Nezumi… why won’t you come home? Why aren’t you beside me? I just want to look into your eyes and see that I am me, that I can continue to be who I am. They are my only anchor.
"Tap, tap. He heard the sound of the wind. No, not the wind―was someone knocking at the window?
"Shion ran to the window and threw it open."
"The wind tousled his bangs "
"There was no one there."
"It had just been a passing wind."
"Shion dropped to the floor and squatted, covering his face with his hands."
Let me tell you a story. A story that I know. Story? No―it is reality, humans will probably say. They will say it is reality engraved in human history.
But for me, the deeds of humans are all but stories. At times a comedy, at times a tragedy; sometimes predictable, sometimes wearisome―nothing but fabrications.
Yes, humans are always but foolish actors.
They act out a farce, dancing at the mercy of their greed, love, and emotions. They are foolish, ignorant, and avaricious…. They destroy with their own hands what they have created. They aspire to rule over others and become the one and only king of the world.
Why is that, I wonder?
Why are humans the only ones unable to live by the laws of nature, leaving everything as is? They are such strange creatures.
In the story I am about to tell you now, the main character is also a human―no. The main character is actually a city. A city-state. People called it No. 6. Have you ever heard the name before? It is the most beautiful, yet most fearsome, existence created by human hands. Worthy of a star role in a farce, don’t you think?
But… strange as it is, for some reason, I feel a sort of love towards that city, No. 6. The story surrounding No. 6, as well those who have lived in the story itself, are endearing to me. Does that make me the possessor of a “soul”?
I know of two young boys.
Night and day; light and dark; earth and wind; one who embraces all, and one who attempts to throw it all away. They are so different, yet they are very much alike. Both were deeply involved with No. 6. They lived their lives along with No. 6.
What? When was that, you say?
I wonder. It feels like only yesterday, but at the same time, it feels like a thousand years ago. I do not feel time the way humans do.
I feel no difference between a single moment or an eternity.
But I have not forgotten about them.
Sometimes I feel that the chronicle of their lives is perhaps the only one worth telling.
Come hither, now.
Let me tell you a story.
The story of two boys and of No. 6.