The Aosawa Murders

by Riku Onda

Fear is a spice that lends credibility. Just the right amount sprinkled in any story makes it plausible.

Non-fiction? I’m not keen on the word. No matter how much a writer tries to adhere to the truth, the notion of non-fiction is an illusion.

All human beings are alike at the beginning of their lives in that they live in close proximity to the earth and propel themselves on hands and knees along the ground until mobile enough to stand up and be liberated from the dirt, thus becoming more distant from it in the process.

Yes, it’s mob justice for the criminal and the victims now… before the truth’s known! But I believe the only ones with the right to criticize are the victims. I don’t understand this behaviour nowadays… why is it okay to have a go at complete strangers? I really can’t understand that.

The cruellest thing in this world is to be forgotten; yet time will bury the furore of the past and silence the chatter that was once on people’s lips.

“The colours I knew in childhood from long, long ago were enough for me. I could have happily passed my whole life with the colours in my memory. The blue and red in my mind were bright and beautiful. Fresh, pure and full of energy. Much more so than real flowers.”

Cities and people both generate sound in the process of change, she thinks. The same world never exists twice, and in every moment, with every passing second, people live in a different world.