My life is unlike that of yours.
I don't spend my days working 9-to-5 jobs behind a computer. I don't spend my days worrying about what might happen tomorrow like everyone else does. In fact, I don't even spend my days doing things a normal person would.
Unlike you, I am constantly standing on the edge of the highest peak; forever trying to balance myself between the throes of life and death; between mortality and immortality.
Why, you ask?
Well, that's my job. It's what I would call, a perk of the trade.
Knowing that there's always a new adventure, a new story to tell whenever I take on an assignment.
Who am I?
I believe that the question should really be, what am I?
I don't spend my days working 9-to-5 jobs behind a computer. I don't spend my days worrying about what might happen tomorrow like everyone else does. In fact, I don't even spend my days doing things a normal person would.
Unlike you, I am constantly standing on the edge of the highest peak; forever trying to balance myself between the throes of life and death; between mortality and immortality.
Why, you ask?
Well, that's my job. It's what I would call, a perk of the trade.
Knowing that there's always a new adventure, a new story to tell whenever I take on an assignment.
Who am I?
I believe that the question should really be, what am I?
*******************
It is raining.
I am sitting in a restaurant in Shinjuku, Tokyo with my headphones blaring the latest track from a popular local band. I take them off and glance at the piece of paper in my hand that would decide the fate of another individual forever.
Hanamoto Miaka. 22 years-old. Waitress at a café.
Orphaned at the age of 15. Fiancé passed away last year in a car crash.
Currently living alone. No known relatives.
I sigh and turn towards the midnight-black Labrador that always accompanies me during my jobs.
Will you proceed?
"I don't know. Maybe."
You're going to have a make a choice sometime soon, you know?
I look towards the sky, close my eyes and listen to the steady pitter-patter of raindrops crashing into the hard concrete.
"I know."
Three days to decide.
I am sitting in a restaurant in Shinjuku, Tokyo with my headphones blaring the latest track from a popular local band. I take them off and glance at the piece of paper in my hand that would decide the fate of another individual forever.
Hanamoto Miaka. 22 years-old. Waitress at a café.
Orphaned at the age of 15. Fiancé passed away last year in a car crash.
Currently living alone. No known relatives.
I sigh and turn towards the midnight-black Labrador that always accompanies me during my jobs.
Will you proceed?
"I don't know. Maybe."
You're going to have a make a choice sometime soon, you know?
I look towards the sky, close my eyes and listen to the steady pitter-patter of raindrops crashing into the hard concrete.
"I know."
Three days to decide.
*******************
The feeling of loneliness has always been something familiar to Hanamoto Miaka. The bitter, metallic tang of desolation that she has become so accustomed to, permanently attached to the roof of her mouth. Having had to deal with the deaths of the ones closest to her for most of her life has turned her into little more than a walking zombie, quite literally what people would call one of the living dead.
Stepping out of the café where she worked, Miaka drew her coat closer to her and opened the umbrella that she always brought along for days just like this.
"Raining again," she sighed to herself as she slowly made her way to the train station.
The rain has never been comforting to her. It nearly always rained every time something bad happened to her. Like the day her parents funeral was held. Or even the day when her beloved was found, bleeding to death after a car collided with his motorcycle.
Most of all, she remembered how it rained when she attempted to join them. The pale scars that marked the inside of her wrists were a faint reminder of how close she came to it, before her housekeeper found her drenched in her own blood in the bathroom, crimson red staining the white marble tiles. Since then, the floor had been restored to its former state, but all Miaka could see was the pure white forever tainted by the scarlet manifestation of her sins every time she stepped into the bathroom.
That was more than 6 months ago and Miaka had somehow managed to slip back into the old routine of her life, slowly adjusting to the silence that had now filled the void in her life.
"Excuse me?" A deep voice breaks Miaka out of her daydream and she turns to find a tall, well-dressed man with familiar looking book in his hand.
"Oh! That's mine," Miaka immediately recognizes her precious notebook, filled with her innermost thoughts and reaches out to take it from the man, "Thank you...."
"You have a wonderful way with words," he says, giving her a stunning smile, "I'm Koehi, by the way," still smiling as he extended his hand out to Miaka.
"Erm... I - I'm Miaka," Miaka stuttered, blushing as she took Koehi's hand, "Y - You read it?"
"Just a few lines," he says cheekily, that beautiful smile still plastered on his face.
It is only now that Miaka realizes how good-looking the man really is, with well-chiseled features and lightly messy dark hair that somehow managed to accentuate his already attractive face. Miaka also noticed how tall he was, standing a good head taller than her, his smile sending a lovely warmth down her spine. But what she noticed most about him, were his eyes. Those were the eyes of a man who had seen too much. Dark obsidian, with a depth to them that looked as though he could gaze into her very soul, analyzing her very being inside and out.
TBC KTHX.
Stepping out of the café where she worked, Miaka drew her coat closer to her and opened the umbrella that she always brought along for days just like this.
"Raining again," she sighed to herself as she slowly made her way to the train station.
The rain has never been comforting to her. It nearly always rained every time something bad happened to her. Like the day her parents funeral was held. Or even the day when her beloved was found, bleeding to death after a car collided with his motorcycle.
Most of all, she remembered how it rained when she attempted to join them. The pale scars that marked the inside of her wrists were a faint reminder of how close she came to it, before her housekeeper found her drenched in her own blood in the bathroom, crimson red staining the white marble tiles. Since then, the floor had been restored to its former state, but all Miaka could see was the pure white forever tainted by the scarlet manifestation of her sins every time she stepped into the bathroom.
That was more than 6 months ago and Miaka had somehow managed to slip back into the old routine of her life, slowly adjusting to the silence that had now filled the void in her life.
"Excuse me?" A deep voice breaks Miaka out of her daydream and she turns to find a tall, well-dressed man with familiar looking book in his hand.
"Oh! That's mine," Miaka immediately recognizes her precious notebook, filled with her innermost thoughts and reaches out to take it from the man, "Thank you...."
"You have a wonderful way with words," he says, giving her a stunning smile, "I'm Koehi, by the way," still smiling as he extended his hand out to Miaka.
"Erm... I - I'm Miaka," Miaka stuttered, blushing as she took Koehi's hand, "Y - You read it?"
"Just a few lines," he says cheekily, that beautiful smile still plastered on his face.
It is only now that Miaka realizes how good-looking the man really is, with well-chiseled features and lightly messy dark hair that somehow managed to accentuate his already attractive face. Miaka also noticed how tall he was, standing a good head taller than her, his smile sending a lovely warmth down her spine. But what she noticed most about him, were his eyes. Those were the eyes of a man who had seen too much. Dark obsidian, with a depth to them that looked as though he could gaze into her very soul, analyzing her very being inside and out.
TBC KTHX.
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