Away, and mock the time with fairest show:
False face must hide what the false heart doth know.
-Macbeth Act I Scene VII[1]
The sky was blue and bright. The sun's rays, approaching noon, were gentle and warm. It was a temperate afternoon that made the frigidness of a few days ago seem like a dream.
"You don't know until you try. For one thing..."
"For one thing?"
"―I know I wouldn't become your enemy. Ever. No matter what happens, even if I'm killed, I would be on your side."
"Just pretty words."
"It's my resolve."
It was his will, and it was unwavering. In order to know, you had to try it first. He believed that human souls, when faced with a dilemma, would ultimately choose peace over war, songs and scriptures over weapons, and love over hatred. It wasn't a fantasy. It was hope. I still haven't abandoned hope. I want to find a road that you can't see, and point it out for you.
The first day or so we all pointed to our countries. The third or fourth day we were pointing to our continents. By the fifth day, we were aware of only one Earth.
- Sultan bin Salman Al-Saud, astronaut
After Shion had finished reading the picture book, Kalan gave a sigh of satisfaction.
"That was a good story."
Karan was at a loss for words. She couldn't let go of the arm she was grasping. The slender sixteen-year-old girl stood silently before her.
"Safu... what on earth are you saying? Do you know what kind of place the West Block is?"
"I don't. I've only heard that it's a terrifying place. But I'm still going."
I love him, love him. He's a millstone round my neck - he'll take me to the bottom with him. But I love this millstone of mine - I can't live without it.
-Chekhov "The Cherry Orchard" Act III[1]
The girl came just as Karan was about to close the blinds of the store.
"Ma'am, are there any muffins left?" She was an adorable child with a round face, probably not yet ten.
"We're all out of cheese, but if you like raisin muffins, we've got one of those left."
"I'll have it, please."
"We're here."
Nezumi's feet stopped. They were standing in front of a three-storey building. At least, it resembled more of a building than the ruins that constituted the hotel, but in the sense that it was also falling apart, they were none too different.
The arched entranceway and the red brick walls had probably once carried an air of pomp, but were now strangled by vines, crumbled in places, and radiating an aura of dilapidation. Nezumi jerked his chin upwards.
"Someone's home."
I remember having an argument with my dad about whether English or Japanese was the more expressive language. In defense of Japanese, my dad brought up (of course) the famous poem by Bashō:
古池や蛙飛び込む水の音 Furuike ya / kawazu tobikomu / mizu no oto
which literally in English translates as:
An old pond / a frog jumps in / the sound of water
Yeah. Not too interesting. What makes it a classic in Japanese is probably the yoin 余韻 or "afterglow" of the words ― what the words makes you think of, the imagery and emotions attached to the words as you read them. Then my dad went on to say how Japanese has 20 different words for the colour blue, whatever.
Humans are shapeshifters; there's naught that's not in this world. [1]
- Ihara Saikaku, 'Saikaku's Tales from Various Provinces'
The slope that Shion had skidded down turned out to be an enormous pillar tipped over on its side. Upon closer inspection, he could see that the base was carved out with the figures of several women robed in thin, translucent cloth. Rusty metal foundations were all that remained of what probably used to be an arched ceiling, and several withered vines feebly clung to them. The wall had collapsed entirely, and chunks of stone in all sizes were scattered hither and thither.
If he had accidentally struck his head on one of those― Shion shuddered.
The rain let up before noon but the clouds still lingered, and the ground remained cold as dusk approached. Nezumi was walking briskly through the throng. Shion was doing his best to keep up behind him. He was out of breath. He was jostled, bumped, and yelled at; he felt the gaze of countless curious eyes raining down on his head; the smell of a dozen things reached his nose, so mingled and melded into each other that he couldn't tell what they originally were; the muddy ground tripped up his feet; a sprawl of barracks and tents lined the road, and from them, thick smoke billowed rudely into the passerby; in the air, angry bellows, seductive coos, and merchants' cries clashed clamorously. He felt dizzy.
Then the goddess Hannahanna decided to use her last resort. She gathered not several, but hundreds, thousands of bees, and said, "You are small and nimble, and fly as swift as the light, so you shall surely be able to find the god Telepinu. Now, go." [1]
- The Disappearance of Telipinu, Hittite Myth
There was a person collapsed at the foot of a spindly tree whose bark was whiter than the rest. He was a little boy, even smaller than the girl in size. He was writhing in pain. Shion took him in his arms and sat him up. Even in the settling dusk, he could tell that the boy was deathly pale. He was clawing at his throat, and his mouth was open, but his lips were bloodless.