For the remainder of the day, as uneventful as the first half it was. Meeting on meeting, discussion on discussion, all to no avail. Progress stiff, oh so many preparations and oh so many revelations, staffers work tirelessly, as did managers and their underling drones. The machine of the nation had not yet awoken, and so frightful all were for it to do so, for it was a matter not of if, but when.
Shoichi, in his office—with yet more counsel, bored down by discussion as usual. For from one, it was on more policy and advice from all sorts of colorful faces—neverending titles beginning with whole phrases and sentences as ‘Director of Strategy’, ‘Chairman for Policy’, and ‘Chief Advisor’ all ended with various other sentences; a comedic dance for any who looked from outside. And yet Shoichi found himself stuck within—to read them on deadpan. He was used to all the titles and names; having to remember who was who and recalling this and that, for it came with the job as Cabinet Secretary. Instead, the trouble came with just how many of them he’d had to coordinate—dozens on dozens at a time, and the flow never seemed to stop: never would.
And through three it was an argument with the American ambassador, apparently so important as to have reached him directly, and yet not so that it was done by phone, all sorts of clamorous affair heard in the background. Even if the facade of professionalism had been put up, it was so thin it was but a laced veil, as he could feel all sorts of shades of red and blue come through in what was by all means an icy exchange for an argument. They would meet to talk later, of course, but later was not now, for Shoichi’s schedule grew ever larger still—an air pump tightly bound to a balloon, faithfully and dutifully keeping the rate at which it grew consistent. Too consistent.
By five, simply a few hours of paperwork and inconsistent nagging from advisors bursting into his office. It was an uneventful set of time as compared to the previous seventeen hours and a welcome one at that. The peace, the calm, and all the quiet he needed. Perhaps monotonous, definitely boring, but all made for a wondrous contrast—far, far too much excitement packed into one singular day. Any other day and he could’ve fallen to rest right then and there. But in came new advisors with news, letters, and reports whenever he came close to dozing off. Every single time. And so, those ruffled white mountains to read stood ever taller—one already peaking at a great half-meter tall.
By seven, he’d fashioned a routine out of the whole ordeal that he was now fully engrossed by, for he could not find it in himself anymore to so much as close his eyes to blink. His were not solely bloodshot—they were simply red, as was his breath a raggedy panting sort, the type you could expect of a patient stricken by some ailment of the lung. Breaks were so far and few between, and he could hardly rub his eyes any longer, tears ducts so dry they could be reasonably compared to the Sahara. His last resting retreat, by the time he’d swallowed down his fifteenth hit of caffeine for the day at eighteen before midnight, was forty-two hours ago. The only indulgence left at the end of every day would’ve been a good rest, alas with such shortages oncoming and ongoing across all variety of things, no longer could he keep himself up any longer.
To work himself to death, having proven on his deathbed that at the very least he wouldn’t have let his nation down—a calming thought.
And yet even despite the remaining contents of the day, about the same in mass and weight, it flew by four times as quickly as the first half, even if they were all repeats and rehashes of an endless slurry of meetings on meetings around tables big and small.
In his office chair, seated as newly-assigned Prime Minister, Shoichi would fall to rest; thirty-three past seven in the PM—an exact twelve seconds and a hundred-and-sixty-two milliseconds forward from the minute.
And so, our hero—savior to our heroine, falls to rest, for there was all the work in the world to be done at the dawn of the new day.
[=]
Down cast the rays of midnight—
Down forest of nations, so cold—
Lost castaway now homeless,
Whole day laid alone foretold.
Nightfall comes with two moons,
Peculiar sight for the exile;
Many galaxies from her village,
And gone for just a while.
Down cast the rays of midnight—
She looks up to all the universe,
Out there her village and people,
And this new place, the wild, a hearse.
She yearns for her birthplace—
So far off, that special blue ball—
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But one day for she is nostalgic,
Into abyss she may only call.
Down cast the rays of midnight—
Shoichi sits awake and broken—
Thrust into seat and into power,
To labor ever harder unspoken;
New responsibilities for the prime,
Bringing to her a tawdry rule.
Soon yet he shall dream of home,
Of that sweet sphere of cerule.
Down cast the rays of midnight—
Familiar periwinkle far above,
For she shall lay to rest tonight
Under the dual-lunar love.
In silence they look down,
And there seems to be new heir,
So evermore closely they look,
Surveil upon foreign lady, so fair.
Down cast the rays of midnight—
‘Round those they know not of,
For hunting dogs care not for prey,
They see yet know not whereof—
No higher the Rodenes stand,
Hailing masters Parpaldic and Muse,
Yet now fate rolls its die,
And it shall be the Rodenes to choose.
Down cast the rays of midnight—
Her mind may not abate,
Uncertain a future as any,
And soon five great debates.
Whether to sneak in great stride,
Or unleash great battle upon,
To gain or to lose, it matters not,
For what comes of, thereupon?
Down cast the rays of midnight—
Whispers amongst busy streets,
Whose deepest bowels pave way
For a thousand citizen’s cautious retreats.
Amongst bars and buildings they clamor—
Never stopping, never ceasing, fleeting span,
‘Cross all lines they merge, of all manner,
A silent, sullen peoples,
to whom they’ve a wary commander,
Thus, our heroine—Japan.
[=]
Never for her to meet those she’d known for all too long, all anew, all of no known—whether of friend or foe.
Uncanny was the word for many-an affair as this which she’d found herself in, for being lost was a commonality, but to have lost her tribe wholeheartedly and been plucked from one side of an endless void sea to the other, it was uncanny.
Not grandiose was her entrance ‘nor apocalyptic in any nature. Neither heavenly ‘nor hellish, for she rather simply brought no feeling upon those observers of her entry. It was simply as-of-yet totally unrealized catastrophe by atrophic explosion for her and none more or less. Some others, maybe caught in the blast, but all was yet to come. So she remains, an oddity for some, and a peculiarity for the new faces who’d hardly noticed her arrival save those lucky, lucky three. And a special three they were.
To have found clues and hints, whether they now look upon and search or discard and ignore, all to determine a fate all too far-flung, for they are of Halpine, of Parpaldic, and of those hardy Fenn-Gahar.
Not yet do they reach for her, only in parts aware of her but also is the case for one another and their handlers’ respective mutual knowledges. Thus, all remain observing for some time into this light-filled patch of a terribly dark forest.
Of her, they’ve no clue of her coming, but they’ve a name already, for she hails from the very sun itself all seemed.
Begun and into a new era, with new gift bestowed, was the sun to set one final time?
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So many questions, so many changes, and all from the flick of the fourteenth into fifteenth.
All to be answered in due time, yet for now the march of history stomped along—fifteenth unto sixteenth. And just as always as with before, at the dawning of anew, there shall be great glory and progress on passing the turn of the century.
So soon. Too soon.
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16/01/1999
12:01 AM