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fuda_100 fic: I've got several of these ready to go (and I'm sure you'd rather read fanfics than hear me mutter about not feeling well). At least this time, it's a fairly mild story for a tale involving Muraki and Tsuzuki and some mementos that Muraki's grandfather left to him...
The folder for the mysterious charity case of 1918 contained more items than the other files: photographs dated years after the unknown patient's date of death: the wreckage of Nagasaki and Hiroshima, a military installation on Iwo Jima, a mudslide, a train crash in Yokohama, the site of a suicide in Harajuku. At each site, the anonymous patient could be seen somewhere, his image slightly misty, as if he were some angel of death, clad in a grey trenchcoat and a rumpled black suit, like some young salaryman, or a public servant. His beautiful face was unmistakable.
Muraki soon started adding photographs of his own: the site of a road accident involving drag racers on a mountain road, a crowd near the cathedral in Nagasaki when slates had fallen off the roof and hit bystanders below, and his most prized photo, one he had snapped himself at the site of the Kobe earthquake.
He hoped, as he collected these photographs that one day he would meet that young man in the flesh or in the spirit. Preferably the former.
fuda_100 fic: I've got several of these ready to go (and I'm sure you'd rather read fanfics than hear me mutter about not feeling well). At least this time, it's a fairly mild story for a tale involving Muraki and Tsuzuki and some mementos that Muraki's grandfather left to him...The folder for the mysterious charity case of 1918 contained more items than the other files: photographs dated years after the unknown patient's date of death: the wreckage of Nagasaki and Hiroshima, a military installation on Iwo Jima, a mudslide, a train crash in Yokohama, the site of a suicide in Harajuku. At each site, the anonymous patient could be seen somewhere, his image slightly misty, as if he were some angel of death, clad in a grey trenchcoat and a rumpled black suit, like some young salaryman, or a public servant. His beautiful face was unmistakable.
Muraki soon started adding photographs of his own: the site of a road accident involving drag racers on a mountain road, a crowd near the cathedral in Nagasaki when slates had fallen off the roof and hit bystanders below, and his most prized photo, one he had snapped himself at the site of the Kobe earthquake.
He hoped, as he collected these photographs that one day he would meet that young man in the flesh or in the spirit. Preferably the former.
