My outfit today: orange turtleneck sweater, beige knee-high a-line skirt, brown tights, brown with orange polka dots over knee socks, black boots, beige sherpa jacket.
My classmates’ unexpected verdict: “oshare!” (fashionable)
I guess for once I was not some untouchable incomprehensible thing from outer space, and my tastes were actually compatible with theirs.
I had homework to do, but I watched Magnolia instead.
One day I can see Tokyo and Yokohama at the same time,
The next I’m chasing a hug through the Chuo line,
And the other I’m bedridden with fever.
Silence. Hundreds of eyes look at me to find walls at a longer distance. I tried to speak earlier this morning, but a hollow whistle came out instead of my voice, and it was disregarded as a whimsical current flowing through a narrow hall. I’ve already begun to turn yellowish and transparent. Mirrors seem to be whispering my presence, and I cling to them as if an imprint were to remain where I once stood.
My skin is turning into a thin crust of liquor puris and dead cells. Underneath it nothing remains: there is no snake crawling out of the rejected coating. I cannot take a bath anymore, lest the water turns me into a giant hangnail. The wind will blow tomorrow morning and this body will be reduced to a floating swirl of repulsive flakes.
Whoever dreamed of fooling the laws of physics never felt the need to be acknowledged as a human being.