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“Damn it…” My head tilts in my sister’s direction, ears pointed to where her annoyed grunts and muttered curses originate - a few feet behind me. I slide my suitcase to the side of the hallway, out of the immediate path of my sister as she rushes past with her own case. We’ve only just gotten back from our trip; could they really not do without her for one more night?

“Duty calls, I presume?” I sigh, equally frustrated by the demands of her firm. Footsteps approach from where Akira went and now returns.

“Yup… Sorry, Lills.” Akira laments. Dull, rapid taps on her smartphone screen. “I’ve put my case under the stairs so you don’t have to worry about it. I should only be an hour at most but I’ll take my keys just in case you want to go to bed.”

I nod sluggishly, feeling every hour of jet lag weigh on me. A hand on my shoulder, the pressure of lips on my cheek.

“Alright then. See you soon.”

“Take care, Akira. Give them hell.” I smirk in spite of my fatigue. A soft chuckle is her only response before a jacket shuffling, the door latch clicking into place, and the lock turning from the outside. I am left alone in the silence as Akira departs.

“Alexa?” I speak into the fresh silence and a subtle tone of acknowledgement chimes out from the virtual assistant that Marcus, my human assistant, was kind enough to set-up for me. Akira was never technically-minded and doesn’t like ‘the machine’ but I find her quite useful. “Please play latest messages.”

“Akira, I know you’re only just back from Japan but Donaldson’s got his knickers in a twist about the upcoming merger and I told him that you’d be jet-lagged but you kno-” Feminine voice, Scottish accent, for Akira; that’ll be Joan Glenn.

“Next.”

“Lilly, this is Marcus, hope your trip went well! Got your message about that guy from Lerwick you wanted me to look into and I’m hoping he gets back to me tomorrow. The admin from St. Dymphna also got back to me and seemed receptive to the resource exchange. Give me a bell in the morning or whenever you’re feeling less crook.” I smile at hearing the familiar voice of my friend-slash-assistant.

“Next.”

“Hi, girls!” Mum. “Just making sure you got back safe. Akira will probably have text me but you know I like to hear your voices. Let me know when you’re next free so we can go for a drink and a catch-up.” I’ll call her tomorrow, I’m sure Akira will have let her know we’re back safe already.

With my right hand on the dado rail, I pull my case forward down the hall. First door frame; living room. I pause and feel for the radiator with my leg, making sure I don’t run into it, before continuing to the next door frame; the kitchen. I’m past the stairs on the left now so I press on to the end of the hall and make a ninety degree turn to face the door of my bedroom.

It opens inwards and I pull my case from the hardwood flooring to the hard-wearing cord carpet.

A small room for a small life. Plain and simple by design and highly reflective of what my life has become. Utilitarian. Functional. Boring. I lift my case onto the bed and begin to unpack, separating things into piles for washing tomorrow as my maudlin thoughts recall how I got to this point in my life.

When I moved to Edinburgh eight years ago, I thought it would be the start of a grand adventure but all it ultimately culminated in was disappointment after disappointment. While connecting with my family was wonderful, I soon found myself floundering in a society very different to the one I was accustomed to.

I continued my studies here and graduated with marks good enough to attend college though I found it difficult to engage with the curriculum and keep up with the course work required for the teaching course. My classmates were so different to me and I, them.

While I was welcomed… I was still alien. I couldn’t quite connect with them. I limped along before barely passing with enough credits. After the experience, I decided I would try my hand at some other vocations before fully committing to teaching. A gap year, as it were.

My parents were understanding - in as much as they did not outwardly voice their disappointment to me. Not that they needed to. I felt it enough in the pit of my stomach.

My father, ever magnanimous, got me a low-level secretarial job with his company for a short time. It was useful to give me critical job experience but the nepotism of such a move did not go unnoticed. Idle gossip of how useful I could be and wicked whispers on how I might climb the ladder… My eye muscles twitch with anger at the memory.

When that became too much, I quit. Once more; my family was not outwardly critical, though their understanding and patience for another rebellious child was wearing thin. I started to feel like I did when they first left Japan. Like a burden. Akira was still there to help ease my anxiety somewhat but she couldn’t be there all the time. She worked hard while I struggled to find work at all. I suppose I would be considered something of a NEET if I were back in Japan.

My novelty eventually wore off with my extended family, I had no real friends in the city, and I was having the most awful time as I entered my twenties. I’d been mugged three times, called all manner of horribly colourful curse words by strangers, had two failed relationships with men suggested by my family and a one-night stand who stole from me the next morning.

That was the final straw that killed any enthusiasm I had for dating.

It was lonely for a long time. The monotonous daily grind of looking for work to satisfy my keepers while acting as housemaid for Akira. I was being kept and I was failing in breaking out of the rut I had found myself in. I felt trapped, alone, and scared about my future.

I thought of Hanako a lot at that time. How, as strange as it seemed, I’d come to rely on her presence and how I found purpose in being her friend, her support. She no longer needed me and now I was, ironically, in need of much the same.

We still talked, not as often as I’d have liked, but time zones were difficult to plan around for an out-of-work shut-in and an up-and-coming author trying to make-ends-meet.

Things took a turn for the better when I found out that a local authority was looking for teaching assistants. The meeting took on a whole different meaning when the woman interviewing me brought up that I was a Yamaku alumni.

The school, Cullen Academy, was part of a network of SEN schools partly funded by subsidies from the Scottish government but also by The Foundation, the Yamaku Foundation’s international arm. We talked for over an hour about my experiences there; about my role as Class Rep and how I helped my classmates, and the larger student body as part of the student council.

Given my family’s ties to The Foundation, I did suspect this stroke of luck to be a little suspect but, to my surprise, my immediate family had no idea about the position. If anything, a glowing reference came from the most unexpected of places; my cousin.

Shizune’s ascension to vice-principal of Yamaku was surprising, but not as surprising as what I discovered about her on my recent sojourn to Japan. The Sensori-Neural Relay device built by her partner, Hisao, is a marvel. I never thought I’d be able to hear her voice, let alone for her to hear mine.

I’m ashamed to admit that her overcoming her disability, as well as her close friendship with Hanako, made me somewhat jealous of the leaps-and-bounds they’ve taken in their lives while I feel like am barely getting started…

As I pick up my underwear, I trace my thumb along the silky material and drift into thoughts of something else I discovered on this trip; something about myself. While I wasn’t the only person to hook-up with a stranger at Hanako’s wedding, I think I might have been the only one who slept with a fellow Yamaku alumni, not one of Akio’s family. Even more surprisingly; it was a woman.

Molly Kapur.

I’d had the odd fantasy about sleeping with women - it’s all part of a healthy sex drive, naturally - but never imagined it would actually happen.

After our flirtation at Hanako’s hen night, I thought she was just another playful jokester, but when she sat down with me at the reception, also feeling a little lost at returning to the fold… Well, I suppose we found the companionship we were both looking for. And more, besides.

Molly was so compassionate, and confident, and… And, well, flattering… It was exhilarating to allow myself to be vulnerable with someone, even for just one evening.

I bite my lower lip with a smile as I remember what an evening it was. Allowing myself to secede control is very unlike me though I was in more than capable hands with her. Again, the her of it all sticks out in my mind. It feels so foreign and bizarre but… So right at the same time. Like the most natural thing in the world.

So what does that mean for me? Does one one-night-stand make me a bisexual? I really don’t know… More uncertainty, more self-doubt…

Still; the vivid memories of those new sensations warm my body. I remember the silky texture of her skin, the smell of black tea and incense mixed with anxious sweat, the taste of her lips and…

A shiver runs up my spine and I subconsciously crane my neck, as if to feel her nibbling my ear as our bodies press together in carnal passion. God… I wish I could just indulge myself in the memory but all I have the energy to do right now is unpack and collapse into bed.

I finish placing my dirty clothes on top of my closed hamper and roll my suitcase into the cupboard. I return to my bed and pat the bed to remind myself where my pyjamas are before I begin to undress.

“Alexa? Search for…” I stop as I unclasp my bra. I press my tongue into my cheek as I frown, thinking hard about what I’m about to do. I sigh and continue my impulsive thought. “Search latest recommended… lesbian audiobooks. Please.”

The virtual assistant lists off several titles, each sounding like the sort of Mills & Boon fare you’d expect from the genre. I slip on my pyjama shorts and lie on top of my covers, hands folded across my stomach. I have to start somewhere I suppose…

“Alexa? Purchase Courting The Countess by Jenny Frame and play.” I wait for the device to confirm the purchase then begin to play the audio book. I close my eyes and begin to listen, hoping to glean some insight into what I’m feeling.

And maybe get a little titillation as a treat.

A small continuation to A Spot of T... & A and an exercise for myself to see how I would write Lilly's POV. Hope you enjoyed!

I'm somehow not even surprised to see what her first action when she comes back home is that. As if it was expected, or even mandatory. Yet another great addition to your collection, Sharpy, it's a great piece, a bit short for my own liking, but who am I to judge, it's not about the quantity, but the quality, and you deliver some really good cooking, as always.

Aha!

Lilly x Molly continuation sounds interesting. Hope to hear more of that duo in the future

Probably that's something that really needed for her to return back on track. At least everyone else in that puzzle variant is already settled.

I want to root for Lilly x Molly, but I'm not sure they have much chance of reconnecting in Scotland, do they?

Also was that a Missing Stars reference snuck in there by any chance?

SilentM wrote: Fri Nov 22, 2024 12:01 am

Also was that a Missing Stars reference snuck in there by any chance?

Nice little follow-up to the first one! Lilly's perspective is a fun challenge to take on and I think you did a great job with this little short. And the ending is very in character for her. Would be interested in more peaks into this part of the world! (Though, I still need to read monomyth, funny enough. I know the shorts stand on their own, but it's still something I want to do.)

I really like how lost Lilly feels, and the dissonance between returning home and finding out that it’s not home at all. Molly seems like a beacon in the darkness, but I wonder if Lilly will find what she needs in just the physical aspects of their relationship…

StealthyWolf wrote: Sat Nov 23, 2024 4:49 pm

Would be interested in more peaks into this part of the world! (Though, I still need to read monomyth, funny enough. I know the shorts stand on their own, but it's still something I want to do.)

Me, neglecting one of the main characters for nearly ten years: "I should write about Lilly. Or Misha. Or some OCs."

seannie4 wrote: Mon Nov 25, 2024 3:34 am

I really like how lost Lilly feels, and the dissonance between returning home and finding out that it’s not home at all. Molly seems like a beacon in the darkness, but I wonder if Lilly will find what she needs in just the physical aspects of their relationship…

I like to think of this Lilly, having been isolated from her peers for so long, has become a bit of a demisexual. Her past conquests were unfulfilling because they had nothing in common with her but between them both being Yamaku Survivors and both sharing vulnerabilities with each other definitely kickstarted an attraction that Lilly is wrestling with.

“Destroy it and burn the negatives.” The voluble, robust voice of moral reason who I agree with.

“No, she should keep it.” The honeyed, adenoidal voice of artistic integrity who I also agree with.

“It’s disrespectful. It’s… It’s just wrong.” The first voice responds.

“What it is is art. It’s not about right or wrong.” The second argues.

“And you’re both saying exactly what I’ve been thinking since I developed it.” I explain - a third, dithering voice of indecision. “I called you both because I’m literally in two minds about this.”

My eyes flitter between Taro Arai and Takashi Maeda; both of whom I respect for their insight and their forthrightness. It also helps that they’re both artists and can recognise the value of what I present to them.

“Misaki… You can’t seriously think this is okay?” Taro asks, his eyebrows furrowed with sorrow. He had nothing to do with it but he still feels the weight of responsibility. He feels so deeply but so pointlessly, sometimes. It wasn’t his fault and there was nothing he could do. I wanted him for his empathy.

“I get where you’re coming from, Arai; I really do, but this is more important than ethics. It’s about consequences.” Takashi says, with a look of sympathy that quickly fades when he turns to me, his eyes becoming scrutinous. He possesses a cold intellect and an even sharper tongue but his art betrays both in favour of warmth and passion. I wanted him for his objectivity.

“You think I’d get in trouble?” I ask, my arms fold defensively and reflexively. I’d considered the reactions but there’s something stopping me from doing exactly what Taro suggested.

“I think it’s possible but that shouldn’t stop you.” Takashi tilts his head, acknowledging the risk. “All photographs are memento mori. Taking a photograph is to participate in another person’s mortality and vulnerability.”

“To photograph someone is to violate them, by seeing them as they never see themselves.” Taro responds with a scoff. “I remember Valeth’s Sontag phase too.”

I can’t help the little snort of amusement, exhaled through my nose, at one of Lezard’s many obsessive literary phases and how he often makes it everyone else’s problem. But it does bring to mind something else Sontag, via Lezard, said; that photography is an inexhaustible invitation to deduce, speculate, and fantasise. Is that what I want?

“You might not feel bad about offending people, Maeda, but this is too raw a nerve.” Taro points with an accusatory finger at Takashi.

“I’m not saying she should show everyone today…” Takashi rolls his eyes dramatically. “But it’s got merit. It tells a story. It’ll make people talk and I think that’s something we should all be doing right now.”

“It’s all anyone is talking about already!” Taro groans.

“Except about they’re not talking about the part that matters, are they?” Takeshi raises his eyebrows expectantly, his arms outstretched as if to illustrate an obvious point. “It’s all ‘I feel so bad’ and ‘I wish I’d spoken up’ and making it about themselves when, really, no one is talking about him.”

Takeshi thrusts his finger down onto the table and onto the topic of our discussion. A spur-of-the-moment, right-place-right-time, one-in-a-million candid photograph… of Hisao Nakai falling from the school roof.

I didn’t even realise I’d taken the shot until I developed my photographs of the festival but there it was. The last photograph on the film. The only one I ever took of Hisao. He’d only been with us for a week… I thought I had all the time in the world to add him to my collection of class candids. I could never imagine this would be it.

“…don’t know it was suicide and to bring it up right now…” Taro’s exasperated tone brings me round to an argument in session.

“What else could it be, Arai? Besides, art is supposed to make people think, to reflect on themselves!”

“Or it’ll just add to the trauma and grief; did you ever think about that, you little sociopath!?” Taro shoves Takashi with his good hand, his short temper overtaking his usual empathetic self.

“Fuck off!” Takashi tries to shove back but barely moves the bulkier boy. “I feel as bad as everyone else!”

“Could’a fooled me!” Taro grabs Takashi by the collar from across the table but the slam of my hands on the desk gives him pause.

“Knock it off!” I shout, my disapproving glare turning to a wince as I shake the stinging pain out of my hands. Taro lets go of Takashi with a little passive-aggressive push. I close my eyes and inhale deeply, taking the moment to collect my thoughts.

“I can see both of your points.” I sigh, still no better off for a solution. “But I don’t think an argument is really the way to settle this…”

They eye each other before nodding with begrudging agreement.

“I understand Maeda’s point,” Taro admits first, much to Takashi’s surprise. “But, at the very least, it’s too soon for this to be shown to people. Everyone is still on edge and… I just don’t want anyone else to hurt themselves.”

His shoulders slump as he leans forward, bracing himself against the table with his good arm while the other bumps uselessly against the table edge. He stares at the picture sadly before allowing his head to flop down, his eyes closed as he makes a final, quiet admission.

“Damn it… It is a good shot.”

Takashi has the smallest flash of a smirk before squatting down, folding his arms and resting them on the table, tilting his head at the photograph.

“It’s like an inverted Fibonacci spiral… A graceful… horrific arc of motion. The… The position of the… subject…” Takashi stalls out, his close-up analysis faltering. His face becomes contorted with sadness before he buries his face in his arms.

“Taro’s right…” Takashi sniffs loudly. “It’s t-too fucking soon.”

My throat tightens and I feel their grief as my own, forcing me to sit down and wipe the welling tears from my eyes. I guess that settles it.

“I’m going to destroy the negatives.” I announce, smiling despite myself. “But I’m keeping the photograph. I may do something with it in the future but for now…”

I thank them both for coming to the clubroom and for offering their opinions, and they file out after saying their goodbyes. The stress of this decision and standing for so long has made my backache more than usual. I writhe against my spine brace, rolling my shoulders to loosen myself up.

I reach across the table and take the photograph in hand, studying it one last time before I bury it in one of my drawers for the foreseeable. They’re both right. It’s beautiful and morbid in equal measure. The last image of Hisao Nakai ever to exist on this planet; a tragic portrait of a life snuffed out too soon or a grim reminder of how fickle and short our lives can be.

I look at my camera, perched on a nearby bookshelf. What does it say about me that when confronted with such a horror that my instinct was to capture it for posterity? Like it wouldn’t be ingrained into the mind’s eye of the gathered crowd, including mine, forever… What’s the point of this in that sense?

It’s the best photograph I will ever take and the last thing my camera will ever capture.

A great short, sharp piece, a real knife to the heart with how dark it is. I liked the reflection on the nature of a photograph and especially whether its subject matter makes it inherently morally permissible for wider consumption.

Brilliantly intense story here, Sharp-O!

Photography is an interesting subject. Art can be taken a million different ways by a million different people; one man's "immortalizing this specific moment" is another's "just another second in a sea of trillions". It's also, just like every form of art, got its own uniqueness to it that can't easily be compared to any other. The sheer candid nature of a photograph brings a level of connection not quite as easily made with other forms of art. At least, not in the same, graphic way. The debate would be wildly different had, say, Rin decided to make a painting capturing this moment instead. Or if Natsume/Naomi decided to write an article exploring the event and how it made them feel. Or Suzu writing a short story mirroring the events. It even changes within the confines of photography itself. In this instance, it was a moment of pure chance that it was captured in this fashion, but in another timeline it may have been partially deliberate - had she seen Hisao stumbling and decided to capture a moment of seeming clumsiness gone terribly wrong, or from another angle capturing that of an argument between two students. And so on.

Then comes the angle taken from Taro and Takashi here, discussing the value of art itself. Both as a form of documentation and as art, I think something like this would be worth keeping. I agree that there's a time and a place to show a piece like this, but very few, if any, pieces of art are worth destroying. There's a long list of really dark pictures I've come across, but almost every time I run into one, it causes me to reflect on some aspect of the world, those around me, and of that which was photographed. And to me, that's valuable.

It reminded me about the story of this photo:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Falling_Man

You always know how to deliver dark stuff, and it kinda scares me Thank you!

Getting some serious The Falling Man vibes. Ah, damn, only after I typed it did I notice that hdkv pointed it out, too.

Anyways, really good stuff, Sharp-O.

I was not ready for it, Sharpy, not at all. And yet, it was a brilliant piece. A piece that made me want to punch one of the characters, that should say how well-written it was. I was not expecting this, and I'm 'pleasantly' surprised. Very well done, brother.

Thanks so much for all your comments! This is another one of those instances like Ventriloquy where I thought of a concept and wrote it in a day!

In this case, I discovered the term 'optography' which is the belief that the eye retains the last image it sees before death and I immediately thought of a camera and, naturally, it made me think of Misaki and here we are. Glad it hit all the emotions I wanted it to!