Ashimoto kara Tori ga Tatsu
(Birds Fly Up From Under One's Feet)
A solitary bird-call. An odd thing at night, at least he figured it odd. Akeno's ornithological knowledge was anything but vast. He knew of nocturnal birds, yet he had never heard them in his neighborhood. The light of his lonely cigarette waxed and waned, paling in radiance to the rowed oranges and yellows of porch-lights burning behind tinted glass. The sound of wind-chimes carried on the breeze attempted harmony with the lunar orchestra of insects.
The bird called again.
This time it's lapsing song radiated from the depths of a different tree. A different bird or the same? The night was quiet enough that he would have heard movement in the trees. After a brief moment of craning his neck in silence another bird called out, this one behind him in the twisted oak whose leafless fingers raked the side of the house whenever it swayed.
It continued like this for minutes. The bird-calls orbiting him as he took long drags from his unfiltered cigarette. He stamped the cigarette out underfoot, yet remained outside, moving in slow elliptic gaits through the tall grass of his yard as if pulled by each resounding call. Eventually they stopped, and in turn so did Akeno. He waited in silence for their return.
The knife arced and bit. Akeno's abdomen parted, thick red spraying and cresting like seawater upon coastal rocks. The last sounds received: the retreating footfalls, echoing softly from impossible angles.
