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Authored by
Paul B - Brampton Library Writing Contest
The land of Japan was something unmistakable to him. It was the way he had always been. He saw the world differently than other people. But only in his dreams did he allow himself to enjoy the simple splendor that was the natural world of Japan .
In his mind, he lay in the grassy foothills of the mountains for hours, feeling the cool breeze in the trees above. It was here that the early dawn light transcended his sanctuary of sleep, like a memory from the past. Before long, though, he began to toss and turn as the dragon stirred within him. His peaceful vantage point under a tree faded into the dreary confines of his tiny living space.
The existence of the dragon within him was undeniable. It was impossible to escape from it, for it had become his purpose in life. Day after day, he awoke out of breath, suffocated by the dragon within. Then, slowly, after a few deep inhalations, his mind was again submerged into the harsh reality of his life in Tokyo . The dragon had consumed him whole.
He had been a cop for several years and had lived in the police dormitory ever since joining the force. This was common among policemen, as the job demanded great commitment.
Groggy and very hungry, he was still wearing the police uniform from his overnight shift the previous night. His stomach grumbled, reminding him of the time. It was afternoon; he had slept through the day and he had not eaten since yesterday. He decided to get some food before returning to his post in the Shinjuku district of metro Tokyo .
The main floor of the department was bustling with activity as usual. A recent string of violent robberies in the Shinjuku district was the cause. Numerous gang members had been arrested. Victims were either beaten and robbed or killed outright.
He passed sleepily through the front office, the sounds of ringing phones and criminal reports being filed reached his tired ears. When he entered the kitchen, all he found was a bowl of stale rice.
Through the drab kitchen curtains, light washed into the room. Staring out the window, he spotted a man flicking his cigarette to the curb of the road, then walking callously away. Entranced by the sighting, he wondered how his fellow police officers survived their daily struggle through the real world. Without the dragon within him, he did not know how to view reality.
As a cop, he had seen so much hate, the pain was overwhelming, and like the sound of an infant crying, it would tear through his chest. He could feel the dragon ascend inside him and then slowly settle itself. He decided not to waste time eating; he needed to return to duty. Peoples' lives were depending on him . and the rice was stale anyway.
He stepped out of the police station into the hot sun; it was late afternoon on a smoggy June day. He was clad in the steel blue police uniform, even though the air was so thick it felt like a layer of clothing by itself.
Under the waning beauty of the cherry blossoms, the sun cast long, ominous shadows across his face. He took out some papers from his pocket. It was a report on gang-related arrests made in metro Tokyo for the last couple of days. It was obvious from the report that the Shinjuku district had become a popular area for the triads in Japan .
He casually got onto his motorcycle, started the engine, and sped towards Shinjuku. His tie flapped freely in the wind as he headed down the highway like a bullet darting in and out of car lanes. Recently, he had begun to drive somewhat recklessly as a form of release at the end of the day. He knew better than to speed, especially since he was a cop, but he felt a sense of entitlement. After years of exhausting police work, he believed he had earned the right to some freedom from the law.
The bridge into the metropolitan center of the city passed over the Tokyo harbour front. The intense sunlight of the dying day reflected off the water, blinding the rush-hour drivers. Focused on his destination, he flew across the bridge at top speed. The bright colours of his tie worked well with his casual and cool demeanor at effectively concealing the dark dragon within.
Not far from the crime scenes, Japan 's youth descended upon the Shibuya district, the heart and soul of Tokyo . Unfortunately, it was also infinitely more crowded here than on the highway, and he had to slow down as traffic backed up.
Amidst a steady stream of people on the streets of this maze-like district, the beauty of the land of the rising sun shone through. He balanced solemnly on his motorcycle; the dark contours of his solitary form contrasted starkly with the western sky and the setting sun.
The population of Tokyo exceeded ten million, but the congestion here seemed many times greater. Against a backdrop of towering skyscrapers and intricate, lifelike buildings, an overwhelming restlessness encompassed the district. The air was somehow heavier, saturated with stress that dripped from the youth like sweat on a muggy day. Average teenagers gathered here for food, entertainment, and to socialize. They could escape their responsibilities and have fun, despite the unseen burdens that weighed upon them.
Part of him wished he were a teenager again. Only a few years ago, he had been just that, fresh out of high school and eager to join Tokyo 's police force. As a rookie on duty, he was the epitome of confidence. He personified the strength and courage of some ancient bushido spirit. He felt invincible because of the honour that being a policeman had brought to his name and reputation. His training in martial arts was extensive and had earned him enough awards and decorations to cover him from head to toe. Back then, he had felt he could do anything. Now, though, things were different.
Something had changed in him, and he was haunted by it. He longed for the past, when the future was still hopeful. In recent months, he had endured the troubling tedium of his job with great disdain. His only purpose seemed to be to fight the endless cycle of crime and corruption in the world. But the gears of his determination were perpetually grinding against his mental fatigue, and he continued to make his way in the world.
Traffic began moving again and he shifted his weight to accelerate on the motorcycle. With a quick, wistful glance at a group of high school students, he turned past a busy street corner and headed into the Shinjuku district.
It was dusk and the red light district was already buzzing with a barrage of advertisements. Neon lights walled the street like the hallway of some gaudy hotel. After a brief sojourn through Tokyo 's loudest district, he came to the outskirts of the city.
Night had provided no relief from the sweltering conditions in this part of town. A streetlamp shone, despite its shattered glass face, in the parking lot of a nearby convenience store. As he passed by on his motorcycle, he heard the haranguing sound of a distant police siren. The blaring noise came from seemingly every direction. It was a constant reminder, he thought, that these streets were unsafe this late.
Under the glaring light of the streetlamp, the owner of the store watched the parking lot diligently for the approach of any threatening figure. The light was comforting, but as it began to flicker, his better judgment told him he had better close up for the night. Resentfully, however, he decided he would not be intimidated and would stay open a while longer for the sake of spite and the few customers in the aisles. In his years of experience, he probably knew this to be unwise, but tonight he refused to give into the fear that came with his post.
Despite the illuminated parking lot, it wasn't long before the elongated shadow of a dark figure moved towards the convenience store. The owner was busy with a customer when the man walked in. Dressed in shabby clothes, he looked very conspicuous, with a cigarette hanging from his mouth.
When the store emptied of customers, the man whipped out a gun and in a hoarse voice demanded money from the owner. The owner panicked and yelled for help. The robber's foolhardy plan had not taken into account the clerk's bold cries for help. Enraged, he shoved the clerk across the counter and pointed his gun at him. The robber was shouting himself, demanding the clerk open the cash register.
While patrolling the streets, the policeman heard the shouting and swerved into the small store's parking lot. He saw the situation inside and instinctively unholstered his gun. Kicking the door open, he shouted, "Stop or I'll shoot!"
The robber froze, stunned, then turned to the cop at the door and turned back to the owner and grabbed his arm, jerking him in line with the barrel of his own gun. The laws in Japan were very strict concerning guns, the cop thought, how could it be so easy for such a young man to get a handgun? Then he remembered the triads and the gang connection in Shinjuku.
Despite the smaller caliber of the robber's gun compared to his standard police issue, it would make no difference to the clerk: He wouldn't survive a bullet from either.
"Go ahead!" said the police officer. "If you think it's really worth killing an innocent man."
These were not standard police tactics, but he had no choice. He felt the dragon inside him, compelling him to do whatever was necessary. In the moment it took the robber to consider his options, the clerk broke free and ran towards the door.
Out of desperation, the robber shot wildly at his escaped hostage. In an instant, the cop threw himself in front of the clerk and a bullet pierced his chest.
Wide-eyed, the robber dropped his gun and disappeared in a flash through a back door. The clerk ran out into the night shouting for help. Left staggering, the cop stumbled out into the parking lot where he collapsed on the asphalt.
He lay mortally wounded under the night sky as blood trickled onto the pavement beneath him. He gazed up at the silvery moon surrounded by the silent blackness of the sky. The dragon raged on in him as the dark pool grew around him. There was no pain, only a dull ache.
Under the moonlight, he remembered an old poem he had heard once:
Fain would I in this world so hard
No longer live, but still must stay: -
How wistfully my eyes regard
The midnight moonbeams' tranquil sway!
The ode reminded him of how beautiful the night could be.
Darkness was not to be feared, he thought, nor was the dragon that had driven him to become a cop. It was because of it that he had been able to help so many people. It had been both his livelihood and his tormentor, but regardless, they would both be gone soon. His survival no longer depended on it, for it would suffer the same fate as he.
His life, while short, had had meaning. The world would continue when he died, but perhaps he had changed it for the better. In the end, all dragons must die, and when he died, he was alone.
Miura, Yuzuru. Classic Haiku: A Master's Selection . Tokyo : Charles E. Tuttle Company, Inc., 1991.
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