To say here is far, and to call yonder nearby. Stories on the edge of the every day, strange tales you may or may not be moved by. Strange, curious, fantastic stories told by me, you, him and her. There are many stories but they’re all concluded within a single page, each story around 200 to 1200 characters in length, a short story collection you can easily read. Please enjoy them. Updated every Saturday at 6pm.
This happened when I was a child.
We once took out an advance on our family home.
Before it was a single story bungalow, but now it’s a two-story building.
There was no veranda facing the garden in the west, but now you can enter the garden through the glass doors in the long, thin room, both to the north and south.
This memory is about that room in the west, when I was in kindergarten, or maybe even elementary school.
It was evening, and I was staring at the garden blank-minded when I saw some people dancing on the roof of the house just past it.
There were three of them.
One of them had white hair and was wearing gold hakama. Another had white hair with black hakama. The other was holding a hand drum, and though I didn’t know it at the time, it was exactly what you would expect from a kabuki performance.
It wasn’t a terribly large roof, but the man in the gold hakama spun around and around, dancing without a care in the world.
He wasn’t putting on an act or anything; he just wasn’t scared. But in my childlike mind, I thought, ‘If he falls, he’ll get hurt!’
In a panic I called out, but no-one came.
Of course both my parents were working at the time, so it was just me and my grandmother at home, and my grandmother had poor hearing.
“It’s dangerous to dance like that!” I yelled.
But it fell on deaf ears. They continued dancing.
It looked like the words of a child wouldn’t cut it.
I went to find my grandmother and ran from the room, but when I couldn’t find her, I hung my head and returned to the room in the west.
When I looked up at the roof again, no-one was there.