The Aosawa Murders

by Riku Onda

The change of season in this part of the world is never dramatic. It’s more like the gradual erosion of a boundary line every time a rain shower arrives to paint the old season over bit by bit, as the new one takes its time to turn gradually, in a vague, almost apologetic fashion.

In some ways this resembled his work. He had come to learn that people’s actions were to a certain degree fixed patterns, a template for reading the train of their emotions, but he could not allow a pattern to solidify into assumption or prejudice, as that would prevent him from seeing anything else.

Because being visible carries appalling risk.

“I can only ever be myself for the rest of my life – I can’t be you, or Mother. I’ll never know my whole life what other people are thinking, only what I think – don’t you think that’s boring?”