her head hit
the table, that jewelry must have been heavy. Wareware's father's smile faded and
suddenly flashed into a yell of a wolf. He looked at his wife not having the correct
knowledge to help her. However, before he could touch a single hand to his seizing
wife, she suddenly froze. She looked like a snowflake that had placed itself on to
the tip of a snowman's carrot nose. The lady of the Nakamura household was dead,
her heart couldn't take the beating it was getting. Like a young fool at a old
skatepark, Lady Nakamura lay flat on her face in a puddle of green tea and her own
brain blood. Father rolled her body on to the floor his eyes staring in shock at his
wife, finally moving into some sort of action; but, Wareware just continued to
watch, her eyes big and full of nerves. The buzzing grew louder in her ears, loud
enough to drown out the sound of her father's screams and commands. Mister
Nakamura pointed and screamed in her face, blood and white makeup on his
hands. However, Wareware Nakamura did not yell back like she normally did, she
did not cry because of his mean name calling, she did not coware behind her
bedroom door, she simply sat there and looked at him with fear in her eyes. The
fear wasn't because of the yelling and hitting, it was because she knew that maybe
the spider and the fly aren't so different after all.
Father grabbed for Wareware trying to hurt the one that had hurt his
one, crawling away farther from reality and closer to the devil. Each time he flung
his arms at her and screamed in anger, his movements became more slow, his
voice began to sound nasally and his eyes began to stare into nothingness. Veins
bulge under his skin and the poor man could feel each of his limbs slowly echo out
of existence. Mister Nakamura's face went pale and his arms dropped to his sides
and away from Wareware. His daughter could do nothing more than stare at him,
not looking him in the eyes due to her timidness. Suddenly, just as his wife died,
soon Mister Nakamura succumb to the same fate. The blacks of his eyes rolled
straight back to look at his brain, his eyelids hung open wide like a fishes. It was
impossible for Wareware to look away, her eyelids seemed to have problems
shutting too. It was the same logic of gawking at a car accident, no one ever has
just simply driven by a wreck and not looked. Just as those soccer moms stare with
mouths open at the mangled bodies inside that crashed Porsche, Wareware stares
at her father's seizing face before he hits the floor. With a clink clank, Mister
Nakamura's pipe tumbles down, his lips too cold and dead to hold onto the
mouthpiece now. He seized and seized and Wareware thought he would never stop,
but when he did... she wished he hadn't.
The girl got up slowly it had been a few minutes since her father
stopped moving, her pink kimono runing its hands gently up and down her body
with her every movement. The small wooden bead in her ears swung back and
worth, jiggling like Santa's Sleigh. She didn't move terribly fast, what was the
point, now that they were gone she has all the time in the world. She no longer had
to stay in the confines of this household, even with it's beautiful gardens and
statues. Even with all the maids and servants. Even with all the fine silk and men
waiting to take her hand. She wanted to leave and she was going to.
Wareware glanced down ever so often as she began to clean up the
dishes from the last first meal of the day to look at the smeared bloody handprints
her father left while he was seizing. I hope I don't slip and die in that.
When the man was trying to grab his daughter, two ruby colored drops of blood
landed on her wrist, they dried and clung to her skin tightly, like children afraid to
leave their parents. But this time, it was like parents afraid to leave their daughter.
Luckily she hadn't mixed up the cups after all, the tea had landed in
the correct bellies and the right people were laying on the floor dead. The web of
her house was no longer shaking, the fly had stopped being afraid of the spider.
Wareware looked towards the window, no spider would be coming through there,
for the real spider was already inside. After all this time, Wareware thought she was
the anxiety filled fly, but now she could see her fingers splitting off into eight pairs
of legs. She blinked and looked down at her spidery skin, then up to the web in the
corner of the room. Wareware didn't see a spider, however... the only thing she
could see was herself... she saw her own head hanging from the web, her eye
sockets gouged out and bloodied like a ripe tomato. Although the buzzing in her
ears had stopped, it was steadily replaced with the drip drip drip dripping of her
own blood. She didn't see the spider any longer, nor did she see the fly; only this
disturbing self imagine of her own decapitated head hanging by long, spidally
strings.
Sweat dripping down her face at the same rate as the blood, the
imagine of her dismembered cranium was just too much for her to stomach.
Turning away from the web, Wareware quickly placed the fake ransom note on the
now bloodied table. The red rum instantly soaked into the note and turned the
pages pink with honor and anti-love. Wareware left as fast as possible, she wasn't
sure if she was ready to leave but she had no choice at this point. The servants
hadn't come into the dining area yet and the neighbors have yet to be alerted by all
the screaming from her father, so Wareware still had a chance to make it out of
here. However, before the girl completely exited the spider-web filled room, she
gently sat next to her mother's dead body. The room became more and more full of
webs, the silvery strained drift around her arms and cling on to the walls. Spiders
begin to tickle Wareware's feet and kiss her legs with bite marks. However,
Wareware made no attempt to brush them off, she let them bite her and rest on
her body. Reaching for her mother's face, she softly pulling the wooden token
necklace off and pushed it deep into her pocket.
~
The room was almost completely dark now, what once was a window
full of sunshine, now was a wall of thick web. Spiders worked fast like sweatshop
employees, marching over the dead bodies like it was nothing. Because to a spider,
humans really are nothing.
Wareware felt the nonabrassive touch of the webs around her as she
watched the light slowly slip into the nothingness of the hive. Before she was too
far into the entanglement, Wareware left what was once her dining area behind.
Webs trailing behind her and spiders jumping quickly off her shoulders in order to
return to the blood bath inside.
No matter what she did, Wareware Nakamura will never forget seeing
her face in the gaping, distorted manner she did today. The young woman of nine-
teen stood at the front gate of her house, staring at the outside world like it was
some sort of alien terrain. A few pedals from the cherry blossom tree landed at her
feet, tickling her senses and making her happy to be barefoot. She closed her eyes
and listened. The only thing she could hear was the dripping blood from her head, it
was forever imprinted into her mind. She could run far away from this place and
still see the disgruntled face of Wareware Nakamura in the reflection of and y lake,
river, or puddle. Wareware could never leave this act behind, she did just kill her
mother and father with Aconite-based poison after all.
Suddenly, as if somebody was listening to her pain, the constant
dripping in her brain was faded out by the sound of a dog barking and a red wind
chime being shaken by the midsummer morning breeze. The chimes were nothing
special, but perhaps they could be. Maybe it meant something new was going to
happen, or maybe something new already happened.
She looked up and spotted the little boy and his dog again, he spotted
her too in the process. From across the dirt path, the young boy stared at her with
small eyes, his dog jumped up and down to get his attention but he was simply
mesmerized by this young woman on the other side of the gate. He was scruffy,
most likely Japanese origin, with more skills than brains. He must be lucky,
he doesn't think like me.
The breeze ruffled his black hair a bit, it was the same kind of breeze
from before. A midsummer morning breeze with new possibilities flowing
throughout it. The dog boy raised his hand up to his mouth and yelled something to
her, it most likely was a hello or a question. However, Wareware did not respond,
she could never respond. Mutes tend to be silent speakers. Wareware looked back
to the house, the webs were gone, the spiders had never existed , the only thing
that was real was the two dead bodies in the dining room. Wareware was such a
thinker.
A fly buzzed around and landed on her forehead.