A writing based on BSD, but with the realistic essence of my person.
Dedicated to my grandfather who recently passed away.
Rest in peace, grandfather.
It was said that life was three days.
Only three days.
And three days only.
Nothing more, nothing less.
On the first day, the birth.
On the second, the growth.
And on the third, one perished.
Only three days.
And three days only.
The brevity was so great that on the second day it seemed as if one had been born the day before.
Suddenly it didn't seem like years had passed, but days, hours, minutes, seconds.
It seemed as if yesterday one had months and today one would be at death's door.
The absolute naked cruelty, stripped of illusions of the infinity of years that, in the end-
were like just a few hours.
On the third day, then, it seemed like seconds.
Which was why a life - human life - was not years.
It's days.
Making the right choices was not always possible and, more than anyone, Dazai knew that.
Perhaps that's why bouquet of flowers rested in his hands, next to his belly - and why he stood before a round and hideous stone with a round letter and a surname that made his stomach turn.
N. Chuuya
Not even in his wildest dreams had he imagined that moment.
But as they say, in three days... anything can happen.
And that rock was cruel proof of that.
...
...
And... the ephemerality of human life was humiliating for the high and grand dreams of each one.
(Still it never ceased to amaze him.)
To tear apart the highest expectations, the lightest thoughts, leaving chaos and insecurity.
Not exactly for himself, but for others.
And Dazai still wanted to die, even after everything that had happened.
Especially after what had happened.
His eyes didn't see the world the same way after definitively losing a small piece of distant memories…
And if before-
If in the dungeon Dazai had seen the cold and distant opacity of an old acquaintance's eyes...
And the evident distance from the ties of the past...
Now, even those, had been lost-
forever
He saw them as small fragments of the film that was his life.
And if he stretched out his fingers-
He'd watch how quick they would vanish like soft and desert sand.
It was a consistency converted into disorganized pieces that would never be put back together.
There were too many cracks and empty spaces.
It was a shattered relationship.
A lost case.
But now, if Dazai ever wanted to recover it?
It would not be possible.
That was the reality, that was what hurt the most.
Because, matter how powerful it was... it was still a fragile crystal, that broke with absurd ease.
As sweet as popping a thin bubble of soap with a needle.
Plock!
(Chuuya-)
And then, those three days, were not three days.
They became a day, hours, or minutes.
Then, just like that, the arrival of death had been brought forward.
The schedule had been changed.
And she, a lady dressed in blind darkness and with eyes so white they looked like snowflakes, as fragile as the wheat she was harvesting.
Movements devoid of pity and her beautiful, white arms raised in anticipation, carrying a harvest in her hand, letting it fall on the soul of the poor unfortunate.
And then-
Zasp!
Suddenly there was no time for goodbyes, kisses or hugs.
Suddenly it was the end.
The very and human end.
And if there was ever something left to say, the timer had already gone off.
It would be too late.
(It was too late)
The alarm had been activated and life... a life had been ended.
But Dazai lived, he, Dazai was alive and the other-
No, the other two.
Dead.
"Please, show me some kindness and take me with you…"
What would it be like to die?
He wondered.
It was never a thought that had never crossed his mind, but now...
It was different.
Death was not meaningless, not anymore.
But still...
What would there be beyond the precipice?
He couldn't help but think.
The eyes and the soul would close and then… what would happen?
And that would have to be asked of those who can no longer speak.
Their once pink, red lips, now with a deadly shade of purple hardened and roughened by the paleness of the end.
The paleness of death.
And suddenly death didn't seem as beautiful as its ideal.
" Ahh a double suicide, what a sweet ring it has!"
It was not beautiful.
It was not pretty, much less happy.
But even so, the tears - those waters, human eyes let out when they were sad - did not come to him.
(He was never a human being)
Perhaps assured by the futile hope of believing in his plan.
His chest, however, felt heavy.
Terribly heavy.
His heart beating faster and faster was the confirmation of the pain he had felt.
The pain he was currently, feeling.
And it weighed there as if a rope had been tied to his heart, along with a rock.
Somehow, similar to a ship sinking on the sea of life.
And so, like the desperate owner of the ship…
He did not know what to do.
The feeling of seeing someone who once had walked, talked, breathed-
That was now laying on the ground was like seeing a thirsty flower that had nothing, absolutely nothing left to give in an unreachable vase.
It was the cycle of nature, the cycle of life.
Despite knowing death was part of life - after all life was three days-
He did not know how to deal with it, even if he claimed to crave for it.
Too much pain, too much regret, too many emotions.
(For him)
He had buried his friend, but he hadn't been able to burry his partner.
No, his former partner but his longest acquaintance, nevertheless.
(His partner, since he was fifteen years old)
But the tears did not appear in the corners of his eyes.
He had not seen Chuuya's body.
He would have sunk into that small cubicle and stayed there.
He had thought that death was something boring for Chuuya.
Death, pain made Chuuya boring, nothing interesting.
But a death, a death that was not his own, made Dazai human.
Chuuya... he was strong, loyal and…in his own way… he was a kind man.
(That was what made Dazai want to not die)
He deserved better than to die as a piece of a plan.
Would… would they remember him?
Chuuya had always been greatly admired and respected by everyone, but… who would really care about visiting him, even if he wasn’t on Earth?
(Dazai would do it.)
He had only come to leave a bouquet of flowers, lilies, at a stone with the name of his former partner.
No one had the courage to recover the man’s remains and honestly, Dazai didn’t comment on the matter.
He was faced with earth and stone.
What a terrible end.
He knew death would be the one able to free him, Chuuya, from oblivion and no one would know who he had been.
He finally had gotten rid of his curse, but… at what cost?
He was, now, just another grave among many others.
The false confidence he had placed in his plans was painful.
He had made a mistake.
A mistake he knew it was bound to happen sooner of later.
(Moments like these reminded him of how he was just a human being)
(A human being able of faillure)
Dazai’s mistakes always ended in tragedy.
Everything had to be perfect.
…
…
And one… one of the features that Dazai liked to appreciate the most from afar were human facial expressions.
Particularly, the bright or dull orbs that were the beacons of each person’s soul.
The eyes, the human eye, the mirror of the soul.
For a long time, Dazai had seen the world with only one eye, oblivious to the other riches of life.
When he entered the agency, he was met with completely different eyes than the ones he was used to seeing — happy, light and carefree.
And this caused him a feeling of distance, like seeing the light at the end of a long walk, but being too tired or afraid to get there.
They were luminous eyes, kind eyes, smiling eyes, friendly eyes… of the most diverse shades.
They were like little lights that illuminated Dazai's path, once dark and gloomy.
Temporary lights, drowned out by the darkness, but that still shone, as if it had never seen the shadows of life.
In the Mafia, the lights that existed came from blood and sparks from violent fights.
For him, the illumination was provided by the Lupin Bar and his two friends, who appeared as quickly as they disappeared.
People came and went, like a light that turns on and off as soon as you plan to use its illumination.
"Goodbye!"
He knew, more than anyone, this perfectly well.
He just didn't expect it to happen to the strongest person he had ever met.
The person who had shown him what it felt like being alive.
(How to be human, how to love)
(How to accept emotions, as powerful as love)
But life was a joke.
An absolute cruel joke.
Human nature, like its beauty, was ephemeral.
Finite.
It still seemed like yesterday that Dazai had crossed the stormy path of Nakahara Chuuya, the fifteen-year-old boy who had shaken his world from the first moment they had met.
It was surreal to be standing in front of a memorial to the -once - fifteen-year-old boy he had met on day one.
But as they say, life has three days and Chuuya's third day had arrived.
And Dazai had always known it.
He was know to control his pieces well.
(Chuuya was never his pawn)
How they would act…
(Dazai was never been able to control Chuuya)
(Nor he wanted to)
And the way they could fall.
(Dazai never thought about this for a second)
(Chuuya had always been that wild card that would survive.)
(No matter what)
(At least Dazai thought that much)
But it seems that Chuuya was made from the same darkness as his.
And deep inside he always had known that.
(He just didn't want to face the inevitable and incoming tragedy)
