Fallen Blossoms

The wind had already ripped the first cherry blossoms of the year off their fragile branches as a man silently walked up the hill toward Hanaokayama Park. It was his second time in Kumamoto, but not much had changed in the 15 years that had passed. Love hotels still squirmed the serpentine path, and the man particularly remembered one of them – Green Hill – as his soles accidentally squished a fallen pink petal.

The hotel stood as if unoccupied since that night 15 years ago, when a young tipsy couple had danced into its perimeters. He even remembered the room number – 208 – and the fat black cat guarding outside. Perhaps it was still there, patiently awaiting its master like a countryside version of Hachiko. The man checked his watch and hurried up the hill.

A few minutes later he had reached the park and the somewhat industrial cityscape of Kumamoto met his decrepit eyes. Indeed, not much had changed. Even the cherry trees looked the same, as did the white Buddhist temple crowning the hill. The man picked up a cigarette and a lighter from his pocket but quickly put them back down as he saw the familiar sun-lit hair strands reflected off and as easily recognizable as a cherry blossom.

It seemed as if she had not aged a day, and as she turned around, sensing that someone was near, the man got his assumption confirmed.


”Oh, Robbie. Is that you?”

Robbie did not know what to say, stunned by the beauty of his former lover while ashamed of his own all too obvious aging.

”It’s been a while…,” his somewhat shaky lips finally mustered.

”Yeah. You look different. How have you been?”

Robbie was affirmed by Yumiko’s warm smile, the same smile that always made him relax before (and especially after) his big exams at Kumamoto State College.

”Well, shall we sit down?”

Yumiko rested her arm softly against Robbie’s back and gently pushed him toward a bench at the front of the park – the same one they had sat down on moments before their first kiss. Robbie wondered whether her move was intentional or not.

Yumiko told him about her modeling, which had led to a brief acting stint for a minor talent agency in Osaka. She told him about her sister’s wedding in Europe and how she had fulfilled her dream of climbing the Eiffel tower in a night gown. How good the coffee really was in Vienna (they had once bet on it, Robbie claiming it was just a myth) and how real Belgian chocolate actually made one’s heart jump. She told him about Takuya Kimura and how his armpits had smelled when he hugged her.

Robbie told her about his aspiring directorial career, how his screenplays lay maculated in the offices of all major and minor production companies in Japan. He told her about his attempts of writing stories, and how he was once fired from a local information magazine for showing up late. He told her about his wife Mitsuki, their son Akio and the automobile accident that took his life. He told her about how Mitsuki had run away, filed a divorce and how the police later found her remnants in a river near her parents’ home in Saga. He told her about his drinking problems, and how a doctor had advised him to start studying again to regain some kind of happiness in life.

Yumiko listened, a tear almost discernible in her left eye. Or was it a drip of water fallen from a twig above her, disposed to a heaven just opening up?

”Let’s go,” Yumiko said.

She took his hand and produced an umbrella with the other, folding it up before handing it to Robbie.

”My pleasure,” he said as they walked down the slope escaping the rain. As they passed ”Green Hill,” Yumiko suddenly stopped.

”The rain is picking up. Let’s take cover in here.”

Following her lead, Robbie was dragged through the entrance and led outside room 208. He wondered if it was a coincidence or if Yumiko still remembered. A fat black cat watched as the couple danced into the room and entangled on the bed under the mirrored roof.

Two hours later, the sun setting behind the eaves of the old glass window, Robbie found himself looking into the mirror. Yumiko, as he knew her, was gone and all he saw staring back at him was his own ailing body and its fifteen years younger shadow.

Copyright: Dan Asenlund, 2008.


Black Void

I noticed that something was eerie the moment I got off the train. The air within the brick walls of the station felt a bit too brisk, although it was late May and warm outside but not warm enough for the staff to have turned on the air-conditioning inside. The floor also looked remarkably clean, as if just polished or even newly laid. I knew that Gupabal was a relatively recently developed suburb of Seoul, but the mountains surrounding it were not and the station had been there for a long time, catering to the constant flow of mountain climbers.

But what startled me the most was that the platform was empty. I clearly remember the train being packed, yet nobody else got off at Gupabal. Very strange at this time of the evening, when salarymen usually horde out en masse, half dead from their day at the office and perhaps a little tipsy from after-work drinking, with just enough energy to stumble inside their homes and eat the dinner their wives have prepared. But today no one was in sight, not even the platform personnel that sometimes direct traffic with their yellow coats and black batons.

I located my exit and started walking up the stairs, the star-lit sky approaching me with each step, when I finally saw someone. It was the silhouette of a woman, standing at the top of the stairs and looking away from me. She didn’t turn around even as I walked up right behind her, trying to judge her age from the skin on her neck and the firmness of her features. She looked quite athletic but not too skinny, possessing the shapes most women would kill for.

“It’s a beautiful night,” the woman said without looking back at me.

I almost fell backwards, shocked that she – clearly Korean – had addressed me in English. How could she possibly know who I was? Was she holding a mirror and saw me coming up, or had she seen me step out of the train and was waiting for me here? I was at a loss at what to believe, let alone how to reply. I remained speechless.

“Don’t worry, I won’t bite.”

The woman turned around and smiled. The expectations the backside of her body had promised did not disappoint. She was stunningly attractive, her face as beautiful as a pop star’s but without the plastic surgery and TV smile. Her eyes had a natural glow and possessed some kind of cajoling energy. She looked to be around 23, and I had definitely never seen her before. Yet she looked somehow familiar.

“I know who you are, but you might not know who I am. My name is Mijin. I’ve been waiting for you for quite some time now.”

The woman stretched out her hand toward me. Still not knowing what to say, I gave her mine. She pressed it hard and pulled me closer, smiling as she did so. I could feel my heart beat faster, not because of her attractiveness and the sudden nature of the situation, but because something inside of her sent a pulse through my body. I tried to pull away, but my muscles wouldn’t respond. Instead the woman started walking, still holding my hand.

“There is something I want to show you. Just follow me.”

Still not knowing what to say, I walked with Mijin through the deserted sidewalks. I tried to open my mouth several times, but the brisk air outside pushed back any words that were about to slip out of my tongue. The longer we walked, the less inclined I felt to speak. I couldn’t make much of the situation anyway, and decided to go with the flow.

We passed several blocks of apartment buildings, including my own. The lights inside the windows were all turned off, not only at my place but at everyone else’s as well. I found this remarkably strange considering it was only 10 pm, but at this point nothing surprised me anymore. The area felt as if evacuated from a looming typhoon.

Then I saw light. First one, then another, then a whole row – colorful little paper lanterns lining up the path to a small hill. They stood out remarkably distinctive from the rest of the landscape, almost as much as the color of the woman’s eyes when she first turned around. I looked up the hill and saw the lanterns squirm all the way to the top. Even though I had lived here for almost a month, I did not know about this hill and had never seen the lanterns before.

The woman looked at her watch.

“Let’s climb up the hill. The view from the top is amazing. You might be a little surprised by it.”

Puzzled by Mijin’s words, I looked up and around. What could be behind that hill other than more apartment buildings, perhaps still under construction as the area was rapidly expanding. Nevertheless, I decided to follow. Mijin stroked her thumb across my hand and gave it a soft pull. Her skin was remarkably soft, almost creepily so.

We walked up a soggy, narrow path, slowly meandering up the hill. The lanterns were right above us and I was able to get a good look at them. They had Chinese characters written on them and the paper was strikingly old and torn, yet somehow able to emit a powerfully bright light. I had to look down not to get blinded by it.

After a five minute hike we reached the top, and I was shocked to see what lay behind it.

Nothing but more hills, as far as the eye could see, with lanterns in a long path all the way to the horizon. I gasped, losing balance as Mijin pushed me toward her and stroked my back with her fingers. I looked at her face, half smiling, then back at the landscape of endless green hills and rainbow-colored paper lanterns.

“It should start anytime now.”

Mijin looked determined, something alive and vibrant in her eyes. Finally I was able to break free of my muteness.

“What will start? What is this place? What the hell happened to-“


Mijin put her hand over my mouth. My cold lips stung with her touch. I shivered.

Suddenly, the lanterns at the far end of the hills started to go out, one by one in a synchronized manner.

“What’s going on?” I managed to muster as Mijin had removed her hand.

“Your journey…”

“My journey? My journey where? Could you try to be a little more specific here, because I-”

Suddenly, Mijin disappeared. I looked around but all I could see was blackness behind me and a looming blackness in front of me as the lanterns continued to go out, one by one. Below, something seemed to glisten at the bottom of the hill. I stepped to the edge and looked down, shocked at my discovery. Some kind of lake was there, or river, and I was staring down at myself.

“Don’t do that!”

I looked back and saw Mijin standing behind me, there again but somehow different. Something about her appearance had changed, but just the fact the she was back startled me enough not to try and find out what it was.

“Where did you go? You just-“

“Disappeared, yes. Just like the lights in those lanterns in front of us.”

I looked out over the hills again and now only forty or so lanterns were lit, decreasing by the second. The blown-out lanterns had left a huge, black void, as if nothing had been there in the first place. Below me, I could still feel the presence of the lake or river, whatever it was. Ignoring Mijin’s warning, I looked down at it again.


Giant ripples appeared in the water and from them something emerged, shot up in the air and down onto the hill where I was standing. It was a faceless man, the exact height and body shape as my own.

Mijin stepped in front of me and gave him a giant shove, sending him splashing back into the water.

“I told you not to do that! You must never look into the water!”

I was at a loss at what to say, my lips trembling and muscles going numb. I couldn’t even turn my head toward Mijin, instead seeing the last ten or so lanterns go out in front of me.

“It’s too late anyway,” Mijin said. “I must go now. And so do you.”

I mustered to move my head one last time, but Mijin was gone. And in the corner of my eye the last lantern went black.

Drowned in darkness, I felt the ground disappear below my feet and ice-cold water fill the voids around my lifeless body.

Copyright: Dan Asenlund, 2010.


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