Free preview
Prologue
Mei and I stood on Mount Akada's observation deck. It was a night in June.
Let’s set fire to this town before we leave.
I agreed with her suggestion.
We came here today because we wanted to see it up high if we were to start a fire.
Below us was the town where we used to live. It would probably be reduced to ashes by the end of today.
Looking down at the town where we had lived like this, it seemed strangely small. It was a typical rural town. One of hundreds across Japan.
Old houses huddled together, all sporting a similar beige exterior with triangular roofs, so nondescript that one could easily forget them if they closed their eyes. Each house seemed to hold its breath, not wanting to stand out or differ too greatly from its neighbors. We were about to set this dull town ablaze.
Shiori.
Mei called out my name. Her tone was full of her usual brusqueness, yet an unexpected vulnerability peeked through.
Prompted by Mei, I handed her my smartphone. The ignition app was already booted up.
Any light bulb sold at a home center could become an ignition device by removing the glass globe and exposing the filament. Connecting it to a microcontroller board to enable remote operation was an easy DIY project for me, a high school sophomore.
While the ignition mechanism was simple, the fire would almost certainly spread throughout the town, especially since Mei was possessed by Okakashi-sama, a deity who would also lend its power to today’s incident.
Mei hovered her thumb over a button displayed on the smartphone screen, surveyed the town with a cool gaze, and as her hair fluttered in the mild June breeze, she said.
Farewell, cruel world and all its people.
She pressed the button.
Instantly, a small orange flame lit upwind of the town.
It was a fragile flame, flickering in the breeze.
But the flame spit out gray smoke like a giant cigarette. After that, it all happened in a flash.
Before we knew it, the fire had grown immense. The orange smoke, lit by the inferno, connected heaven and earth like a ladder. This colossal pillar of fire leaped in all directions, whimsically swallowing the town. Shadows of people trying to escape could be seen, only to be erased by the flickering light of the flames.
We were far enough not to hear much of the fire. Occasionally, a bursting sound could be heard, quickly disappearing amid birds screeching and treetops rustling. The fire was like a silent movie, merely beautiful, as Mei and I silently watched the copious smoke and sparks we had created.
Suddenly, Mei tapped my shoulder and pointed toward the flames.
Her fingertip indicated the cement factory owned by Masanori Tamoi, the town's de facto ruler. Usually, the factory is a constant source of noise and foul smells. For some reason, though, perhaps due to an upcoming pollution inspection, it was shut down tonight. No lights were on. It stood quietly in the darkness of the night. It was as tall as a twenty-story building, visible everywhere in town. From afar, it almost looked like a modest tombstone for our town.
Perhaps it was the wind direction, but the flames had spread to the cement factory, now completely engulfing it.
Almost simultaneously, as Mei let out a coquettish cry, the flames ignited the flammable gases in the factory's tanks.
The explosion was loud enough to be heard even from the hilltop.
The tanks at the cement factory exploded. Two or three more thunderous blasts followed.
Due to the explosion, stainless steel fragments that had covered the tanks and reactors soared into the air. Perhaps influenced by the wind, they moved in somewhat slow motion, twirling in the air, reflecting the light of the flames below and eventually melting into the fire. At the same time, a chimney slowly bent in the air and fell sideways, collapsing into a nearby rice paddy.
Seeing this, Mei laughed like an innocent child. I couldn't help but also find it amusing, holding my stomach as I laughed.
After a while of laughing together, we embraced and kissed as casually as if we were marking an anniversary in a diary.
The sight of the town burning down was indeed beautiful, but it had an unreal quality. It was as if we were watching the backdrops of a play burn down. But the feel of Mei's body against my chest was real, and her light scratching was like a piano piece playing inside my memory. It felt far more intense than burning a town to the ground.
The town was still burning. It would continue for a while. But perhaps, having seen enough, Mei turned her feet away from Akada towards the path that leads up the mountain.
Come on, let's go.
Mei reached her hand out to me. I felt a bit reluctant, but I took her hand.
Mei Sato was a first-year high school student and a year younger than me. She had moved into my house three weeks ago.
Since then, we performed the ritual called Okakashi-tsutsumi and witnessed seven deaths. One thing happened after another. We fell in love in the midst of it all.
We are leaving the town to fulfill our final goal.
After that . . .
Suddenly, Mei staggered. I rushed to support her, but she brushed my hands off as if she didn't need help.
Maybe she had overused Okakashi-sama's power, taxing her body. Mei was not one to admit that she was weakening.
As I watched on, I couldn’t help but be acutely aware of her tiny, thin body ascending the wet mountain in sneakers, her steps uncertain.
It was fated that Mei would lose her life within a week.
1
It was just another uneventful Sunday. As I sat in a chair, I tried to pick up from where I had left off in my book.
Perhaps due to the insomnia I suffered the night before, the words refused to stick in my head. Reluctantly, I set the book down and dozed off for a bit.
The house I live in is old and wooden, so I could clearly hear my father chanting prayers for my late sisters at the family altar in a distant tatami room.
Around the time I was in my second year of middle school, my father transitioned from simply clasping his hands in prayer to chanting Buddhist mantras.
Kogen gigi, Ishin mugoku.
I had memorized the opening lines.
The chant broke off at . . .
Ze ga shinsho.
. . . just as my father's phone started ringing.
My father opened the door to my room and offered a sheepish smile, the kind that screams that he doesn't know how to interact with his teenage son.
Seems like Mei's arrived at the station.
My father and I headed to Akada Station in the car to pick up Mei.
No matter how many times my father explained, I couldn't quite grasp who Mei was.
Maybe it was because I was going through your garden-variety pubescent rebellious phase, or perhaps it was due to the odd dynamic in our household, but conversations with my father often felt disjointed.
Two things were clear, though.
There was a girl one year younger than me named Mei Sato, and she would be living with us from today.
It would probably be fine having another person around. The house is spacious and we have room to spare. Ever since my mother left when I was in fifth grade, it has just been the two of us in this two-story house. Considering the upkeep, having more people might even be better.
Here's the problem: my father won't give clear explanation as to this Mei Sato girl.
Apparently, Mei's father was a couple years above my father during his university days, and they were quite close.
They were so close, you could even call them best friends.
But is that enough reason to let his daughter live in our house? Would my father really consider letting a girl close to his son's age live with us without thinking it through?
Apparently, Mei lives in Tokyo. It's peculiar for her to move all by herself to a place in the middle of nowhere like Akada. My father provided no logical answers to that effect.
However, these doubts might just be due to some miscommunication. There's a simple answer to all my questions: just ask her directly. For that reason, I awaited her arrival without thinking too deeply about it all.
We arrived at the roundabout in front of Akada Station.
Mei Sato was easy to spot from a distance. Not only because she was the only one waiting aimlessly by the wide roundabout, but she also stood out. In our small town, stranger or not, outsiders are quickly recognized by their vibe. I clearly wasn’t the only one who thought so, passersby unabashedly studying her face.
She was a beautiful girl. That was the first thing I thought.
I couldn't see her eyes very clearly on a count of her large gold-framed sunglasses. Their lenses were black and semi-transparent. From her well-shaped nose, cherry-colored lips, and oval face, my impression seemed correct.
Her hair was cut in a bob cut reminiscent of a French film heroine. Her hair had a slight brown tint to it that seemed natural, not dyed. She wore a sleeveless button-up navy dress over a blouse. Unlike her attire, her slender bare legs, innocently youthful, shone pale even under the overcast sky. She donned red high-cut Converse sneakers and carried nothing but a shoulder bag, lightly packed. Most of her belongings would probably arrive later by mail.
She turned her face towards my father's car once she noticed it approaching.
My father parked the car beside Mei, flashed the hazard lights, and rolled down the door window.
Hey, Mei!
Mei didn't respond, silently opening the backseat door and sliding inside.
The car started moving.
My father spoke as he drove slowly.
Nice to meet you, I'm Nakagawa. I was two years under your dad in college. My son is riding shotgun, his name is Shiori.
Mei didn't utter a single word in response, messing with her smartphone.
She seemed to be ignoring him. This surprised my father, as he blinked and glanced at the rearview mirror.
My father seemed unable to grasp the meaning of her silence for a while. Thinking that he had simply missed the reply, and continued the conversation as if nothing had happened.
Even though we will be living together, we're still strangers, so feel free to speak up if anything bothers you.
Mei didn't respond, gazing absently out the window.
Measly things crossed her view—abandoned houses, forests, greenhouses, election billboards, signs indicating the distance to the community center.
We want to make it as comfortable as possible for you, Mei.
Mei kept her lips sealed.
Abandoned houses, a broken curve mirror, Jizo statues left behind amidst the trees, a convenience store with a huge parking lot.
It was clear that she was deliberately ignoring my father. I didn't know why, but her behavior was unmistakable.
My father caught on yet pretended not to notice.
So, Mei, do you have any favorite foods?
Still, Mei remained silent.
It was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. I felt no sympathy for my father, nor did I lack a teenage discontent that secretly relished his discomfort, but I shared in the awkwardness—it felt like being involved in an accident that wasn't my fault.
Though I wasn't exactly eager to side with my father, there were things about Mei’s nature that intrigued me, prompting me to ask her.
Why are you staying with us?
I thought for sure she wouldn't answer, but she seemed inclined to respond to this question. She twisted her lips in amusement, slowly removed her sunglasses, and fixed her gaze on me intensely.
Without her sunglasses, her beauty was striking, almost chilling. Her eyes were so large they seemed to enchant, as if something other presence was beginning to dwell within me, taking over my body. Her eyelashes were long and floated through air like cherry branches in bloom. She cast a sharp, blade-like gaze at me as if she was stealthily moving towards her prey.
Haven't you heard?
Her speech was more muddled than I expected it to be.
No.
I tried to maintain my composure.
Then, as she gazed out the car window, she remarked casually.
She was left to die.
Left to die?
Yes, my sister was killed. Mr. Nakagawa could have saved her.
I gave a strained smile and glanced at my father in the driver's seat, thinking Mei was making a distasteful joke.
However, my father, seemingly flustered, reached into the car door pocket and, with a painfully obvious gesture as if wanting to change the subject, pulled out a CD and inserted it into the car stereo.
Soon, a song that had been burned onto a CD from YouTube began playing through the speakers. The sound quality was terrible. It sounded like all the instruments rusted over and were played just like that.
I was speechless. Not that I believed Mei's words, but there was definitely something chilling about my father's reaction.
Mei . . .
It seemed as if my father was about to ask something new but was still haunted by Mei's previous statement. He resigned.
It's a pity what happened to Akari.
Mei did not respond to that comment.
She maintained her silence without a single response. We returned home in silence.
2
It was almost seven in the evening.
Or rather, it was already seven. Apparently, I fell asleep while reading a book. I was awakened by my father's voice calling from the kitchen.
Dinner is ready!
That's what woke me up.
My body ached all over and my head throbbed. My nap was far from pleasant.
I stood up, stretched my back, and while loosening the stiffness in my body, I pondered what Mei said earlier.
I still couldn't take her words at face value.
It was unimaginable to me that my father would leave someone to die. It wasn't that I had faith in his conscience. Rather, I didn't think he had it in him.
He was a lonely man who barely went out with close friends once a year. How could a guy like him possibly leave Mei's sister to die?
I couldn't dismiss her words as complete nonsense, either. Given my father's reaction, there must be some truth to it.
If you slice the truth and arrange it arbitrarily, it could indeed take the form of being left to die. Even the word 'listen,' when rearranged, can become 'silent.'
I stopped thinking about it after that. It all started to seem rather foolish.
Heading from the living room to the kitchen, I passed Mei, who was coming down the stairs from her new room on the second floor.
Mei was wearing a crumpled T-shirt and denim shorts, which seemed to be her room attire.
Her attire was surprisingly ordinary. Considering what she wore during the day, I wouldn't have been shocked if she showed up in a nightgown with frills. Right now, she looked like a typical high school girl.
Dinner began.
The main dish was a mashed croquette. Alongside it, there was plain white rice, some tasteless homemade miso soup with daikon radish and seaweed, spinach ohitashi, leftover meat and potato stew that was stored in a tupperware, pickled sea cucumber also in a tupperware, and green strawberries for dessert.
A usual dinner. Even when my mother was still in the house and working, my father handled all the household chores. He always seemed like he couldn't stand up to his wife, who was four years older than him, and it seemed like that was easier for him anyway.
He was meticulous about his cooking, yet he was never particularly skilled. Liking something doesn't always mean being good at it.
Shiori, the sauce.
I pass her the sauce. If she calls me Shiori, then I guess I can just call her Mei. Even my father calls her 'Mei', so I suppose calling her ‘Miss Sato’ would be weird.
Mei drenched her croquette in Worcestershire sauce, creating a brown lake on the large plate. She seems to prefer a strong flavor. Maybe she has an unusual palate.
After biting into the pitch-black croquette, Mei finally seemed to cheer up a bit. It appears she isn't always in a bad mood. Maybe now she would even respond to one of my father’s trivial questions.
My father seemed to have the same idea.
Mei, how comfortable is your room?
Lingchi.
I didn't know what that meant, but it definitely seemed like an inappropriate answer to the question.
With that innocent tone still in her voice, Mei began talking about something completely other than the comfort of her room.
You know, Lingchi was a form of execution used in China until the nineteenth century. It was primarily used for serious criminals. They would carve the flesh from the living person bit by bit, making sure they suffered as long as possible before dying. They could dismember up to three thousand three hundred fifty-seven pieces. Sometimes, it took three to five days. During that time, skilled executioners were able to keep the criminal alive.
Both my father and I were speechless.
I had no idea why she said that, but it definitely wasn't a conversation you would want to have over dinner.
Public executions were one of the few forms of entertainment for the people at that time, so the execution grounds were always crowded. When a celebrity was executed, it was said that Beijing’s streets were emptied.
Mei took another bite of her sauce-covered croquette.
My father looked down, his chopsticks hovering over his plate without actually picking up any food.
Mei did not look at my father, nor did she look directly at me; instead, she focused on a neutral space between us as she spoke.
The spectacle of executions is common around the world. In France, public executions were held until 1939. Perhaps the most famous figure behind public executions is Thomas Edison. Yes, the inventor of the light bulb. He constructed an electric chair using his rival Nikola Tesla’s invention to run a negative campaign in front of the press to show how dangerous Tesla’s inventions were.
Mei paused for a moment.
I don't have a choice, it seems I have to nod along. I mindlessly chewed what was in my mouth.
Was it successful?
Was what?
Edison's strategy to tarnish Nikola Tesla's reputation?
Nope, it ended up making Edison himself look like a terrible person.
Figures.
That's a bit over the top.
Although Mei hadn't finished her main course yet, she tossed several strawberries onto her plate, claiming them as her own.
1519. What do you think of that year?
Before I knew it, Mei was staring straight at me. I answered vaguely, moving the tip of my chopsticks around.
The Muromachi period?
Apparently, that was incorrect. She just pursed her lips in dissatisfaction without saying a word.
In terms of world history, it would be . . .
The Age of Exploration?
Correct.
Mei's lips curved upwards in a smile.
And it was the year that Hernán Cortés, the Spanish commander, entered the Aztec Empire. Do you know what kind of people the Aztecs were?
No.
The Aztecs were famous for performing human sacrifices, essentially killing people to offer them to their gods.
Killing people?
Exactly.
Mei seemed amused by my surprise.
Even so, Cortés probably wasn't too shocked when he heard about it. After all, the Spaniards of his time were crushing people's bones for torture, executing them through dismemberment, and burning witches at the stake. He must have thought they were quite similar to each other.
Mei popped a strawberry into her mouth, followed by some rice, and then drank some yogurt juice. Truly a free-spirited combination of foods.
Somehow, I found myself interrupting my dinner and staring intently at Mei. She placed the strawberry stems on the edge of her plate, bits of fruit still clinging to them.
Even so, when Cortés actually entered the great temple in Tenochtitlan, where humans were sacrificed, he felt faint. Right beside the statue of the god, there was an enormous amount of blood that had been spilled that very day, and three still-beating hearts were being burned. The overall stench was unbearable, and he had to leave.
Mei spoke as if she had seen it herself.
After that, the Spanish and the Aztecs were in a state of war, and Cortés saw his own soldiers being killed and offered to the gods in that temple.
Mei paused for a brief moment, as if inserting a pellet into an air gun, before speaking.
Shiori, what do you think about this story?
I thought for a moment.
I don't know, but if this story was in our history textbooks, I'm sure I would have enjoyed the classes more than I do now.
Hearing my response, my father frowned, but Mei’s face lit up with a bright expression. Half of it was to avoid upsetting her, but the other half was genuinely how I felt. It would certainly be more enjoyable than memorizing the sanitized moral tales of great people.
Human sacrifices can be found throughout the world.
Mei's words came out faster than before.
In places like India, Egypt, China, Mesopotamia, ancient Greece, and ancient Rome, not to mention ancient Europe. There are also records of it in Japan, found in the Nihon Shoki and various local folk tales.
I found myself nodding more and more, growing interested in Mei's story.
According to the Nihon Shoki, living people were buried in kofun tombs at first. But when that became impractical, clay figures called haniwa were created as substitutes. That sounds a bit too nice to be true, doesn’t it? As if the person who wrote it was quite pleased with themselves. That’s why it’s said to likely be a fabrication by later generations.
Interesting.
Despite her fondness for gruesome stories, Mei didn't seem to care for sensational tales just for the sake of excitement. She had a sense of balance that was uniquely her own.
There’s even a legend of human sacrifice right here in Akada. The name is . . .
Just as Mei was about to continue, a memory struck me.
The Okakashi-tsutsumi ritual?
Mei blinked, looking as startled as a cat doused with water.
Is it that famous?
Her surprise was incredibly genuine. Apparently, my response was far beyond her expectations. Her reaction was refreshing in a way that I had never seen before.
No, not really.
I shook my head.
I think it's just a local legend that nobody but me knows about. I read about it in a book published by a small local publisher in the 1960s that I found in the library. I used to be a library kid. I read every book I could get my hands on. According to the book, there actually was a festival for Okakashi-tsutsumi, and there are photos, but whether human sacrifices were really made is uncertain.
Mei's chopsticks paused. She looked thoughtful, her gaze resting somewhere near my chest.
Did I say something wrong? The conversation that had been flowing smoothly suddenly stopped, as if a sluice gate had been shut.
To cover the silence, I reached for the cooled meat and potato stew. Mei resumed eating as well, adding more sauce to her already soggy croquette.
After enduring our conversation for a while, my father finally spoke up.
How do you like it? The miso is homemade.
No one responded to him. A lengthy silence followed instead.
And so we each returned to our dinners. That's how the first day of Mei's homestay passed.
3
The next day I awoke to a Monday morning.
A bad night's sleep again, I thought.
Since I entered my second year of high school student in April, I have been suffering from insomnia.
There are different types of insomnia. I can't stay asleep. I don’t have trouble falling asleep, but I wake up after a measly two or three hours. A firework, once launched, cannot return to the ground intact; similarly, once I'm awake, I can't drift back to sleep.
Spending hours unable to sleep is a slow torture. But the real despair hits when the morning sun slips through the curtains, confirmation that I haven’t slept a wink. It's not only the psychological anguish of recognizing my insomnia that's difficult; it’s the actual challenge of trying to sleep as the room becomes increasingly bright that truly affects me, leaving me yearning for some relief.
My father even took me to a psychiatric clinic outside town for treatment.
At my first appointment, I received counseling from some shady, burly middle-aged psychiatrist.
Apparently, the first session involved creating something he described as a life notebook. Although it seemed tedious, I figured it was just part of the process of obtaining sleeping pills, so I reluctantly shared the story of my life so far.
After about thirty minutes of listening to me, the doctor, who created my notebook, summarized the session.
You changed classes when you became a sophomore and you faced bullying. These seem to be the cause of your insomnia.
It was a bland conclusion after such a long discussion.
Personally, I didn’t want to admit that the childish bullying from my classmate, Souki Tamoi, was causing my insomnia, but if it meant getting sleeping pills, I supposed it was fine.
However, the doctor didn’t prescribe any medication. His policy was to avoid giving psychotropic drugs to teenagers as much as possible, suggesting that natural sleep was better and recommending exercise instead.
Exercise solves everything.
The doctor half-smiled, staring at my slender limbs.
Initially, I followed his advice like a fool, trying to run to places where no one could see me, but exercising while sleep-deprived was unbearable, and days of it showed no effects on my sleep at night. No matter how much I pleaded, he wouldn’t change his treatment approach. He'd just repeat the same question.
Are you getting enough exercise?
That was all.
But he gave me one very useful item—an A5-sized diagnosis slip that read Adjustment Disorder, Insomnia. This thin piece of paper proved to be more useful than the doctor himself, simplifying various procedures at school. Just by submitting it, I could arrive late and take days off within the permissible attendance limits. The peace of mind that I could skip school anytime did, in fact, improve my insomnia slightly.
Since I didn’t sleep last night, I decided to skip school today.
The amount of sleep I get is as random as the weather. Whether I'm tired or not doesn’t seem to matter much. Regardless of how much or little I sleep, there are days I can go to school and days I cannot. Today felt like a day I could take off based on my own condition.
My father had already left for work and was not at home when I came downstairs from my second-floor bedroom to the first-floor dining room.
Instead, Mei was there.
Mei was wearing the same T-shirt as yesterday. With so few belongings, it seemed that was her only piece of loungewear until her moving boxes arrived. I think my father mentioned they were supposed to arrive today.
Morning.
Mei didn’t respond. She just sat there quietly, like a well-mannered doll, watching a movie on her smartphone, which was placed on the dining table.
She didn’t seem engrossed in it. She seemed emotionally detached, keeping up with the story at a minimum. In the morning light, Mei looked striking, resting her cheek on her hand and occasionally tilting her head while her eyelashes fluttered as she looked at the smartphone screen. She looks more like a scene from a movie than the actual movie itself, I thought.
A thought suddenly crosses my mind while taking out mineral water from the fridge.
Wasn't Mei supposed to go to school today?
You're not going to school?
I had never heard her talk about school, but according to my father, her transfer had already been arranged, and as of today, June 7th, she was supposed to attend Akada High School with me.
You aren't going either, are you?
Well, no.
There's really no need to go to high school. It's such a boring place.
She's not wrong, I thought.
I poured mineral water into my mug.
Mr. Nakagawa said that there's a plate of breakfast in the fridge with fried eggs, lettuce, and cherry tomatoes. All you need is rice and miso soup.
Ah, yeah.
My response was somewhat absent-minded. Mei's casual remark made me realize that, in fact, I really was living with this girl.
It seemed Mei had already finished her breakfast. On the flat plate at the dining table, a pool of dressing had accumulated, and the leftover pieces of lettuce looked pitiful drowned in it.
I thought about striking up a conversation with Mei as I watched her profile while we had breakfast. But she would surely ignore me if the topic were boring, so I pondered a good topic to bring up . . . or, to be honest, I found myself captivated by her fair face. Her beauty was somewhat magical.
Eventually, the movie she was watching seemed to end. Mei sighed, rapidly pressing the stop button and skipping the credits. As she went through the motions, she shifted from this otherworldly beauty back to a vividly emotional fifteen-year-old.
Well, that was a waste of time.
Mei's tone resembled that of a sulking cat.
What was the movie about?
I sensed she wanted to discuss it.
Everything was so predictable, like the filmmaker just projected his clichéd desires onto the screen. It was a hit last year, but really, it's ridiculous.
Mei showed me her smartphone screen, where the main visual of the movie was displayed. Indeed, it was a famous Japanese film that had been featured multiple times on news programs last year. Mei chuckled mockingly.
I considered making small talk. Mei seemed to be in a good mood, and I felt she might respond a little.
How do you like living here?
But Mei didn't respond, as if signaling the end of the world with a beacon.
I know it's a new place, but did you sleep well?
I changed the question. Then Mei let out a strange laugh.
I wondered why. She finally responded, but my relief mingled with anxiety. Those few seconds before Mei spoke seemed endless. After that eternity, she finally spoke at last.
Isn't it you, Shiori, who hasn't been able to sleep?
For a moment, my thoughts froze.
How did you know I have insomnia?
Mei intertwined her fingers, rested her face on them, and smiled mischievously.
Actually, I'm clairvoyant. Divining that kind of information is a piece of cake for me.
Got it. You heard that from Dad, right?
Maybe. Anyway, I know.
It must have been my father who talked. He works in cleaning, so he starts early in the morning. It was easy to imagine him talking to Mei in the early morning, saying, Even if Shiori is still asleep when it's time to go to school, please don't wake him. Sleep is precious to him because—
It could be because we live in the countryside, so it's hard to hide things. Maybe it's because that's just the way my father is. Either way, there tends to be a lack of privacy. It's as if this town has no clever cover and everything is openly exposed.
Well, it doesn't matter. We're living together, so it would have come out eventually. Mei casually traced the table with her slim, white index finger as she spoke.
Aren't you taking any sleeping pills?
My doctor's pretty strict and won't prescribe them. And the ones at the pharmacy don't work.
Then, perhaps this is what you're looking for?
Mei reached into the pocket of her shorts and pulled out a small supplement case sealed with pink masking tape.
From it, she took out a white pill marked with a single line at the bottom. I watched intently, swallowing hard.
This is a benzodiazepine sleeping pill. Cute, isn't it? Even psychotropic drugs look stylish when you put them in a case like this.
. . .
Perhaps because what I had been so desperately seeking suddenly appeared before my eyes, I found myself at a loss for words for a moment. Then, I spoke.
Why do you have them?
We all need chemicals to live in this chaotic world, don't we?
The way she said it made me feel as though it was true. Since the moment I first heard her voice, Mei's tone held a strange, persuasive power that could make even the wrong seem right.
