The result of watching Makoto Shinkai's "Other Worlds"
I would dearly recommend listening to Erik Satie's "Trois Gymnopedies - Lent et douloureux" while reading this
The Train of Eternity
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The train has its own heartbeat. Sometimes it beats in time with mine. Sometimes it beats faster. Sometimes slower. It never stops, not even when the train stops. It is still there, reverberating in my mind. Never halting, never pausing, never faltering. Never giving me any peace.
This is the Train of Eternity.
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The rain is pounding hard against the windows. I'm almost certain the glass will break, but it never does. There are some girls standing in front of me. I wonder why they won't sit down. There's plenty of room - the train is strangely empty - yet they only stand there, talking. Talking. . . I can see their mouths moving, but no sound comes out. Still they giggle at each other's replies and gesture like mad. I can't for all in the world imagine what they are saying; the memories of my teenage past have all but passed and no sound of the living has reached my ears in many years. Only music, soft instrumental music. Even now I can hear the piano playing.
It's like watching a film. You see all these things happening, everyday events and more bizarre ones, yet you can't do anything. You can weep, laugh or cry out but the film will pay you no heed. It will go on until the end no matter you think of it. The whole time, the only sound you hear is music. That's what my life is like now. It has been so the last - I don't know how long. Forever, it seems. I don't know. I can't remember.
The girls are leaving. How long did they stay? Two stops? Three? Not long, that is for certain. One is staying behind, though. She won't stay for long, I know. Most likely she'll be off after the next stop. I've been here so long myself, observing the others, I can tell which ones will stay and which ones won't. The guy next to me, for example. He's been here a very long time, but now he's waking up. I guess he will be leaving with the girl. The old woman in the corner will probably die here, though. She was here when I got on. I know she will stay even long after I'm gone. That is, if I ever get off.
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It's strange how you just notice some people and they make such an impression upon you, you recognize them immediately when you see them again later. They don't even have to be different to stand out like that. Some of them are, of course, but not everyone. The man who just came on, for example, and the woman the stop after. Japanese, both of them, with dark hair and eyes. Normal-looking people. I know they will leave together. The man left for a while, but he came back fairly soon. They are standing together now, talking every now and then. The man seems rather perverted - his hand keeps wandering towards any female behind it can find - but he makes her smile. People occasionally find each other here. They leave sooner when they do. I'm beginning to think that is the only way I can leave, as I am unable to leave by myself.
I was right. They left together just now.
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The world keeps on turning. The train keeps on going. It never ends. Outside, autumn has arrived. There are red and yellow leaves everywhere. I want to go out and dance among them, but I can't move. My mind is dusty, my body heavy. I keep humming to a temariuta I heard a long time ago.
Autumn turns to winter, and as the train suddenly becomes crowded, for the first time in years I hear a sound other than a piano playing.
I hear a voice.
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"Move. You are in my way."
I stare. He's one of those people you can't forget. I swear I will still remember him when I am ninety years old and as senile as my grandmother once was. Three reasons: One, you would be hard pressed to find a woman more beautiful than him; two, his hair is white, seriously white, shiny, silvery white; and three, I can hear his voice. Gods, I want to cry. There have been people who have tried to talk to me before - one of them with a striking resemblance to the man here - but I could never hear their voices. Not even faintly. Only his. It scares the living daylight out of me. I can hear his voice! Why?
He's looking strangely at me, and I realize I must have stared at him for a long time, completely dumbfounded. I clear my throat and try to remember what he said. Something about moving, wasn't it?
"Is it so with you as well that you can't hear what other people are saying?"
I feel so stupid. Obviously he thinks so as well as he doesn't deign me with a reply but raises one eyebrow instead. I clear my throat again before moving a little to let him pass. I feel a pang of regret as he gets off the train. There goes my only possible conversationalist.
--
The snow is still falling. But something is changing.
--
He's here again.
He seems really arrogant, his head held high, his back straight, his golden eyes looking down at people. We are both in each our own world completely different from the worlds of others, him in his world of ice and unreachable cherry blossoms, me in my world of silent music and pastel colours. It is as if everything in the world is grey - everything except us. Yet we are far apart so our colours do not mix and we cannot paint the world, thus giving it life. We might try to give colour to those we know, but they will fade. In the end, he and I will be the only ones left. No. Only he. My own colours are fading.
He's leaving.
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Dareka tasukete.
--
Again.
I'm still here. The world continues to revolve. I don't care. He is becoming the centre of my world. I can't hear his voice. He's not talking. I want to hear it.
Say something.
He's not listening. Maybe it is the same with him as with me. No voice will reach our ears. Then why, why could I hear him that time? Why?
Hey, talk to me again! I'm going insane here and it's your fault! If you just hadn't said anything back then, or if you had been just like the others, grey and voiceless, I would still be living happily in my little world of silence. It's your fault. So say something. Deny it, agree with me, comment the weather, tell me I'm a fool - I don't care. Just say something. Hey, are you listening?
Are you really happy in that world of yours?
What...?
Idiot.
--
Spring has arrived and the landscape is covered in mist. Ghostly trees and orange lights appear out of thin air. I cannot help but marvel at the beauty of it. I wish I had my camera with me. Then this moment would be eternal.
--
"Wake up."
I open my eyes and smile. His voice is like the sun on a dour and rainy day. "It's you."
Ah, I said something stupid again. Yet I feel peaceful, so I do not care.
"Yes, me. Make some room, will you?" He gestures impatiently at the several seats I had occupied while sleeping. I'm still sleepy and don't feel like moving much, so I just push one of my bags down on the floor. He gives me an annoyed look before sighing and sitting down. I smile.
"I met your brother once. He is your brother, right? You two look so much alike, you cannot be anything but. He is very immature, isn't he? Nice, though."
"Hn."
He is trying to ignore me, I can tell. My smile broadens.
"What do you do? Do you work for a company? You look like a businessman. Well, except the hair, perhaps."
He doesn't answer.
"I'm a photographer. I usually take photographs of people or scenery for magazines. I love it. The world can be really beautiful at times. Well? What do you do?"
Abruptly he asks, "Why are you here?"
That took me off-guard. My smile disappears. So he understands what this place is. I take my time answering, mulling over the question.
"I'm trying to forget, I think. You?"
Again he does not answer. I would be surprised if he did. I reach out and take his hand in mine as the rain starts to pound against the windows. His hand is much larger than mine and somehow cool and warm at the same time. It comforts me. He does not move. The train feels empty.
"I am not sure why I am here."
"What is your name?"
"Sesshoumaru."
"Pleased to meet you, Sesshoumaru. I'm Kagome."
--
Summer will be here soon.
He leaves every now and then, like before, but he returns each time. Sometimes we talk, sometimes we don't. Sometimes we stand apart, sometimes we hold hands, sometimes we are in each other's embrace. Colour is slowly returning to the world. I hear voices, friends talking, children laughing, couples flirting. The insanity is turning into a dry river. I'm no longer trying to forget, because I don't care. He is the centre of my world. His voice is the sun on a dour and rainy day. I love even his arrogance.
Summer and autumn has passed by, and winter is here again.
--
"Come with me."
I look at him, then at the white landscape outside. I don't remember how it feels like to have snow on my face. "But it's cold."
His smile is wry. "Then put more clothes on. Come."
"All right."
--
Are you happy now?
Probably.
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Temariuta - Temari song. A song sung while playing with a temari ball. - http://temarikai.com/
Dareka tasukete - somebody save me
Please tell me what you think.
This story can also be found on fanfiction.net under the same name.