City of the Real Chapter 1

A samurai lies washed up on the beach. His kimono has dried in the sun and his sword remains slung across his back. Seagulls, cautious at first, start to peck at his sandals and hair. The samurai groans and rolls over. He grabs one and holds it to his chest.

“Noriko, my cherry blossom…”

The seagull bites his hand and flies away squawking.

“Our time together was so short, and so beautiful…” The samurai closes his eyes and raises his bleeding hand to the warm sun. Slowly, he picks himself up and sets off down the shoreline in search of fresh water. 

Step by step he staggers through the sand. The beach and the cliffs and the undrinkable ocean repeat themselves like a cruel poem. He tries to remember how he ended up here, but he can’t. His head is pounding, his skin is burning, and fissures crack open the roof of his mouth. He sucks the blood from his hand but his thirst only grows stronger. Green grass waves above the cliff’s edge, taunting him. 

At long last, he spots a stream trickling out of a hole high up in the cliffside. He runs to it and presses his face against the rock and drinks until his tongue is raw. When his thirst is quenched, he wipes his brow and stares upstream. The groove the water has carved into the rock looks like a way up. He slots his fingers into the first crevice and begins the climb. The water splatters down into his eyes and runs up his nose. Loose rocks slip out from under him. His muscles scream with every upward lunge. Suddenly there are no more handholds. He clings to the wall and grits his teeth, careful not to look down. 

A crab creeps out from a gap in the rock and scuttles toward him. The samurai glances frantically at the space above, but still can’t spot anything to grab onto. The crab stops right above his left hand and they lock eyes. Sweat drips down the samurai’s forehead to the tip of his nose, then falls a thousand feet. The crab reaches out and pinches his index finger. The samurai howls in pain and loses his grip. He swings across the wall, feeling something tear in his arm, but he manages to hang on. The crab scuttles over to his right hand.

“No!” shouts the samurai, but it’s no use. The crab rubs its claws together and grins. Then, just as claw meets skin, the crab is sliced in half and sails down to the beach. The samurai groans and stretches to put his sword back in its sheath, and as he does so, he spots a handhold above him that wasn’t visible when he’d had both his hands on the wall. He grabs onto it and continues his ascent.

When the samurai reaches the top of the cliff, he finds himself at the beginning of an endless grassy plain, its soft blades rippling in the wind like the waves below. He lies down and breathes in the salty air. He tries again to remember, but still no use. 

The ground beneath him rumbles and he jumps away and unsheathes his sword. A giant crab bursts through the earth, claws snapping.

“You killed my brother Rico!” says the crab, blowing steam out its nostrils.

“It was in self-defense, I assure you.”

“You’re gonna pay for this, human!” The crab charges toward him and he steps aside just in time. The crab pivots and charges again. Shell meets steel as the samurai beats back a flurry of claws. Soon they find themselves locked in stalemate, the samurai holding both claws back with both hands on his sword. He digs his sandals into the ground, but starts sliding backwards. The sword inches closer to his face. The crab licks its lips. Suddenly the samurai ducks and slides beneath the crab as it topples over him. He turns around, leaps high into the air, and drives his sword through a gap in the crab’s shell. He pants and sweat drips down his face.

“Hah!” says the crab. “You think a toothpick like that can kill me?”

The samurai twists the blade deeper.

“What’s happening?” cries the crab, flailing its claws in vain as it’s engulfed in flames from within.

The samurai sits by his fire eating roasted crab under the starry sky. Burning twigs crackle and spit embers, and shapes and figures emerge in the flames. An old man raises his finger to his lips, then turns and walks down a hallway. He stops before an enormous pair of doors and puts his ear to the gap between them. He nods, then walks away. The doors open. A shadowy figure sits upon the throne.

“Koji…”

“Who are you?” asks the samurai.

“You’re still alive...”

“Who are you?!”

The figure laughs and the flames burn brighter. Koji swings his sword through him but he keeps on laughing.

“I’ll be waiting…”

Koji kicks the fire apart and stomps out the embers. Hands shaking, he drops his sword and walks to the edge of the cliff, gazing out at the moon over the sea.

Excerpt from a 550pg novel that’s been languishing in my files.