Flash Fiction. Today, enjoy to amazing stories about Japan by Tatjana Debeljacki: On the Way to Japan and Mists of Japan.
On the Way to Japan
The muscles were tense to extremes but I never thought of giving up. With the strength of an animal, so typical of a desperado, I clutched the railing although I was not convinced that the Lord was with me. Drops of sweat were falling down my forehead, stinging my wide open eyes, and the vein on my neck, puffed up like a pipe, was pumping blood into my head. A transparent haze was spreading treacherously, and micro stars were twinkling in a cluster, whistling monotonously.
Everything was in colour.
Terrified, I realized that that my fingers were wet and that the railing was sliding from my helpless hands. I tried something but without success. The train went on quickly down the track while I was lying in the mud, defeated.
He was on it.
Mists of Japan
I was lying down in the trench with my face pinned into mud that blocked my nostrils, crunching the small pieces of stone together with soil. My tongue was pushed back at the periphery of my mouth, blocking the flow of air, disturbing the respiratory organs.
-Am I alive? – flew through my head.
Humid mists in various colors were sailing through my mind; their contents filled in the trench and pushed down my body. While they were passing, they emitted high-pitched sound that sank into my brain like a nail and made confusion. Alternatively, it was just my imagination. I decided to make a short test:
I If this is my burial ground, then I must be dead-I concluded and it gave me the proof that I am still alive.
II If I shoot a bullet through my head I will find out–a questionable decision was ripening in my head.
III I have no weapons and I am not a suicidal person–as if the mists were retreating giving way to the common sense.
– This is much better– I thought and decided to stand up.
It was harder to do than I thought. The soil soaked in water was sliding under the boots and did not help me in the process of evacuation. I used my last atom of strength; put my foot on the coil that helped me to see the light of the day. The mists were dragging down the fields and at the edge of the forest; I recognized the silhouettes of the bended pickers. I jumped onto the surface and looked into the basket. At the bottom, there were a few white mushrooms, but the rest ended up in the pit. It was bad luck!