“Yet another continuance of what was known as time had passed. The enormous capacity of the soul to capture the pure essence of its creation left him with scars so deep that he felt as the great canyons of Mars or the energy flux of the great Black Hole in the far ends of what was then known as Universe,and now just a single point in the vastness of it all, which encircled all and void at the same singularity instance.
The fields where no more of grass and corn, of steel and ozone, of the flocks of species that ruled the Earth. At that singularity point, at that instance of space no more communication existed.
No more junctions between words.
No more letters to form words.
No more need for expressing oneself using the vocal chords,the airways,the tongue,the teeth,the lips, the way it was meant to be used.
The well tuned performing orchestra of human interaction just ceased to exist. Not by choice, not by need, not by pursuing the music to stop but merely creating new.”
Keys stop to crackle under the fingers. The screen emitting white-blue gradient light all over the room, the cooling fans race with time and heat ,them blades creating a mild fluctuation to the silence of that summer night.
Again that eerie feeling of touching the keyboard. The old fear of devoured creativity by some strange power. Which already had been concluded that was his own personal drama,own personal kill switch.
The first notes of Pink Floyd’s classic “One of these Days…” pound inside the walls like a breathing living organism. Sweat breaks from the forehead,so cold like that chip of ice scraping the forehead in Tierra Del Fuego not more than 2 years ago. So heavy that feels like a new trench is carved from the left side of the forehead down towards the edge of his brow. He feels that small clear crystal dropping from the edge taking its way to the floor.
In his mind he already has planned,designed and executed the drop pattern. It will land perfectly after 1.6 seconds exactly 1.6 cm from the desk’s edge.
Everything is drawn and materializing in a blink of an eye, millimeter by millimeter, his complete world is now revolving around that single droplet. All his synapses are working to construct the movie he conceived and directed a few portions of the second ago.
But Asbjorn Koji Himura had no power of the supernatural,no secrets to bear and to hide late at night.
The drop of sweat landed on his desk. He picked up his mobile phone,not to answer but to mute the pounding of the song in his ears.
-“As, Akane, she is nowhere to be found”
-“Yesterday, she left earlier from her Arts session and she has given no signs of life”
-“Asa, we have to find her”
-“I know brother,i know”
His Norwegian blood was now taking over,enraged he started packing a small suitcase. He had to hurry. He had to be there for his sister.
Akane,16 years old, still a small,unprotected bonsai tree,handled with love,care but not yet shaped.