Nostalgia | Dazai Osamu

10 | Burnt

(Y/n)P.O.V

I didn't get to see Dazais reaction when the president shared the horrific news. I could clearly imagine it- Shocked and dstraught. I didn't get to see his reaction since I had already left the premises, frustrated, annoyed, and terror stricken. I tried to ignore my pounding heart as I walked down the streets, hands stuffed inside leather pockets, heading towards the Mafia.

And typically it started to pour with torrential rain within five minuets.

I wondered where it had emerged from, the sunshine was so intense back at the Agency that it heated all their rooms. It seemed to change within a snap and I was soaked within minuets along with the rest of Yokohama. My hair wet as if I stood out the shower, my jeans darker than before and heavy, my body shivering in the numbing, sharp cold, making my fingers and feet frigid like frost; it only downgraded my mood progressively.

People scurried across the roads, covered in a layers of rain, feet splashing in shiny dark puddles. A majority of people held umbrellas above their heads, or ran inside brightly lit shops. It was then when I realised how grey everything had become, even the atmosphere had been taken over by a dull grey hue. It didnt look like three in the afternoon, but it felt like a long winter. I groaned in the rain, the tiny pounds of water agitating my face. It felt like the whole world was attacking me all in one day and that day wasn't close to finishing.

I continued to walk in the streets, not taking long for me to be fully drenched. I walked across bridges, rapid water flowing underneath, past restaurant, the appetising warm smell filling my nose and pulling at my temptation. It came over me and I went inside a coffee shop, one I had never seen in Yokohama before. Perhaps a coffee would help organise my head.

The shop was small and decorated with light wooded interior and hanging light bulbs. Pictures of dears and rustic ornaments were placed around the room, and each table had a glowing candle burning gently. It reminded me of a log cabin, and I found it so comforting I had to order something. I ordered a usual coffee and sat down at the nearest table to the window I could find. As soon as I relaxed into the comfort of the chair, I gazed out the window. Rivulets of water ran down glass, running through specs of beads of water. The crowd of people outside were frantically moving under umbrellas or raised bags and hoods. I felt better I wasn't outside anymore.

Five minuets of staring and a steaming cup of coffee was placed at my table.

"Anything else?" The female worker asked.

I hesitated," No thanks."

"Enjoy then." I watched her leave, her maid-like uniform catching my eye. I turned around and picked up the coffee, hesitantly taking a sip. The liquid burnt as it touched my tongue, and I immediately placed it down.

Whilst I waited, I processed the information that had been thrown at me when I was not prepared.

Death was something I always seemed to disregard whenever I quelled a victim. It was a normality, an praised and accepted act. Ever since I was born I was raised to witnessed murder and manslaughter more times than I could count. Blood was like water to me, everywhere and a privilege- its good to know when you're alive or dead.

But when I realise that the time would come for my turn, on the floor swimming in my own blood that keeps me alive and living, it started to haunt me. I was starting to become weak in my arms, too concerned to put in the effort. All my energy was placed into seeing the images that started to flash in my mind. My death. The place. The time. How it would happen. What would happen... I could picture the horrifying scene, even with my vast knowledge and experience in every single way there possibly could be to die.