sam mewled witheringly at her owner, a yawn of disinterest showing off her sharp canines. matsu hisses with displeasure, leaning out of her window and peering at her furred escapee. “Sam, get back up here this instant,” she says, using her best ‘mom’ voice. Sam’s only indication he’d heard her was a jaunty flick of her tail, before she slipped inside the open window of the condo above matsu’s own.
the alien gave a groan of despair. she didn’t know the occupant of the floor above her very well. but most of the neighbors whispered that there was something mysterious about him. it itched at the imagination. some were intrigued, other’s cautious. she didn’t have the time to be either, between studies, work, and those few social calls she managed to make over the weekends. she whines, calling out her feline charges name again, trying to stretch her neck and peer up, seeing if maybe he’d come back to the other person’s window. he didn’t.
with a curse, matsu withdrew herself from her window and threw on some extra clothes and sneakers, padding out of her apartment and up the stairs (faster than the elevator) to the higher level, trying to discern if the occupant was home or not. she stares at the door, fist hesistating a moment before she gave two very firm knocks. nothing. she tried again – nothing. she looked around, then grumbled under her breath. “see sam, see what you make me have to do?”
cautiously, she pulls a pin from her hair, leaning down and beginning to start work on picking the lock of the stranger that lived above her.
of all the games yixing has played, this is the longest and by far, his most favorite. a mimicry of the human routine ——— wake up, eat, sleep. struggle to fit in society in between. he holds a folded newspaper in his hand and a mug of black coffee in the other. the aroma dulls his senses. when he looks outside, sunlight engulfs the space between the glass windows and the outline of the cityscape dissolves in a whirlwind of saturated sunrise and endless coastlines —— structures lie down, flaps folding on top of the other until they become the sea. people become grains of sand ( and return to their insignificance ). constantly dreaming after waking up isn’t part of the game but his version of play pretend can only go for so long.
flames erupt in the middle of the newspaper in his hands. the sea, the grains of sand, him, standing against the backdrop of an unknown sky. everything burns. the rain starts to pour but the fires remain. burning ——— with the world ( the pessimism insists ) in a slow and painful smoldering, and being quenched simultaneously. it feels good. but the heat blazes like wildfire and his flesh and bones melt altogether like candlewax.
when a cat ruptures the vision and tears down the surreal painting with sharp little claws on the open window, he's not even surprised. strangeness is a normalcy. when he hears the knocking, he sets down the newspaper and the half-empty mug on the nearby coffee table. the cat mewls —— yixing stares ( searches for answers in its round eyes for a moment — finds none ) and picks it up. he gets to the door with a stray cat in his arms and sees a lady ( unfamiliar ) leaning down to the doorknob. thief ?
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