Nostalgia | Dazai Osamu

1| Trauma

「prologue」

Four years ago, Yokohama.

Midnight. Low hum of traffic. A crimson shine of blood.

This sight was merely nothing.

I never grimaced whenever I drive my knife deep into my foolish victims heart any longer. If anyone thought that it was smart to try to steal, kill or injure me their life would be brutally quelled without hesitation.

They meant nothing.

I wrapped my hand around the handle of the knife, embedded in the middle aged mans' chest, my foot resting on his neck which I pushed hard against as I pulled the bloody metal knife out swiftly, the bones clicking underneath. I grabbed my purse from the mans colour draining hand, whipping of the blood from the dark leather. I stuffed it back inside my shoulder bag, a smirk on my lips.

I sigh out loud, "It's not your fault my purse wasn't in my bag." I whisper silently, to the body, "I know how tempting money can be... But it's mine."

I pull a hand to my lips, watching as he jerked around, struggling for his life.

"Now you're dying." I add, a sarcastic pout.

It wasn't long before I smirked again.

"Tell your friends in hell that I took your life for me." I whispered to him. I stand up, and step back a little, not wanting any bloody filth to ruin my red heals that I treasured the most. The man, dressed with a poor scruffy attire which was now stained with his blood, had his blue eyes wide, and his mouth open ajar, as he stared at the night sky; empty. The only movement that came from him was from the wind that swept a few stands of his hair quietly.

The murder was swift, just like usual. The body would be found within a day and disposed, and I can get on with my life.

Done with the murder, I took a large step over him, dodging over the crimson lake, and approached my lover, my heels clicking in a staccato rhythm. I covered my mouth as I yawned with my free hand, my left taken up with a knife. It started to drip as I walked, leaving stars at I went.

There was certainly the devil living inside of me.

I gave him a warm half smile as he stepped out under the shadow of a large tree, arms crossed.

"You seriously can't let one slip?" He asked. I shook my head- I thought he knew that already.

"He attacked the wrong person." I retorted, "I just want to go home with you. No one should underestimate me, either." I replied, sighing. The older male smirked his usual way at me, his long finger lifting my chin to gaze into his cold dark eyes.

"Good." He whispered, "Make no one ever think they are above you."

I smiled at him, feeling proud. I shook of the blood on the knife, and slotted it back in between my belt of my dress. He took my hand, and we walked of in the moonlight where we headed home.

"Of course." I smirked," I want to be executive like you, after all."

Home to the Mafia.

Yes, we are Mafia members. For all our lives, we knew no different to take a life whenever we please.

We were raised with guns in our hands, but before that we only had the blood in our veins and the air in our lungs. Before that we were outcasts: abandoned and unwanted. The Mafia has saved our meaningless lives.

"Do you have any work to do when we're back?" He asked me curiously.

"No. We can do whatever we want." I replied, looking into his deep brown eyes. His smirk grew, grew with lust, and I was liking it.