The scuff and slosh of the approaching footsteps through the puddles were getting closer, but she dare not look up. Soon, she became immobile, but her finger was hovering over the ‘0’ of ‘110’ on her cellphone.
The menacing aura held her in a tightening grip and fear became a tangible, like living force that crept over (Y/N).
It was beginning difficult to ignore the loudening alarm bells. However, instead of veering to one side of the walkway, the man continued down the middle. He’s not going to hurt you.’ Her mind echoed. (Y/N) jumped, but managed to steady her breath and force down the panic that was bubbling up. She could smell a hint of sizzling pork, burnt bread, and the fragrance of wine.Īt the end of the alley, a pitch-black silhouette slid in front of the very light her eyes were pasted to. The alleyway cut int between two restaurants. Maybe she would have been to a stray cat, but not to another human being. (Y/N) took a deep breath and ambled down the snug path, trying and failing to appear in control and intimidating. The sooner she could get home, the sooner she could take some medicine for her aching head and lie down in the peace and quiet. Like the border between the worlds of the living and dead.
It was a shortcut, but it looked like a Stygian slit of perpetual mist and darkness. She eyed an alleyway and calculated about where it would lead out. Work that day had been enervating which made the noise of street venders and shop owners ushering potential customers their way even more grating. The throngs were unusually boisterous and it caused (Y/N) to be on high alert as she slunk past. She knew her long-time boyfriend, Majima Goro, lurked the streets every night and undoubtedly had his men posted in certain areas to keep an eye on her as she got off work and made her way back home. Much like a monstrous vulture that hovers, biding its time. When she was alone the blaze of the lights became unnatural, hostile and menacing.
(Y/N) knew when the lights flipped on, it was past time to get back to her apartment. They were foreboding, but also a welcome pardon from the lights that throbbed continuously like a migraine - one that only intensified (Y/N)’s. The seldom stretches of pavement that were not under flashing lights glowed like pale blue china under the dull spring moon, especially the plethora of tight alleyways. It was the very time for people to make love in overpriced love hotels, or kill each other, or sometimes both. The dark hours when men’s nerves become taut with the help of inebriant courage and women’s fears escalated, inflamed by the ubiquitous, raptorial gawking of the latter. In the deep of the night, the dregs, the sediment at the bottom of the coffee cup would emerge and it was encouraged and celebrated in Tokyo’s Red Light District. In some places there is a lull, but it is like that of the eye of a hurricane.
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