This is the final story in this summer’s online Flash Fiction series. You can read the entire series, and our Flash Fiction from previous years, here.
To be read on New Year’s Day, in the year 3000 A.D.
It’s cold. The wind was really blowing last night, so this morning the waves are still a little high. Wind is scary. It makes all kinds of sounds when it blows. Whooshing. Howling. Rattling. Roaring. Out-of-the-ordinary sounds. Out-of-the-ordinary things are scary.
It’s cold. I cooked some rice and gnawed on a bit of dried fish. I love the smell of cooking rice. It smells like drowsy autumn nights, cozy in bed.
Taro and millet have got scarce, and since there’s hardly any rice left the gruel is thin. I’m hoping to catch some fish today, so I won’t eat much of the rice. I’ll save it for later.
I caught two fish. A big one and a small one. It’s a clear day, so I can see off in the distance. On clear days I can see far, and on cloudy days I can’t, but I can still hear sounds from off in the distance.
I can see Tokyo Tower. It takes a day to walk to Tokyo Tower. I tried it once. It looks beautiful from here, but as I got closer it was run-down. It was a deserted and lonely place. It’s nice around here because other people live nearby.
It’s cold. Hello. I’m glad I got to see you. I love seeing you. I love talking with you. Dried fish is delicious, isn’t it? Yesterday, I saw a big setting sun. A setting sun is so red. Redder even than the leaves in early winter.
You and I held each other a little. When I put my arms around you, and you put your arms around me, and we squeeze each other tightly, it feels warm. I set the fish down on top of a rock and held you tightly for a moment. You smelled like grass.
I haven’t seen anyone for three days. Maybe four days. Maybe a week. Your father said that we mustn’t stop counting days or stop talking. A long time ago, lots and lots of people lived on this island. Now there are only a few of us.
Tokyo Tower is beautiful. Even though it’s so run-down from up close. Faraway things are mysterious. Mysterious and scary.
I want to give you one of the fish. I’ll cut it open and sprinkle it with sea salt. The two of us once ate one together. We ate all the rice, too. Eating together is better than eating alone. I’m drying the smaller fish. I’ll be careful not to let any animals or birds snatch it.
I sang songs. They were songs your father taught me. The songs sounded strange. They sounded like they came from far away. It’s strange how something from far away can be inside me. I sang three songs.
It’s a little cold. You said that today is a new year. A new year comes around every so often. It comes round when it gets cold.
Happy New Year, you said. Happy New Year, I said, mimicking you. Then we held each other again, tightly, for a little.
Let’s try not to forget, you said. Forget what? I asked. This. Here. Now, you said. Everything up to now. And everything from here on. It’s hard to remember, but I wanted to try not to forget, too.
Goodbye. You left, so I tilled the field a little before it got dark. The setting sun is red. I’m starting the fire now. I’ll cook a thin gruel, and drink water from the jug.
Your father taught me that there used to be lots of people on this island. What were all those people like? Is there anyone who still remembers anything about them, after all this time? Are they out there, somewhere far away?
It’s cold. Happy New Year. I love you. When can I see you again? ♦
(Translated, from the Japanese, by Allison Markin Powell.)
