Shisui was half dead on his couch. He was upside down, legs spread out, head hanging off the edge, and pressed against the mat. If someone walked in, they might've thought he was dead. Then came a loud knock on the door. Shisui twisted his face. He forced himself to stand up. His joints were cracking painfully from being stuck in that awkward position. He glanced around the house, checked the time on the wall clock; it was 5 p.m., the window, the couch, and the kitchen; everything seemed normal, except for the book he had been reading that morning. Surprisingly, it was nowhere to be found. Completely gone.
"Where the fuck is my book?" He blurted out. "I'm sure I was reading it this morning before..." The loud knock on the door interrupted him. "Wait!" He screamed. Shisui checked one more time, yet no trace of it. He tried to remember, but to his shock, he couldn't recall anything that had happened after he sat down on the couch. He threw a sigh and went to check who was knocking on his door this whole time. It was Mr. Toshiro, the old neighbor next to his door.
"Hello, Mr. Toshiro!" Shisui said as he opened the door. "What's up?"
Mr. Toshiro's face flooded with relief. He let out a deep breath and dropped to his knees. "Shouldn't you be at work, boy?" he asked, catching his breath. "I passed by and heard someone moving. I thought those guys had found a way into your apartment."
"So you knocked just to see who was here…" Shisui said.
"Bingo, Mr. Sherlock," Mr. Toshiro replied.
"And what if someone else had opened the door?" Shisui asked, irony in his voice.
The old man gave a sharp whistle, and his dog jogged over. Then he reached behind the door and pulled out a baseball bat. "I'd have kicked their ass," he said. "And I'll kick yours too if you keep mouthing off."
Shisui chuckled. "I took a day off! I was feeling a bit..."
"I don't care, as long as you're alive, boy!" He cut him off, then turned and walked away with his dog.
What a weird old man, Shisui thought. Kindness from a stranger always left him uncomfortable. It stirred up the same stupid question in his mind: Why? He knew better than to ask it. "Why" had a way of ruining things. Asking why something happened always killed the joy of simply letting it be. He made it back to the living room. Where was I? he asked himself. "Right. The book!Where the hell is it?" Shisui looked everywhere once more, but not a trace. Losing it enraged him; it felt like a joke, like a ghostly jester was messing with him, hiding his things, watching him stress out, laughing in silence, and waiting for the perfect moment to toss it back when it no longer mattered. Shisui refused to play along. "No more," he muttered. "Fuck it." He threw on his coat and walked out the door. Shisui had no idea where he was going; he just stepped out, trying to get away from something that didn't feel right, like a teen escaping his parents' nagging. Maybe a calm place would do the job, he thought. I'll figure it out when I get to the train station. On his way to the station, he stopped to buy a few cigarettes. He didn't smoke often, but Marlboro was his favorite. He bought three sticks and kept moving. When he arrived, the station was still mostly empty. Shisui decided to smoke while waiting for the next train, but realized he had no lighter. He drifted through the few scattered travelers, hoping someone would offer one. On a corner, Shisui spotted a homeless man smoking. Summoning his courage, he approached him.
"Hello, sir," Shisui said as he got close.
The man sat on a red mat. He looked as if winter had worn him down. He was wrapped in an oversized blue coat, with a red scarf hiding layers of mismatched shirts beneath. On his head, a floppy fishing hat rested atop a white beanie and beneath that, another blue one. The only thing missing was a tin foil hat to protect him from alien attacks. He had long jeans that looked oversized, probably layered over other pants. Barefoot, yet several pairs of shoes were scattered beside him. He appeared completely stoned, like someone from another world. For nearly twenty seconds, the man didn't respond or even seem to notice Shisui's greeting.
"Hello, sir," Shisui tried again.
This time, the man slowly turned his head toward him. Their eyes met, and the man waved his left hand, signaling Shisui to wait. But wait for what? Shisui wondered silently. Does he need more time to form words? Can he even speak? Suddenly, a rat appeared from nowhere. It climbed onto the man's right hand, which he brought close to his ear. The man nodded slowly, as if the rat was whispering to him. Shisui stared, confused. He repeated the same question in his head for over fifteen seconds: Is he really talking to the rat? The rat turned its head, glanced at Shisui, then jumped down and sped away. After a moment, the man reached into his pocket and handed Shisui the lighter he needed. Shisui, still confused, couldn't understand how the homeless man knew he needed a lighter.
"Thank you, sir," Shisui said, reaching out to return the lighter.
"He said you can keep it!" the man shouted suddenly.
"Who did?" The words slipped out before Shisui could stop them.
The man pointed toward a small cartoonish hut nearby. It must've been the landlord's place, or the owner of that entire corner, or maybe the whole station, a rat.
"Sir!" the homeless man's voice rose again, like a teacher ready to give a lecture. "He orders. I obey!"
"Okay," Shisui said bluntly.
"That rat knows better. Seen things you can't imagine. Said things no one else could think of. A wise master. My master. For the first time in his life, Shisui heard someone praise a rat and call it master. He must be out of his mind, Shisui thought quietly, but kept his face calm.
"That rat knows better. Seen things you can't imagine. Said things no one else could think of. A wise master. My master." The homeless man repeated the phrase over and over, like a chant. Perhaps the rat was an alien and had already brainwashed him. Shisui took a step back, repeating his thanks for the lighter. Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked toward the train, shockingly confused, as if he'd just seen God.