CLICHÈ || Knb《Akashi Seijuro》

#clash no. 014

WARNING: Contains Psychotic thoughts and torture. It's nothing severe (in my opinion), still, just in case 👻

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Sometimes she did not know what she feared, what she desired: whether she feared or desired what had been or what would be, and precisely what she desired, she did not know.

Leo Tolstoy, Anna Karenina

How does softness feel like? The smooth hairy texture, or is it hair? The slightly gold silver hair. What do you call this? Gold- ish blonde? It's a rare color indeed. Extremely rare in Japan. Probably wanted by most girls and dyed by half. But hers were real. You could say only with a glimpse. The shimmering blonde, the sparkling gold, the wavy smooth locks.

But he does not like it.

I run my fingers through them again. Using both of my hands. The gold- ish fairy texture. It's beautiful. It looks beautiful. It feels beautiful. And what looks and feels alike, what holds the same inner and outer beauty is named pure.

But he does not like it.

I entangle my finger around one lock. The single lock reflects the sunlight, making a half rainbow, bearing the colors orange, green and yellow. I tighten my finger around it, and stare. And wonder what would happen if I tear it up. What would the creature I've held down do when I rend it one by one, each after another. Would it make a sound? Would there be any sound when pulled off of its roots? And would that sound be good? I look up, watch the sun shining brightly. Then look back at the single lock encircled around my forefinger. The little rainbow creating a pretty view among the others, making it look spacial, superior and divine.

But he does Not like it.

Using a small amount of force, I pull the lock in the opposite side of, peeling it off of its skin. The creature underneath me cries in pain. Or rather, tries to. The muffled sounds coming out of its gaged mouth tells me about that much. My eyes light up, my hands tremble with excitement. I can see the scene in front of my open eyes, like a day dream; all the hair- I should use the word fur, all the fur of the lying creature fallen in one little pile (or would that be a big pile? Can you call this a pile?), and the beautiful skin underneath it visible in the summer daylight. I can already imagine how beautiful it would look, how admiring it might seem.

But he does NOT like it.

I start my work. Suddenly feeling busy about something I don't even know about. Oh! I do. Of course I do. It's the urge to see something beautiful, it's the urge to see something you don't usually see, it's the urge to see something you aren't supposed to see.

It's the urge to see secret, the forbidden, the hidden.

The muffled cries from the creature underneath me gets loud. Loud and loud and loud and LOUD. I smack hard on its head, it stared at me, as if trying to say something. I stop my work and decide to look at its eyes. They're blue, with freckles of black dots here and there. They resemble the summer sky, they resembles happiness. They assure you that things will be okay. That bad things come only to make you appreciate goodness. That sadness is not the opposite but an important part of happiness. That hatred is not the polar but the same feeling as love. They tell you about the love you think you deserve, they tell you about the dreams you see come true, they tell you about stories that never get old. They tell you about everything. Just like hers.

But he hates it.

I break our eye contact. And sit still for a moment. Back to work, I urge myself. Back to the beauty that awaits you. And I get back. One after another. One after another. But there's so many. There's so much! It'll take a long time. Maybe dawn would fall and the next day arrive but I'd still be sitting here; alone in the woods, in the middle of wildflowers, holding a gaged creature underneath.