Rain and the Broken Clock — The Time That Stopped for Cherry - After the rain, a parking lot, a nameless question

The rain slowly dissolves the outlines of the world. Friday in Ameiro City had been wrapped in drizzle since dawn. On the north-facing window of Room 403, Building B, Minami Housing Complex, a gray sky clung flat and heavy. Kuroki Kurenai gazed down at the old diary resting on the kotatsu. Black cover. Worn corners. A spine peeling away. Last night, the diary had written out Kurenai's day before it happened. *Tomorrow, you will hand a woman your umbrella*—that single line sat heavy in the depths of Kurenai's chest like a stone. (Go outside.) (By my own will.) Kurenai opened the diary's pages. In the column for today's date, Kurenai's own handwriting lined the page. *Friday. 7:15 AM. Wake up. Drink warm water. Put on the black cardigan. Go outside.* Kurenai checked the clock. The smartphone screen. 7:14 AM. One more minute. (Let me try moving the way it's written.) Kurenai stood. Went to the kitchen, filled the kettle with water, and put it on the stove. The blue flame of the gas burner cast a small shadow across the dim room. While waiting for the water to boil, Kurenai looked out the window. In the depths of the alley, something still felt present. The laughing voice that had reached Kurenai's ears last night—a sound like rain, yet coming from a human throat. That had come from deep in the alley. (Yaseta Nanika.) Red characters surfaced in the diary's margins. *Yaseta Nanika is sniffing the scent of your name.* Kurenai had erased her own name. Three years ago, burned it along with the diary. Where does an erased name go? In this city, names that are never called accumulate in the depths of alleys. And something hungry devours them. (My name is still there.) (Not devoured. Still remaining.) The kettle began to whistle. Kurenai turned off the flame and poured warm water into a mug. Steam rose, warming Kurenai's face just slightly. One sip. Hot. The back of the throat burned faintly. (Alive.) Kurenai set down the mug. Opened the closet and took out the black cardigan. Bought three years ago. The cuffs were slightly worn. One button was about to come off. Kurenai put on the cardigan. Passed by the mirror. A full-length mirror reflected Kurenai's figure. Short black hair, frizzed by humidity, clinging to the forehead. Tired, deep brown eyes. A faded gray hoodie and black sweatpants. (Awful face.) Kurenai's lips twisted faintly. Was that a smile, or an attempt at one? Even Kurenai didn't know. Headed for the entryway. Put on sneakers. The fingertips tying the laces trembled slightly. (Scared.) (But I'll go.) Kurenai reached for the doorknob. Cold. The coldness of the metal clung to the palm. Kurenai slowly opened the door. —Outside air flowed in. The smell of rain. The smell of wet soil. The smell of old concrete. Kurenai stepped out. The complex's outdoor stairwell. Kurenai hadn't descended these stairs in three years. One step. Another. Careful not to make footstep sounds, Kurenai descended cautiously. The moment Kurenai stepped outside, something cold crawled up the spine. (An uncalled name.) (My name is calling me.) Kurenai braced a hand against the wall. Breathing grew shallow. Chest tightened. The edges of vision slowly darkened. (It's okay.) (It's okay.) Kurenai told herself. Breathe in, breathe out. In, out. After repeating several times, the heartbeat settled just a little. (I have to go.) (I have to go see.) Kurenai released the wall. Eight minutes south on foot. Headed for the main street. Left the complex grounds and walked a narrow path. Puddles had formed here and there. Kurenai walked, avoiding the puddles. —Suddenly, stopped. The surface of a puddle reflected the sky. Gray sky. But only within that water, cherry blossom petals were dancing. Pale pink petals fluttered, sliding across the water's surface as they fell. Kurenai looked up. The cherry trees along the street. The branches bore only buds. (There aren't any petals anywhere.) Kurenai looked at the puddle again. Within the water, petals were still dancing. (This city's time is out of sync.) Kurenai crouched on the spot. Touched the puddle's surface gently with a fingertip. Ripples spread. Petals swayed. (Reality, and the other side of the water's surface.) (Which one is real?) Kurenai stood. Began walking. This time, didn't avoid the puddles. The sneaker soles stepped into water. A small splash. —Reached the main street. An old shopping arcade running east-west through the center of Ameiro City. Despite being a Friday morning, foot traffic was sparse. Shops with their shutters down stood out. Only a pachinko parlor, a used bookstore, and a small deli were open. Kurenai walked toward the intersection of the main street and the back street. At the intersection, there was a crosswalk signal. That signal—the green was blinking continuously. It never turned red. The green blink repeated in regular intervals. (It's been like this for three years.) The city's road management division kept budgeting for repairs as a "malfunction," but the budget never passed. Citizens had grown used to it. No one paid it any mind. Kurenai stood before the signal. The green blink illuminated Kurenai's face, then vanished. Illuminated, then vanished. The rhythm of that flickering overlapped with the heartbeat. (A signal that never turns red.) (A signal that won't let you stop.) Kurenai looked up at the signal. That was when it happened. In the pachinko parlor's show window, Kurenai noticed her own reflection. Beyond the glass, Kurenai's figure. Black cardigan. Wavy black hair. Tired face. And— Behind Kurenai, another person. A black-haired woman was standing there. Long black hair reaching the waist. Though it should have been soaked by the rain, it looked dry. Gray-brown eyes stared fixedly at Kurenai through the glass. Kurenai turned around. There was only wet asphalt and the lingering traces of fading drizzle. No one there. Kurenai looked at the show window again. Only Kurenai's reflection was in the glass. (A trick of the eye.) Kurenai murmured softly. "...Just a trick of the eye." Saying it aloud. But the unease in the depths of the chest wouldn't disappear. (It's not a trick of the eye.) (That was definitely—) Kurenai laughed. A self-mocking smile. But that smile froze at the lips alone. (The black-haired woman.) (The remnant of the name I burned three years ago.) Kurenai found herself overlaying the black-haired woman's outline with her own erased past. (Am I being pursued?) (Or am I the one pursuing?) No. Neither. Kurenai felt it clearly. (I am being waited for.) (By that woman, I am being waited for.) The fear of being called by name slowly inverted into a craving for not being called. (I want to be called.) (But I don't want to be called.) (I don't want my name stolen.) (But I want my name to be spoken.) Contradictory emotions swirled within the chest. Kurenai crossed the signal. The green blink still flickered behind her. —The Diagonal Alley. A narrow passage between the pachinko parlor and the used bookstore on the main street. Kurenai stood at its entrance. The depths of the alley were dim despite it being daytime. Only one in five streetlights worked, and the drizzle diffused the light, blurring vision. (I'll pass through here.) Kurenai stepped into the alley. The damp air clung to the skin. A stale smell. Earth, rust, and something like old paper. Kurenai advanced deeper into the alley. On the wall, there were old teeth marks. Kurenai stopped before them. Countless tooth marks on the concrete wall. Not human teeth. More numerous. Sharper. (Three years ago.) (The night I burned my name.) Kurenai had been bitten by Yaseta Nanika deep in the alley. Those marks remained, undissolved even by the rain. Kurenai traced the marks with a fingertip. Cold. The rough texture of concrete. Beyond it, the memory of that night clung fast. The laughing voice. A sound like rain, yet coming from a human throat. "Shhh... shhh..." That night, the laughing voice that came from deep in the alley. Kurenai suppressed nausea. The pit of the stomach tightened. (I don't want to remember.) (But I can't forget.) From deep in the alley, a breath like damp soil drifted out. No form was visible. But the presence was there. (It's there.) (That thing is there.) Kurenai pulled her finger away from the teeth marks. (I am remembered as the taste that was left uneaten.) At that sensation, Kurenai felt a strange relief. Not anger, not fear. (Ah, I'm still alive inside that thing.) (The name I thought I erased still remembers me inside its hunger.) Kurenai laughed. This time, not just at the lips. A dry laugh welled up from the back of the throat. "...Heh." A small breath escaped. (What's so funny?) (Nothing's funny. Nothing at all.) (But I can laugh.) (No choice but to laugh.) Kurenai looked toward the depths of the alley. Darkness. Nothing visible. But hunger was certainly pooling there. (It won't come out yet.) (But someday.) Kurenai passed through the alley. —The rain-washed parking lot on the west side of Minami Housing Complex. A monthly parking lot. Of twenty spaces, only three were occupied. A kei truck, a sedan, an immobile wagon. The asphalt was cracked, weeds growing through. Puddles from the rain had formed here and there, reflecting the sky. Kurenai crouched at the edge of a puddle. Opened a notebook. Took a ballpoint pen from a pocket. (Write.) (Like always, write a name, erase it.) Kurenai put pen to paper. —Can't write. Someone else's name won't surface. Sato Kenji. Tanaka Miho. Suzuki Daiki. Names that should have come endlessly before—not a single one appeared. (Why?) (Can't write.) Kurenai stared at the blank page. Pure white paper. Nothing surfaced there. (My head is blank too.) Kurenai gripped the pen tight. That was when it happened. The puddle's surface rippled. There was no wind. The rain had already stopped. Yet the water's surface undulated. Kurenai looked up. On the other side of the puddle—a woman stood. Black hair. Long black hair reaching the waist. Not wet from the rain. Though it was drizzling, the woman's hair and clothes were dry. Gray-brown eyes. A color that swallowed light, like the trunk of an elm tree. The woman held no umbrella. Without footsteps, yet certainly treading the ground, she gazed at Kurenai from across the puddle. (That woman.) (The black-haired woman reflected in the show window.) Kurenai couldn't move. Throat stuck. No voice. The woman didn't open her mouth. Yet a question dropped into the depths of Kurenai's heart. —Where is your name? Not a voice. Not words. A mass of emotion hurled the question directly into Kurenai's chest. (Name.) (My name is—) Kurenai couldn't answer. The answer couldn't be found. The name burned three years ago. The name Yaseta Nanika was still sniffing deep in the alley. (Nowhere.) (My name is nowhere.) Kurenai looked at the notebook. Blank page. Ran the pen across it. With trembling fingers, a single word. *You.* Kurenai wrote that in the notebook. Instead of a name. Writing the other in second person. (No name.) (But you exist.) The woman quietly sat beside Kurenai. Without sound. Only the presence drew close, chill and faint. The woman's body heat was cold. Like a rainy afternoon—a quiet, chill presence. The woman gazed at the blank page of Kurenai's notebook. *You.* Staring fixedly at those two characters. Kurenai looked at the woman's profile. White skin. Black hair untouched by rain. Gray-brown eyes gazing at the words in the notebook as if absorbing them. (This person has no words.) (But she has emotions.) (Right now, seeing what I wrote, what is she feeling?) The woman's cold fingertip touched the back of Kurenai's hand. Chill. Ice-like coldness. Yet Kurenai didn't have warmth stole

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Episode 3

Name: Rain and the Broken Clock — The Time That Stopped for Cherry
Author: Novelia

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