Execution of Afterimages
The heat haze rising from the asphalt distorted the bustle of the shopping district. In the sweltering twilight, Takehiro stopped in his tracks on his way home from university, drawn to a particular corner as if by a magnetic pull.
Near the entrance of an anime shop, an alien “beauty” had taken flesh, slicing through the mundane scenery of daily life.
A black cheongsam. From its deep slit, a leg peered out—unhealthily pale, with a texture that seemed almost phosphorescent.
Gently swaying a folding fan, the girl looked down coldly at the crowd. With a single flick of her fan, she brushed away the vulgar gazes of the surrounding geeks as if they were filth.
“Beautiful…”
His murmur melted into the humid air. Takehiro picked up his digital SLR.
He was a man of the “taking” side.
From the safe side of the viewfinder, he was the one who unilaterally cropped, possessed, and consumed the subject.
“Um, excuse me… may I take your picture?”
The moment he spoke, the girl froze.
The fan snapped shut. Her translucent blue eyes pierced through Takehiro.
Those eyes weren’t just “looking” at him; they seemed to be analyzing the very structure of his existence.
“Of course. But, I have a small favor to ask.”
The girl’s voice had a high, metallic ring, like striking clear glass. She smiled—brightly, yet without a single shred of warmth in the depths of her eyes.
“I want to… try a special experience.”
Perhaps that was the password.
In the next instant, Takehiro’s world physically inverted.
“——!?”
Air was forced out of his lungs by sheer power, and his vision plummeted into darkness.
An overwhelming sense of nausea hit him, as if he had lost his center of gravity. A horrific sensation surged through his body—as if his internal organs were being turned inside out and his nerves were being pulled out one by one, only to be forcibly reconnected elsewhere.
Seconds later, when Takehiro opened his eyes, the first thing he felt was the proximity of the ground.
His perspective was low. The cityscape he used to look down upon now loomed over him with an overbearing presence.
And then, he saw the impossible.
Himself was standing right in front of him.
Wearing a familiar checkered shirt and carrying a tote bag with the university logo, his own self—”Takehiro”—was fiddling with the camera and smirking.
“What… is this…!”
What escaped Takehiro’s mouth as he tried to scream was a high, fragile, silver-bell voice he had never heard before.
Panic-stricken, he looked at his own hands.
Gone were the rugged joints and tanned skin. There were someone else’s hands—white, slender, with long, meticulously manicured nails.
Looking further down, he saw an unfamiliar swell at his chest, the black satin fabric cold against his skin. Peeking through the slit was that white leg—the very one he had been admiring through his lens just moments ago.
“A success.”
The thing in Takehiro’s body spoke with Takehiro’s voice.
“Now, you are me. From today, you will complete this cosplay in my place.”
“Don’t give me that! Give me back my body!”
Takehiro (inside) desperately tried to lung at his own body.
But the anomaly that occurred in that moment plunged his soul into bottomless despair.
His body would not move.
The will he sent to his fingertips was blocked at his spinal cord by an invisible barrier. Even though it was his own flesh, he was forbidden from moving even a millimeter, as if he were fixed in space by a powerful adhesive.
“I told you, didn’t I? It’s a special experience.”
The girl with his face held up the camera with cold, practiced movements and aimed the lens at Takehiro (the girl).
“I’ll take care of your body. In return, you will become my ‘external brain.’ Until I am satisfied, you will remain the perfect doll I envision.”
“Ah… aah…”
He couldn’t even produce a voice as he wished.
The girl half-pressed the shutter button on Takehiro’s camera.
The beep-beep of the focus rang in Takehiro’s brain like a warning siren.
“Now, the first pose. Put your left foot slightly forward and hide your jawline with the fan. …Don’t look at the lens; look slightly above me. …Despise me. Look at me as if you are looking at worthless cattle.”
Takehiro’s body moved on its own.
Muscles contracted regardless of his will; his knees bent, and his neck tilted at a perfect angle.
The ultimate humiliation: being “taken” by his own body.
A dry click echoed.
The “Takehiro” checking the LCD monitor snorted with satisfaction.
“Perfect. Because there’s a man’s ego inside, this ‘look of disgust’ is expressed so much more realistically. …My body is being completed, becoming more beautiful than ever before.”
Takehiro felt a single tear fall from his—the girl’s—eye.
But even that tear.
To the ruler holding the camera, it was nothing more than the perfect finishing touch from a cold, weeping maiden.
コメント