Free Real World by Natsuo Kirino Page A

this?”

I had no idea. I was just waiting, and hoping, that he’d get his head together and let me in on something important, something I had to know.

“You better get going,” I said.

Worm shoved the new cell phone, manual, and charger into his backpack and stood up. He turned his sulky narrow eyes to me. Birds of a feather, I thought, and waved to him. Worm clumsily made his way out of the place, bumping into the tiny tables as he left.

I sipped my iced coffee and gazed out the window. Worm went over to where my silver bike was, let out the side brake, sat down, then raised the seat. He sat down again and turned in my direction. His eyes were desperate. I just feel like I have to go somewhere, right now. “I understand totally. Just don’t get caught,” I muttered, then slurped down the rest of my coffee.

CHAPTER THREE
    WORM
    O n TV once I saw this weird scene, a Japanese soldier getting pounded on the head with a hammer. He was getting completely worked over—besides the hammer, he was being stabbed with a sharpened stick and pummeled with flying kicks.

The people who were beating him up were an emaciated old Filipino man and woman, most likely taking revenge for what the Japanese had done to them during the war. Their positions reversed now, the old Filipino woman was whaling away at the soldier, putting everything she had into it like that was the only way she could get rid of the hatred inside her. The soldier had on a grubby T-shirt and a loincloth. Somehow he was still wearing his uniform cap. His hands were tied behind him and he stood there, staggering under the blazing sun. Whenever he was about to collapse, someone off-camera pulled on the rope that bound him, so he had to remain standing up straight.

My point is, at a moment like that, what is a person thinking? I was in elementary school when I saw this scene, and I found it incredible that the soldier looked so sleepy, like he was about to doze off. He had these vacant-looking eyes, half closed like he was going to fall asleep any minute, so you couldn’t tell if he was feeling any pain. If it’d been me, I’d have been scared to death and would have cried and begged for it to end.

I remembered this scene because right now I’m so sleepy I can barely stand it. Abnormally sleepy. All the time I’m pedaling my bike I’m about to doze off. Maybe it’s the weather, but it’s weird I’d feel this way as I pedal down the blazing asphalt of the highway, inches from trucks whizzing by. It’s not like I’m tired or anything. All I’ve been doing since yesterday is tooling around on a girl’s bike. It’s been an easy trip so far. Whenever I see a convenience store I stop in to cool off, drink some water, read some manga. So there’s no reason I should be so sleepy.

So maybe the situation I’m in now is like that of the Japanese soldier. Maybe I’m not aware of it, but my unconscious is trying to escape from reality. So I guess there’s something to be afraid of.

Mother-killer. I never imagined I’d do something like that, but there it is. The shock of seeing that news program last night at the convenience store has started to make me jumpy. When I saw an article about it in the paper, I just thought, Hey, look at that! But TV is frightening.

What sort of ominous thing dwells in this suburban neighborhood? What happened to this boy who’s disappeared? Is the same darkness in this boy hidden in this seemingly quiet neighborhood?

The newscaster’s remarks were dumb, but when I saw this, it was the first time I realized what a mess I was in. Newspapers don’t count, but once something hits TV it’s all over. On news programs and talk shows people are endlessly analyzing this “darkness” in my heart. They’ll all join forces and drone on and on about my mental state—commentators and newscasters, all with these know-it-all looks on their faces, gabbing away like they know what they’re talking about. Isn’t that slander? Even