Ranma 1/2 characters are used without permission.
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The moon was little more than a pale sliver of light in the black
Nerima sky. What little illumination it gave did little to light the ground
beneath his feet. The majority of the light came from the streetlamps and
storefronts he passed on his way, garish and bright on the cracked sidewalk.
The man in the trenchcoat didn't recognize many of the businesses he
passed. Stores that sold everything from food to drugs to books, he
remembered none of them. So much had changed since he left thirty years ago,
and not all of it for the better.
As he neared the end of the business district, he noticed some of
the stores were dark and empty. Many of those had been boarded up, nobody
was able to afford Japan's insane real estate rates. A few of the
storefronts sported faded graffitti and stains of a nature he cold not
identify. With every step, a cold feeling grew in his chest. He hoped he
could still find them here.
The building he once knew as the Nekohanten still stood, but was
obviously abandoned. The front of the building was boarded up, with a sign
indicating that the building was for sale or lease. Who, though, could
afford to shell out the money necessary to buy it?
Seeing no way in from the front, he stepped into the shadowed alley
beside the decaying building. The light from the streetlamps did not reach
into the narrow walkway, but he didn't need it. He knew full well where he
was going.
He knew the high wooden fence was on his right, he could make out
the top of it in what little light the moon gave. After fifteen or so paces,
he faced left and reached for the doorknob he knew was still there.
Instead of seizing the knob, his hand instead found a sheet of
plywood nailed over the doorway. His left hand joined his right in feeling
around the board for a gap, a way to pry it loose. If that failed he could
simply smash his way through, though he really didn't want to waste the
effort. After a few moment's searching, his fingers found a gap between te
wood and the doorjamb. With a little effort, he had pulled the sheet of
plywood back enough to squeeze through.
Once inside he took a whiff of the musty air, almost choking on the
dust. Obviously, it had been a long time since people had last set foot in
there. His feet picked their path from memory, guiding him through the
almost total darkness of the Nekohanten's interior. His eyes gradually
adjusted to the darkness of the rooms, not that it helped him all that much.
Reaching into his coat pocket, he fished out a small, rectangular-shaped
object. Flipping open the top, he struck the small wheel to the flint,
sparking the Zippo to life.
The glare from the flame blinded him momentarily, though it soon
passed. The lighter did little to dispell the deep shadows surrounding him,
but it was better than nothing. From what he could see, most ofthe paint was
cracked and peeling. Looking down as he passed through the kitchen, he could
see that some of the floor tiles were either cracked or gone completely.
The serving area seemed much larger than he remembered. He chalked
that up to the lack of furniture and the shadows that covered the walls and
cieling. Memories of the three who once called the place home came unbidden
to him. Memories of Shampoo, the Chinese woman with fierce determination and
a warrior's heart. Mousse, the lovesick boy who would have done anything for
her and attempted to guard her like a precious treasure, much to her
chagrin. Last was Cologne, who had taught him many things, though he didn't
like to think of her too much. Besides, even she had to be dead by now.
He stopped cold in the center of the room, listening. Something was
wrong, as though he were being watched. He stood motionless, waiting. With
speed that belied his age, the man spun, swinging his left leg in a viscious
arc. His foot connected with something soft, a loud grunt of surprise and
pain bursting forth from it. It turned out to be a man, he saw as he guided
the light of the Zippo over him. He had an athletic body, covered only by a
pair of boxer shorts. The man briefly wondered what he had interrupted as he
asked his question.
"Who are you?"
"Fuck off," the young man replied as he tried to regain his feet.
"Go ahead," the older man replied as he watched. "Try again."
"Don't hurt him!" He turned to see the shadowy form of a woman at
the edge of his flame's sphere of light. He could make out no concrete
details, except that from the look of her form, she was wearing little to no
clothing. Finally, he realized what had been going on.
After it closed up shop for good, the Nekohanten became a haven for
teenagers looking for a place to make out. The young guy who had just gotten
back up had probably managed, after some creative maneuvering and begging,
to get his girlfriend to give it up, and thought to bring her to a place no
one would see them. The man felt a slight twinge of embarrassment at having
been the one to ruin the mood. Poor fella probably wouldn't get another date
for quite some time.
"Sorry to disturb you," he said. He turned to leave, but stopped
after three steps. "You wouldn't know what happened to the people who ran
this place, say, thirty years ago, would you?" They rapidly shook their
heads in the negative. He sighed regretfully. Of COURSE they wouldn't know.
Before turning to leave, he caught the look of indignant rage in the young
man's face. Getting the crap kicked out of him when he was about to score
was probably a serious blow to his ego. The man considered apologizing
again, but decided that it wouldn't do any good. Killing the flame on the
Zippo, he turned and vanished into the darkness, wondering jsut how much had
changed in the past three decades.
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C&C is, as always, welcome and appreciated. Flames will be sent to
the circular file, aka the Delete key.
Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it.
Jed