i sit in my chair
in front of me is my computer outside the open window, i hear
shrieks and cries as children play and fight in webs of metal i lean
back my chair pressed from years of work into a form fitting cradle around
my body i can see five of my novels on a shelf above my computer
encouragement for a sixth
i have never been here before
i cannot write
how can i i am five days old
the person who did these things removed himself
the fragment of novel on the screen has not changed in three months
six days ago nishikawa akane was hit by a car her picture rests by
my bed there are pictures of me on the walls with her but the pictures
are empty in my heart like pictures in a new wallet
the address book by the phone is pristine not even the gold 1995 on
the front is worn by age
memory and emotion can be erased that is one of the few things I
know starting like this is wrong
i stand
and pick up my jacket
and walk out the door
through which children can
still be heard
and go play
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Author's note:
I'm pretty sure this is a lain fanfic. Or maybe a lain poem. Not sure
which. I do know that A) I watched Lain, and B) I wrote this. But since I
haven't posted anything in a while, I thought I'd send it out.
Disclaimer: Lain is not my fault, nor my property. I'm doing this without
the permission of Lain's proper owners. In no way is this work intended to
challenge said owners' ownership of Lain.
The Gentleman Caller
gcaller@hotmail.com