Blog Post Title Four

Twist: He is reading a letter addressed to him but turns out it is a suicide note and he is the one who wrote it (once he is done reading it he thinks that it would sound better if things were changed…)

Connect to beginning: doesn’t know what time it is then mention that he killed her staging it as a suicide only thing keeping time is her swaying cold body. He touches her feet like the gladiator, weeping. He is practicing his reaction when he discovers the body. Note to self, less snot (nod to actual note to Russel Crowe from director).

Time is a funny thing. We track it so attentively, yet time is an invention of man. Does it exist? Oda Sanosuke didn’t know how to answer that question? He didn’t even know what time it was. He had no watch on his wrist, no phone in his pocket, and no clocks in his house. He had a TV once. It does get lonely and a tad boring when there’s no entertainment and no one else to be around, no one to talk to, no one to hate, no one to love. But eventually even that had to go.

The only object he had that kept any time at all was the girl dancing on nothing, swaying side to side from his ceiling. She was another mystery that he did not know the answer to… yet.

He was alone. He liked being alone. Secluded, free, in control. Though he liked to study people. It was only so he could know himself better. 

He had no wifi in the house, he didn’t own a smartphone, didn’t even own a cellphone. The only connection he had to the outside world were the books that had hoarded throughout the 54 years that he had survived, endured and a letter that he had found on the floor of his genkan. 

It had been decades since he had received any correspondence even longer since he’d spoken to anyone. Who in the world would want to reach out to him? He surely didn’t care to respond. 

He observed the envelope, khaki colored, an odd color for an envelope he thought to himself. There was no return address which made him happy because that meant that he didn’t have to reply to it. 

There was no return address, which to many would puzzle them perhaps even worry them even giving sprout to some ideas of suspicion, but to him he was overjoyed because no return address only meant that there was no need to reply.

For weeks, maybe even months to be honest, even he didn’t know how much time had passed. He had no clocks in his house no way of knowing the time no smart phone no Wi-Fi. Nothing keeping him connected to the outside world.

His curiosity got the best of him, like a cat fixating on a mouse, and clawed open the envelope. He had no clue that by doing so, he’d miss the mouse and only spring a trap. 

To be or not to be, he thought for many years about this phrase. Working as an undertaker makes you think about the other side—if there is an “other side.” It’s meaning—it’s meaning to him. It’s amazing. How much can change in just a few minutes that’s all it took for his whole life to change.

One day you’re chatting to your wife, Sakura 35, the next you're stuffing an urn with her burnt ashes, ashes you burnt yourself. He’d cremated many people, all shapes and sizes. Even kids. But he never thought twice about it. It was his job. That was it. 

He was surrounded by death. Not only because he worked as an undertaker, but because his walls were covered with relics of death. 

Inside was a letter addressed to him, Oda Sanosuke. 

He’s been kicking so much ass his feet stink

He couldn’t beat a soapy pecker

Said she was working late

It’s the silence that gets to me the most. The silence when she walks in and doesn’t say a word. Her voice used to fill the room, flowing like warm honey throughout the house. I loved her laugh the most. She would cover her mouth every time she did, as if she were trying to hold it as it sprayed out of her like a shaken soda. A little over a year has past since the last time I heard her laugh.

We had started trying to have a baby. I thought I’d just stick my beaver into her honey pot and wait nine months and poof we’d have a baby. But no matter how much honey my beaver stuck into that pot we never did get that baby. That was four years ago.

Lying is a skill I unintentionally picked up after decades of working as an actor.

The expressionless face as she brushes past me as if I were a blade of grass to her boots, and her boots smelled of lies.

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