Built for Ruin | Dazai Osamu

一つ

"Mine has been a life of much shame. I can't even guess myself what it must be to live the life of a human being."

― Osamu Dazai

I stared as the raindrops slowly started forming on my office window. It was a dark night. When my quill touched the paper under my hands, it started flowing in a harmonic manner. Words started appearing creating life and death at my will. It was a powerful feeling that brought me even the slightest joy. It was an intoxicating bit, like a harmless drug. It started flowing through my veins as the story on my table started to form without warning. A word after another, I've created my own ideal world, one in which my eternal suffering has ended, one where I had finally succeeded in killing and setting myself free. Oh, how I wish I could turn it into a reality.

As I let my hands flow in a gracious manner, I noticed the moonlight slowly brush against my work. It made me realize that no matter what I write or do, I'll never achieve my dream of reaching the afterlife. After all, heaven and hell are made for humans. Humans who can feel emotion and which can tell the difference between good and evil. As for me, whom is not human, I can only hope that one day I'll be able to reach my own demise without having to suffer.

I had a lot of chances to end it, of course. For example, jumping in front of a moving vehicle forming a quick 'accident', or jumping from a high place forming commotion for everyone around, are both great ideas. Of course, they are, but if they fail in killing me, I'd just end up in the hospital, with broken bones, and in immeasurable pain. I've always despised pain. Losing a limb, blood, spilling your guts out all while being conscious sounds like torture. Just imagining it makes my skin crawl.

After getting out of my trance, I put my quil down and looked at the clock on my wall. It was past 2 am. I sighed. Every day is the same. I wake up, try to kill myself, fail, and start writing my sorrows on a washi (japanese books were traditionally made of washi, or japanese paper). I've always been told that I'd find someone special that would stay by my side forever and teach me how to be human, but over time, I started hating that idea. Emotions are pitiful. They cloud one's mind and don't let them think straight, all because of a feeling in their chest. Truly stupid, in my opinion. Lying is a hard task for humans, but as for me, it's as necessary to lie as it is for humans to eat on a daily basis.

I've no family, no friends, no nothing, only acquaintances that like to butt their heads in one's life without warning or permission. It's annoying at times, but I've gotten used to their interferences.

At times when I forget to eat or take care of myself, one of those acquaintances, who visits way too often for my taste, makes me go out with him and eat until his pockets are empty of pennies. I've never felt compassion for him in any way, he was just a bother, and yet, I didn't tell him off. It's better to be fed by others' money than my own.

It is now past 5 am. I haven't slept for even a second. Guess this is a way of punishing me for my uncountable sins. I stood up from the ground and headed to the kitchen where I'd left a bottle of sake. I grabbed it and downed it instantly. If I can't bury my sorrows, then guess I'll just drink them down. And so I did. I've never been an alcoholic myself, but I need to feel something, something other than this never-ending suffering. Something other than pain. Something that will make me feel just a little bit like the rest:

a human.