Breeding Aku

          Katagawa and Naoko were in their third year of boarding school. It was a private high school for those with an abnormal intelligence. An intelligence that can easily come off as abrasive or intimidating.  Naoko was a gentle soul. Her academics were her focus, they became her coping method as a distraction when their grandfather was found dead with “悪” carved into his chest. Her brother Katagawa got the word tattooed on his chest last year. Naoko never bothered to learn Japanese Kanji since they were adopted into an American family when she was four.

Her brother was forced to restart his academics when they moved to the states which is why he’s stuck in the same grades as her even though he understood more than she did. He always hated being in comparison to her. He believed it made him look like an ignorant fool with delays. He was six years old when his grandfather was murdered. Both of their parents were deemed unfit by the Tokyo Family Court granting his paternal grandfather custody by default.

Their adoptive parents were just lucky to get the chance at adopting any kids at all. The last eleven years of their life has been fairly easy living with Katagawa being taught how to hunt and clean his kill properly. He would often get scolded for leaving corpses unskinned, wasting the meat. Katagawa simply found it fun watching the slow rhythm of a deer’s breath as it stops. His new father was actually never the type to hunt. He only learned because Katagawa asked to be taken after he had killed a bird in the backyard by himself.

Both siblings received psychotherapy as soon as they were adopted in order to help them adjust and learn to deal with the trauma. They eventually stopped once they started middle school. Naoko had learned how to put all her energy into school while Katagawa learned to keep to himself and his sister. When they first moved she was the only one he would talk to and he was the only person she could trust for a long time— Katagawa wonders if that’s still the case.  Any time that the two of them were apart for long Naoko would panic. The night their grandfather died, Katagawa stayed awake with her in the cell keeping her company. He couldn’t sleep with the adrenaline. Since then, the two of them cannot be separated. Usually, their boarding school keeps genders segregated but they were the only exception, allowed to share a small apartment together.  

They were two weeks into the semester. Katagawa had finished preparing dinner for the night.

“What’re we having tonight Kata?” She was so soft spoken he barely heard her.

“You said you didn’t care, so just made Mac ‘n Cheese for the both of us.”

“You usually love to cook. Is everything okay?” When she spoke Katagawa didn’t even bother looking up from his plate. Nothing she ever says was worth the time.

“Hey” Naoko spoke more clearly this time. Reaching her hand out to touch his. “We are in this together. I know it’s stressful keeping a secret but I lov—“

“Don’t say it. I’m not going to say it back.” Something about the way she sulked made him hyper.

“I understand Kata. I forgot you were in charge” A smirk traveled across Katagawa’s face.

“That’s right Naoko. And what does that make you?”

“Your sister and therefore your property. I’m in love with you regardless”

“As I taught you to be. We may be stuck in this same place together but I am your superior”

“Yes Sir.” Naoko excused herself to wash the dishes. Then Katagawa snapped his fingers and she turned into his bedroom and vanished behind the darkness that loomed in the door frame.

After he cleaned his mess from dinner he entered his room to find his bed already made with Naoko quietly sitting at the edge of it.

This was the only excitement Katagawa felt all day. Watching her genuinely follow his ever command brought a sense of fetishized pride within him. Knowing that she loves him, and her believing that he cared at all was almost enough to make him laugh. If he was capable of such a thing. The way she squirmed and waited for commands as he dominated her was the only force able to pull his mind out of the past. But not with passion. He felt pure entertainment and love for what he accomplished.

When she orgasmed for only the second time in her life, the first being the night before, Katagawa imagined  it was almost like the same liberation he felt when his first bird died in his hand with its last breaths bursting out in a violent mess the same way his grandfather’s genitals used to before he was killed. It was his first step of letting go. He felt no shame for what he did, not to the bird, not to his grandfather, and definitely not to Naoko. She would remain his puppet until the day he dies himself.

The taboo was part of the adrenaline he felt. He’s been trying for the last twelve years to recreate the rush he felt as his grandfather’s dying breaths were siphoned out of his body by the Kami of death that seemed to possess Katagawa’s hands. Nothing has ever been as exciting since. As the night draws to an end, Naoko curiously runs her fingers across his tattoo. She thought it was masculine and attractive.

-“Kata... May I ask you something?”

He stared blankly into the ceiling as he barked “What is it?”

“What does the Kanji in your tattoo say?”

“It’s more like a brand. It’s pronounced ‘Aku’.”

“What does it mean?”

“Evil”

            “Evil? Wait why would that be carved into Grandfather, his death ruined our lives in Japan”

            “You don’t know what you’re talking about. It was beautiful and liberating. The man got what he earned”

            “Kata… what are you—”

“Shut the fuck up Naoko before you ask something you’ll regret. Nothing in our existence is more contagious than ‘Aku’. You’re just too naïve to know it.”

            She sat back in what Katagawa could only guess was shock. She stayed silent for the rest of the night. And never asked him for an answer. Katagawa no longer knew what she felt. But he didn’t care because she still obeyed him; now even more so. He was entertained for the moment.

Gloves

         The sun was falling but it was just high enough to still find its way into your eye at the wrong angle. I got sunburned today. There will be no trace of it, living out here under a bus stop I never get to find much shade. When you have everything, time goes by the fastest. When you have nothing time barely has any meaning.
        “Hey, you got a lighter?”  I jumped at the sound of her voice as I wasn’t expecting company. I hadn’t even noticed when this woman sat down. Her eyes were blank. Not filled with disgust or any sense of joy. Only boredom.
    “Only if you’re willing to share”
“Deal” she said. “What bus are you waiting on?” As the menthol coats my throat in nostalgia I gesture to my small pack and convenience store vodka.
“I live here. I’m just waiting on life.” I can barely feel the sliver of Clover Black® between my fingers.
“How does a bum like you even get to live on city property?”
“If you behave yourself they just pretend you don’t exist all together.”
She nods with a sense of familiarity. “My phone is dead and I’ve got thirty minutes to kill. I assume you have stories if you’ve not gotta house. Name’s Marla by the way. Do you remember yours?”
“It was probably Joe or something like that.” Her name put a pit in my stomach for some reason.
“Alright then Joe, watcha got?”
“A Divorce, debt and scars the sun can’t burn away”
“Tragic, Go on.” She smirked                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                     
|“Well, back in ’84 I got married right out college to a woman named Stacy. We met in an Architecture program. I was one of the least patronizing men there. Love was easy when all your needs are taken care of.  She and I had spent most of our marriage trying to have children. After five years of failure we weren’t exactly the most stable couple. Nothing like a night of running mascara and broken furniture. We decided to separate after the neighbors had us both arrested for dragging one of our fights outside. Once the divorce was finalized I kept the house and she kept everything else. All just so she could go wind up dead in the end”. My cigarette went out as I rambled
“Your wife was murdered?”
“No, cervical cancer. I don’t know why we didn’t catch it sooner.” Marla doesn’t look phased much. Just interested I suppose.
 “That’s rough. My grandma died of it a decade back. If you had a house what are you homeless for?”
“Gambling and drinking. I had nothing better to do. I vowed never to find love again after her funeral so I sold the house and downsized for an apartment that was in worse condition than my emotions were at the time. Eventually, I just stopped going to work. I stopped talking to her family and isolated myself. It was simply an easier way to live. When the bubble popped in 2008 all my debt caught up with me since I lost our savings in during the divorce. And so from my apartment was evicted and I was reduced to a beggar with a Bachelor’s Degree. Might as well be the road you kids are headed on at this rate”.
“I’ve been a bum and whore myself a few years ago” I saw no regret in her eyes as she said this. “It’s still pretty tough but at least I got a place to sleep, shit and eat”.
“Enjoy it while you can” I chuckle.
“So what’s with this crochet glove you got on? It’s the only part of you that doesn’t look homeless.”
“It’s not really mine. There used to be a little girl who would go across the street every week and get herself one of those cheap pre-made ice cream cones with dark chocolate at the bottom. She would wave sometimes. Occasionally she’d drop her change in my bag if she had any. All her gloves were hand made. You see, I got this glove from her the last time I saw her. She’d walk past with different patterns every month. Turns out she does them herself. Often to match the pink tips in her hair. It became one of those silent bonds which almost filled my desire to have a child. She was young enough to not be so self-concerned as to put my existence in the background as almost all citizens do.
As she got older I grew more ragged and recognized as the drunken mess that I was— that I am. She didn’t shop as often and when she did there was always men with her. On the last day I saw her she was with this Louie Viton of a person. Certainly not worth the price he thinks he is. I could smell the insecurities and disappointment from his presence. He was certainly going to taint her good soul. She didn’t even look in my direction that day.
After they left the store, wannabe Louie gave me a $20 bill. It was folded into four and wrinkled at the ends. A vending machine’s worst enemy. Clearly it was pocket change to him. I felt an uncomfortable tension between the two of them as I thanked them. When they got to the corner I could hear them arguing over something on one of those smartphone apps. She was starting to cry as she got louder and angrier with him, He tried dragging her across the street but she wouldn’t budge.
Suddenly the two teenagers disappeared and I saw my wife and me again. I began to approach my past-self trying to warn him of what would happen. Trying to tell him of how little time she has left. As I hit the ground I was jolted back into reality. With ‘Louie’ standing over me screaming.
“Go back and mind your own fucking business you crazy bum”.
In my hysteria, I didn’t back down like I should have. When I got back into his face she tried to break us up. I shoved her out of the way. Within seconds I felt ash fill my lungs. She slipped off the curb and fell right into the path of a Jeep Grand Cherokee going 50 in a 35. I remember the way Louie’s voice cracked with despair as she put a skull shaped dent into the hood of the car.”
“So it goes” Marla chimes in.
“So it did. I lost the second most important person I’ve met by my own hands. It was like watching your own appendix get removed without anesthesia. As the tires ceased to move her body hit the pavement like a pile of towels soaked in blood and bone fragments. At this moment, I felt mine burst. I could almost hear the faint whistle of her punctured lung before she even hit the ground.
Just like that the driver nor her boyfriend payed any more attention to me. Now I was not only a bum but a murderer. In a panic I picked up one of her gloves and stayed a few blocks away for a while. It went down as a lover’s quarrel last I heard. Haven’t ran into ‘Louie’ since.”
I look up just to see Marla staring at me with the same bewilderment an infant has the first time they see their own reflection. I can’t tell if she’s sickened yet by my actions. The sun was setting. Now fully in dusk.
“Well thanks for entertaining me. What an unlucky man you are Joe.” She was cut off by the engine of the bus whirring as it came to a halt. The screech of the tires still makes me flinch.
“Enjoy your five fingered Albatross.” she says as she steps up to the lowered entrance. The bus doors shut and there goes the last of Marla I will ever see.