Dazai is ten years old when he first walks in on Mori having sex. It's odd and unnatural, the little girl beneath is stiff, flesh tinted blue and completely unresponsive. The only noise that fills the room is the doctors soft grunting and the slap of his hip against her thighs.
It takes a moment for him to understand, but he does eventually.
She's dead. That's why shes not making any noise.
It takes a while for Mori to even realize he's present in the room, so silently he observes the sight before him. Her hair is long a black, completely straight unlike Dazai's brown wavy locks, and her eyes are creaked open, unseeing as they face the ceiling.
Her body is bloated, stomach seemingly filled with collected gasses all migrating to her gut, her lips are a deep, dark blue, chapped and cracked but completely unmoving. No noises or movement spawn from it, no reaction.
(He wonders if he looks like that as well?)
Her fingers are swollen and puffy, the veins a deep, deathly blue under her wrists leading up her arms, and her limbs are unnaturally stiff. Mori has her legs poised behind his back, and they are kept perfectly in position, bent at the knee and stuck upwards.
Her legs are similar to a tree branch on a clam day, utterly still and imposing, standing above affixed in position with precision. Dazai can't hold his legs up like that, they quickly begin to shake and quiver under the stress of keeping them upright, his weight is very minimal, but nonetheless it's difficult to remain in such stiff positions, even when he's skin and bones.
(Did Mori like that? Stiff, cold unresponsiveness? Would he prefer if Dazai acted like this corpse for him rather than a squirming rat?)
The frigid, metal examination table creaks beneath them and Mori's movement, and it looks hard and cold. He could imagine himself in the girls place; the flat metal digging into his arching back and shoulders, the cold seeped deep into the steel furniture burning his skin and turning it a bright red, numbing it despite the warmth they'd generate between them.
Did Mori prefer the cold? Her body was clearly frigid, and Dazai himself couldn't imagine enjoying surrounding his most sensitive organ with all encompassing fleshy cold, but if Mori liked it, the cold, was there a way to cool himself down like that? Likely not, as living beings insides weren't ever naturally cold, that was a feature reserved to the dead and without any previous signs of life.
That was a curious part, and Dazai himself couldn't be considered lively at all, but nonetheless this corpse of his still radiated warmth. He was an anomaly in many respects, but to Dazai, this was the most bizarre and frightening detail about his pitiful existence.
His body lived on, even despite what he truly was. Inhuman. Dead. But not even the desirable type of dead, nothing cold and stiff about him, but fleshy, warm sack of meat and bones which served no honest purpose. He was dead yet forced to live by a beating heart.
(He'd attempted to shoot it out before, the Mafiosi there are rather clumsy with their fire arms, so getting ahold of a small, inconspicuous pistol off a lower member is easy work. What is difficult, though is finding a place secluded enough to do it. The Port Mafia is filled with eyes that keep an eye on him, both human and camera, but eventually he closes himself within a closet.
He supposes a camera caught him entering, because when his exit is not immediate a knock echoes from the door and throughout the claustrophobic roo., startling him silly.
Once again, his attempt is foiled. His disobedience in stealing the gun is punished greatly.
His visits to Mori lengthen.)
BẠN ĐANG ĐỌC
31 Days Of Dazai
Fanfiction1.) Shaky hands Mori took two steps forward, and Dazai followed suit with his own few steps back, nearly jumping out of his skin when a large red lobster scuttled underfoot, his mind immediately searching for where such a thing could have come from...
