Whoever fights monsters
should see to it that in the
process he does not become
a monster. And if you gaze
long enough into an abyss,
the abyss will gaze back into
you.
- Friedrich Nietzsche
December 3rd, 2:43 A.M.
Good bye was an easy phrase for Jojo to say. With a flick of the tongue you could dissolve yourself from social outings that pointed you out more as an outcast; Jojo didn't speak often but when she did it was clear that she was a woman of few words even when the company was outgoing and colorful. And when Jojo said good bye it was with the finesse of finality. Others were off put by the sound of it because most were scared of toying that edge which eventually led everyone to some unknown oblivion. They wanted to keep festive with a combination of see you later's, talk soon's, the whole nine yards that gave hope that tomorrow would always come.
Jojo was the last to be dropped off at the apartment she had rented when arriving here. Unloading her bike didn't take much time at all but what took the longest was encouraging King that she was fine between the swelling, bruising, and possible loose teeth. King wanted to know if there was also some wounding to Jojos pride even if she didn't utter a single concern about it.
Good bye, King. Always unsettling, that.
The apartment gave an echo with the jingling of keys in the lock. Only thing to combat it was the low hum of a turned on television that had been muted before she had left. News from back home played across the screen with the note worthy title of MORE BODIES FOUND but it didn't seem enough to catch Jojo off some planned routine of pulling off the blood stained sweater.
She stood in the middle of the barren apartment, cocking her head to the side to hear the distance of King's Jeep, arms still within the sleeves of the sweater. The blue tint of television light being enough to track the bruising across ribs while her face shadowed itself by tipping over her shoulder.
She's gone, Jojo confirmed before tossing the charade of wincing from her make believe status as being hurt. There was no one to witness this transformation save for the thousand mile stare from the news anchor on the television who didn't seem at all surprised at the state of emergency she was reporting on. Crossing through the living room to the thin hallway just as the camera man panned to the crime scene.
Her reflection in the mirror wasn't unusual. There had once been a rumor that they would appear different in them but it was debunked quickly by the Dove's. Many other fabricated theories went a long with it such as them being able to survive on uncooked red meat or the bogus report of them being born sterile. Tons more would be produced before the rest could be unmasked by evidence. Was how the world worked now; gossip from column A spread like wildfire to column B which makes column C think that the ground up bone dust of a shark would be excellent repellent only to find that it had no relation at all by the confirmation of column D.
Ring. Ring.
Jojo made sure to take every detail of the bruising in. Where it was the most purple, where the yellow started to flush on the outskirts, where there might be a greenish hue later once a bruise was left to settle in. She rolled a finger a long her bottom lip to identify just how deep the cut was there, if it was less centered and more to the right, estimating how long it would take for something like this to heal.
Ring. Ring.
Turning around to give her back to the mirror. She recalled falling enough on the mat to maybe cause some swelling across her left hip. The majority of the damage done to her face would make this an easy cover up. Rolling out from the sticky suction of running leggings helped her grasp just how many bruises she would need to recolor her skin with. Hands roamed down the long stilts of her legs.
Ring. Ring.
"Moshi moshi." Speaking Japanese over English. It was her first language and while she excelled at English it just came easier for Jojo when in the confines of her own space. Lifting back up after finally answering the cell phone that buzzed obnoxiously on the porcelain of the bathroom counter.
"You're up. Not that I can say I'm surprised."
"I had a match tonight, Nima." Nima was short for Nimali. Nimali spoke English, too, but it had more of a rough edge around it due to Sri Lankan blood ties.
"Oh, for that thing you went out there for? What's it called again? I still think it was a poor excuse to leave but at least the opportunity came when it did."
Jojo paid half attention to the mirror, still, while also being semi-invested in the phone call. The main highlights of the bruises began to grow distant like they were being washed off before her very eyes. Purples, blues, all colors associated with her injuries were evaporated as she spoke. "Iron Fist League. It wasn't an excuse to leave. King asked me to be a competitor in it."
"Sure, sure. That's the only reason you left. I totally believe you, Jojo. Not the fact that the Dove's finally had enough on you to maybe search you out?"
"I don't know what you're talking about." Which suggested that that line of conversation would be forever be unspoken about over the phone. She may have been millions of miles and a world apart but there was always the chance that they could be listening.
"Are you eating there?" Nima was quick to change the subject based on the tone Jojo had used but the subject she seemed to choose didn't sit well with Jojo either.
"Yeah. I'm fine, Nima. How's Kou?" No matter the need to not speak about eating she found herself becoming irritable from hunger. The bathroom became an afterthought when she changed scenery; the kitchen was just as empty as the rest of the place save for some dishes and a very small dining table that sat two.
"He misses you. I keep telling him that he should just go see you there but he insists that you wouldn't want him there. You can't keep him on the hook forever, Jojo."
"Any hook he is on is not any that I cast. He does it to himself. And he's right; I wouldn't want him here."
"Harsh, Jojo. That's harsh. After everything that he --"
"Did you need something, Nima?" Fridge had been opened and the coolness that swept with the door was welcomed. By now, there was no indication she had even been in a fight earlier. Her teeth felt in place with no loose ends.
Nima was quiet but that never lasted long. It was enough to prove that what she wanted to speak about was important, though. "Do you have the news on, from back home?"
Light from the fridge shone bright enough to cast a shadow of Jojo's height across the tile floor. Inside was a single brown wrapped package that seemed to be from a butcher shop or a deli. Edges stained with a light pink color from the meat it housed. Jojo reached for it while keeping silent.
"It's getting worse, Jojo. That wasn't as bad as what is happening over in Tokyo. With out you here it's like a free for all."
She began to unwrap the beige twine that had tied together the package, placing a plate beneath it to catch any of the juices. Crinkling of the paper seemed louder than gun shots at the moment given how the apartment wasn't decorated enough to muffle a single sound when it was this quiet.
"Let me eat and I'll call you back."
"Jojo, you don't even sound worried."
"I'll call you back."
Jojo hung up with a single nudge of her thumb over the touch screen. She set the phone further from the edge of the counter where she loomed across the now opened package. With the fridge still open, some light shed on the thick slab of human thigh that had been cut for her.
Another story suggested that they were sickened by cold meat. Jojo exposed that as heresy almost every night for three years.
should see to it that in the
process he does not become
a monster. And if you gaze
long enough into an abyss,
the abyss will gaze back into
you.
- Friedrich Nietzsche
December 3rd, 2:43 A.M.
Good bye was an easy phrase for Jojo to say. With a flick of the tongue you could dissolve yourself from social outings that pointed you out more as an outcast; Jojo didn't speak often but when she did it was clear that she was a woman of few words even when the company was outgoing and colorful. And when Jojo said good bye it was with the finesse of finality. Others were off put by the sound of it because most were scared of toying that edge which eventually led everyone to some unknown oblivion. They wanted to keep festive with a combination of see you later's, talk soon's, the whole nine yards that gave hope that tomorrow would always come.
Jojo was the last to be dropped off at the apartment she had rented when arriving here. Unloading her bike didn't take much time at all but what took the longest was encouraging King that she was fine between the swelling, bruising, and possible loose teeth. King wanted to know if there was also some wounding to Jojos pride even if she didn't utter a single concern about it.
Good bye, King. Always unsettling, that.
The apartment gave an echo with the jingling of keys in the lock. Only thing to combat it was the low hum of a turned on television that had been muted before she had left. News from back home played across the screen with the note worthy title of MORE BODIES FOUND but it didn't seem enough to catch Jojo off some planned routine of pulling off the blood stained sweater.
She stood in the middle of the barren apartment, cocking her head to the side to hear the distance of King's Jeep, arms still within the sleeves of the sweater. The blue tint of television light being enough to track the bruising across ribs while her face shadowed itself by tipping over her shoulder.
She's gone, Jojo confirmed before tossing the charade of wincing from her make believe status as being hurt. There was no one to witness this transformation save for the thousand mile stare from the news anchor on the television who didn't seem at all surprised at the state of emergency she was reporting on. Crossing through the living room to the thin hallway just as the camera man panned to the crime scene.
Her reflection in the mirror wasn't unusual. There had once been a rumor that they would appear different in them but it was debunked quickly by the Dove's. Many other fabricated theories went a long with it such as them being able to survive on uncooked red meat or the bogus report of them being born sterile. Tons more would be produced before the rest could be unmasked by evidence. Was how the world worked now; gossip from column A spread like wildfire to column B which makes column C think that the ground up bone dust of a shark would be excellent repellent only to find that it had no relation at all by the confirmation of column D.
Ring. Ring.
Jojo made sure to take every detail of the bruising in. Where it was the most purple, where the yellow started to flush on the outskirts, where there might be a greenish hue later once a bruise was left to settle in. She rolled a finger a long her bottom lip to identify just how deep the cut was there, if it was less centered and more to the right, estimating how long it would take for something like this to heal.
Ring. Ring.
Turning around to give her back to the mirror. She recalled falling enough on the mat to maybe cause some swelling across her left hip. The majority of the damage done to her face would make this an easy cover up. Rolling out from the sticky suction of running leggings helped her grasp just how many bruises she would need to recolor her skin with. Hands roamed down the long stilts of her legs.
Ring. Ring.
"Moshi moshi." Speaking Japanese over English. It was her first language and while she excelled at English it just came easier for Jojo when in the confines of her own space. Lifting back up after finally answering the cell phone that buzzed obnoxiously on the porcelain of the bathroom counter.
"You're up. Not that I can say I'm surprised."
"I had a match tonight, Nima." Nima was short for Nimali. Nimali spoke English, too, but it had more of a rough edge around it due to Sri Lankan blood ties.
"Oh, for that thing you went out there for? What's it called again? I still think it was a poor excuse to leave but at least the opportunity came when it did."
Jojo paid half attention to the mirror, still, while also being semi-invested in the phone call. The main highlights of the bruises began to grow distant like they were being washed off before her very eyes. Purples, blues, all colors associated with her injuries were evaporated as she spoke. "Iron Fist League. It wasn't an excuse to leave. King asked me to be a competitor in it."
"Sure, sure. That's the only reason you left. I totally believe you, Jojo. Not the fact that the Dove's finally had enough on you to maybe search you out?"
"I don't know what you're talking about." Which suggested that that line of conversation would be forever be unspoken about over the phone. She may have been millions of miles and a world apart but there was always the chance that they could be listening.
"Are you eating there?" Nima was quick to change the subject based on the tone Jojo had used but the subject she seemed to choose didn't sit well with Jojo either.
"Yeah. I'm fine, Nima. How's Kou?" No matter the need to not speak about eating she found herself becoming irritable from hunger. The bathroom became an afterthought when she changed scenery; the kitchen was just as empty as the rest of the place save for some dishes and a very small dining table that sat two.
"He misses you. I keep telling him that he should just go see you there but he insists that you wouldn't want him there. You can't keep him on the hook forever, Jojo."
"Any hook he is on is not any that I cast. He does it to himself. And he's right; I wouldn't want him here."
"Harsh, Jojo. That's harsh. After everything that he --"
"Did you need something, Nima?" Fridge had been opened and the coolness that swept with the door was welcomed. By now, there was no indication she had even been in a fight earlier. Her teeth felt in place with no loose ends.
Nima was quiet but that never lasted long. It was enough to prove that what she wanted to speak about was important, though. "Do you have the news on, from back home?"
Light from the fridge shone bright enough to cast a shadow of Jojo's height across the tile floor. Inside was a single brown wrapped package that seemed to be from a butcher shop or a deli. Edges stained with a light pink color from the meat it housed. Jojo reached for it while keeping silent.
"It's getting worse, Jojo. That wasn't as bad as what is happening over in Tokyo. With out you here it's like a free for all."
She began to unwrap the beige twine that had tied together the package, placing a plate beneath it to catch any of the juices. Crinkling of the paper seemed louder than gun shots at the moment given how the apartment wasn't decorated enough to muffle a single sound when it was this quiet.
"Let me eat and I'll call you back."
"Jojo, you don't even sound worried."
"I'll call you back."
Jojo hung up with a single nudge of her thumb over the touch screen. She set the phone further from the edge of the counter where she loomed across the now opened package. With the fridge still open, some light shed on the thick slab of human thigh that had been cut for her.
Another story suggested that they were sickened by cold meat. Jojo exposed that as heresy almost every night for three years.