Land of The Dying Sun 2: Under The Starry Sky

Finding tackle was easier than Ryota thought it would be. After a little bit of wandering, he found a small tackle shop a few blocks away. What ultimately proved difficult was setting up the line. Only with about half an hour of struggle and the help of an illustrated pamphlet was he able to assemble his fishing pole. After that he headed down the street to the Sumida River.

He made his way through a small park and down to the bank, glancing down to his watch to see that it was only 11:30 in the morning. If he was quick, he could have this chore done by nightfall and leave for Hinohara in the morning.

Having never gone fishing in his life, Ryota managed to hook himself twice before he managed to cast out into the water. After that he sat down with a sigh of relief. He had been on his feet since his 5 hour long bike ride. He wondered if he had pushed himself too hard, and if he would be feeling too sore the next day.

He gazed out over the calm, black water. On the opposite bank a cubish, baby-blue delivery truck was hanging over the edge of the river, half-submerged. Seaweed clung to its stubby face and trailed downriver. Ryota looked down at his bobber. He didn't know if there were even any fish in this river anymore. Something might have gone wrong and caused the river to become uninhabitable. Ryota decided that he would move to another spot if he didn't catch anything in the next hour.

It was less than half an hour before he got a bite. He yanked on the pole to hook the fish and began reeling it in. When he held its squirming body in his hands he felt a twinge of guilt. He was holding the first living creature that he'd touched in months, and he had to kill it.

“Oh well,” he said, tossing it behind him onto some grass. He cast his line again and settled back down.

It only took him a couple hours to meet his quota. There were a lot of fish in the water; probably thanks to the sudden absence of fishermen. He piled his catch into a stray plastic bag and headed back to the shrine. The Machine was patiently waiting for him when he arrived. Ryota could picture it sitting there in the days between his visits, inanimate and lonely in cheerful sunshine and frigid rain alike.

He opened the dishwasher-like door and placed the fish inside one-by-one. Once they were all inside he closed the door. He heard a pneumatic *thuck* as the fish was shot away to some place unknown. The Machine clicked several times, seemingly satisfied with its meal, and displayed a message: “Thank You.” Ryota walked away from The Machine and towards the entrance of the shrine. It continued clicking as he left, and he imagined that it was wishing him well.

Too tired to begin the trip home that day, Ryota would be forced to spend the night in the city. He kept a house just outside the shrine for such occasions, and that was where he was headed.

The shrine house was ugly, painted baby blue, and small. He liked it that way, particularly that last quality. Large buildings in the city unnerved Ryota. He had fabricated a thousand excuses for it, but the truth was that they were too quiet. Offices should be bustling with career-people, restaurants should be filled with the sound of clinking utensils, and shops should be filled with murmuring customers.

Ryota entered the shrine house and walked briskly into the kitchen. He was starving; He had neglected his well-earned lunch in favor of completing his task. He rifled through the pantry, suddenly wishing that he had caught a few extra fish to compliment his 80% canned food diet. In the end, he chose a can of soup and a bag of chips. He devoured the entire bag of chips as he waited for the soup to heat on his butane burner.

Once he had eaten his soup, he decided to take a nap. Even though it was sweltering hot in the house, Ryota locked all the doors and windows. After all the blinds in the sole bedroom were shut, he flopped down onto the bare mattress and fell into an awkward, sweaty slumber.

Before the flare, Ryota had never had a dream recur more than once, maybe twice. Now, even though the setting varied, the same visions returned night after night. There was always a gun, and there was always Yuna.

Once he had been at a wild party, trapped in a throng of dancing people. He knew that he needed to find Yuna and stop her, but he kept tripping over arms and legs until he heard a gunshot. Another time he had found the gun and hidden it, but guns started appearing everywhere he looked. Before he could hide them all, he heard a single shot ring out.

The dreams never ended the same way. Sometimes he would find and cradle her bleeding body, other times the dream would end after the sound of the gunshot. Always though, the dreams were filled with the same crushing guilt.

The one dream that he could never shake from his mind was the time that she had botched it, and he was forced to finish the job himself. There was still a hole in the wall in Hinohara that he had punched that night.

This time, Ryota had fallen off of a sailboat and kept slipping down it’s slick sides as he tried to climb back on. Yuna stood on the deck, barrel pushed to the back of her throat, watching him struggle. It seemed like an hour passed before she pulled the trigger and ended the dream.

Ryota woke up shaking and on the verge of tears. The darkness around him was total. He thought he might throw up.

Suddenly he felt like he was being watched, like there was somebody else in the room with him. He lurched out of bed and fumbled around on the floor for his pack. His heart was racing.

The feeling of another presence in the room was simply unquestionable. They were there to kill him and there was nothing he could do about it.

He found his pack and tore through it for the flashlight. He flicked it on and swung it’s beam wildly about the room. There wasn’t anybody there. Of course there wasn’t.

Ryota sat down against the wall. His entire body shuddered and his heart raced. Gradually, the reality of his situation returned to him. He was alone. There was nobody trying to get him. All the doors and windows were locked. He was safe.

Ryota’s relief only lasted for a moment, because it took only that long for him to remember his dream. He started sobbing, choking on his tears as he gasped for air.

He was a weak, immoral person. Who was he to inherit the whole of mankind’s legacy? If any afterlife existed, every person who had ever lived was watching him, utterly disappointed. He was only alive because of his father’s nepotism.

Once he had calmed down a bit, Ryota rose to his feet. He didn't want to go back to sleep; He’d only have the dream again. Taking a walk was also not a possibility. If the city made Ryota uncomfortable during the day, it terrified him at night. During the day it was a graveyard, but at night it was a crypt.

Ryota wasn’t hungry, but he convinced himself that eating something would calm his nerves. He made himself another can of soup and sat down on the couch, eating slowly. He looked out the window at the stunning night sky.

Without the city’s bright lights to outshine them, the delicate details of the universe became visible. Millions of tiny, previously invisible stars dotted the sky. Much more arrestingly though, nebulas had revealed themselves. They added gentle gray and brown shades to the vast stretches of space. The only things that remained to block his view of the cosmos were the skyscrapers and the occasional cloud. The sight of the night sky was so majestic that Ryota felt ashamed to be the only one to see it. It would overjoy him to share it with someone.

By the time Ryota looked back down to his lap, his soup was long cold. He had lost himself in thought, as he had been more and more frequently. Having reached his usual stalemates between the thoughts that continually competed in his head, Ryota was ready to sleep.

As he had before, Ryota checked and double-checked that the doors and windows were all locked. Once he felt secure, he crawled into bed. He lay there a while until he caught himself deep in thought again. Then he finally went to sleep.