Denpa Onna to Seishun Otoko:Volume4 Afterword

Afterword

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My favourite short-manga series as of recent would be Dead Man's Q.

As for myself, it'd be my often dreaming and my father visiting my house, asking, 'any fan mails for me?'

Something like a novel, the third instalment:

I must hurry, I say so to myself on the way dashing out of the store's back door. I have a few stores to run to today, so speed is of the essence. Usually one would have to rely on the tools of civilisation like the mass transport or a vehicle, but it was an inopportune time.

My personal bicycle was, perhaps by some brats who snuck out during the night, in a disarray – the front tire was punctured. In the end, I had to walk my way to a restaurant downtown.

I get that people who don't finish their manuscript before the deadline are awful, but I admit that going to pick up the manuscript on the last day isn't any better. In that spirit, I never once expressed displeasure when I went to retrieve it.

As my breath became shallower, I noticed my chin raised while my feet dash in the middle of downtown. People look as though they are mannequins when I realised how comedic my arm-swinging was.

I seem to be the only one trying to survive here, and it isn't pretty. If it were five or six years ago, the university me would have laughed at the me now. But that's how it is: procrastination can only be cleaned up like so.

It's possibly the best phrase to describe life. If only I tried a little harder during uni, then I would have…

“You're using time wrong!”

“Whoa!” A female's face pops into view.

Because of her abrupt appearance, I cannot brake in time. The female's forehead knocked into mine. The sound of bones contacting one another condensed into a deep thud. A momentary darkness with the impact. As though ripped open, my eyelids snapped; along with the laboured breathing, colour and shape returned to my sight.

“Damn… That hurt… Ugh...”

Like being poisoned, the site radiated with pang. Numberless needles pierced the deepest end of my bones; the pain did not spread, and it screamed without ever leaving. I worry that my skull is cracked.

After seeing to myself, I went to the woman who suddenly popped out. As if she has been practising, the woman stood there with a smile with disregard to her reddened forehead. It's the same woman who came out from the road. How she manages to phase in and out unsettled me.

“Let's talk abut happiness.”

“What?”

“We can discuss about happiness, or I can read your palm. I wanted to make you stop and change how you live.”

With a grin, she stretches her arms out to block my way, undeterred by the possibility of getting in people's way. The words that fell from her mouth sounded as if her brain was screwed on backward.

I froze; sweat dripped from my confused scowl.

She beamed continuously.

Was she born with a brain defect? A missionary? Probably both, since it's so hard to differentiate the two. Though from the way she spouted happiness, she's probably the latter. With that bright smile, however, it was quite terrifying.

The female has slightly long hair, and her skin a bit tanned; she dyed her hair brown to match her complexion. A young appearance, and on the cute side too. Everything she wore is the Sh*mamura brand, like a certain housewife-editor of a magazine. The clothes on her were light, fitting of summer. On her neck was a talisman in the shape of ivy.

“Sorry, I'm in a hurry.”

“That's where you're wrong. You have to be in a hurry — with purpose.”

“I am seriously in a hurry.”

I try to walk around her, but she catches my arm. The female's temperature and the early summer latches onto me, but somehow all I feel is a chill. Don't tell me her passion is stolen from other people's temperature?

“All I'm saying is you're hurrying in the wrong way. Please listen.”

Even as I try to get her grip off, the only thing happening was her arms shaking up and down.

“What's so wrong?” Your head is wrong. I thought. As I quit moving, the mannequins surrounding us began their motion. I turn for some help, but nobody looks this way.

The female is the only one looking with spirited eyes. Like the faces on those people in the station who really wanted to read my palm.

“Something big is happening soon. The Master said so.”

“Mas… Master? Really now...” Damn, it's one of those. She's going to mess me up.

“The time is upon us, but people are wrong with how they hurry. In order to assist the Master and his salvation, we pray on the roads like this to keep the mass from leaving astray.”

If you're praying, do you really have to grab my arm? Are you from the cult of pliers?

I'm a little pissed from how brusque their salvation is. If you're planning to save me, help me get my manuscript.

“You just said something is happening, but what, specifically? And what will you do then? What do you want me to do? You've never thought about it, just following every word your boss says.”

“If you're interested, you must come to Master's speech!”

Despite my heated response befitting of this summer, she simply talks over me. She tugs at my arm. I cannot stand bluntness; I thought of begrudgingly telling her to not do that till it's winter.

I focus on how to break free of her grip. Safely, and without her further meddles. The wrist that is held by what cannot possibly be human strength began to bruise.

“The power of the individual may be weak, but as long as we work together to spread the words of the master around, we might just avoid the event. Let me ask: what could you possibly change by hurrying in the wrong way before you ran into me?”

With the rapid firing of words of spit, she ascribes to me the triviality of humanity.

Her last words hit me. Naturally, as a small-time magazine editor, someone would take my place even if I was never born.

It won't be the same without me. How often does one encounter something like that?

But you're no different. Even your master is the same.

You cannot differentiate the pawns on a chess board. The realisation of that is why, even if you lament many things, you try the hardest despite it being the smallest things.

An anger grows within me, and anxiety appears. If I try to seriously convince her with logics, I might just get dragged into a dark place unknowingly to see her so-called Master's light.

I begin my stride forward. The female latched onto my arm moves as well. Seeing that, I nodded, and began moving toward the road. 'Eh?' I drag the surprised female and stand in the middle of the road.

Naturally, it's the road that cars run on.

“What are you doing!?”

And I'll send those words right back.

The female let go as a car approached, running raggedly to the sidewalk. I do not celebrate my new freedom, instead following her frantically. The vehicle honked. Sorry.

Fear and surprise spread her eyes wide as the female returned to the sidewalk; laboured breathing from the scare has her shoulders rising up and down.

Her bit of sanity moves me just a little.

It's the first time, as odd as it is, that I've smiled after meeting the female. And so I run by the female's side.

“Do you really not care!? You'll regret it when the time comes!”

“Shut it! Who doesn't have regrets!”

I leave the female with those words. She's the one who needs to change the way she hurries in life. That's why she will forever get rejected and regret over it.

However, living a hurried life when you're still young and energetic might just be a way of life.

In any case I'm running late — gotta hurry.

“Um… Where do I go?”

The memories are blurry after that bump, so I have to check to be sure. I rest onto the wall after making the corner, whispering my schedule.

Thanks to that woman, I have to stop and waste my time like this.

How irritating.

From now on, no matter how difficult or meaningless the path I walk, I will only think of this when I remember this cultist woman taking up my time:

“I pray that wasn't the most meaningless time I spent today.”

Same goes to that woman earlier. Clap, I end my prayer.

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