Termino.
Principium
He barely had time to register the road rushing towards his face.
Fate beckons me, shall I give in?
Upon my end, shall I begin?
The disoriented man slowly came to his senses. He was lying face down on a hard, damp and smooth surface that seemed to be swaying ever so slightly. His suspicions were confirmed when the smell of salt hit his nose and he felt the unwelcome sensation of seasickness in his stomach. He lifted his head and grabbed the wooden railing that came into sight.
Struggling to his feet, he realized that he was on the deck of a huge old-fashioned ship, a trireme, that had blood-red sails billowing in the wind; it seemed to be straight out of the Greek movies he had watched as a child. There was nothing but open sea and the horizon for miles around.
The main deck was deserted and he went down the stairs to check on the rooms below, only to realize that he was the only one on the ship. A shiver ran down his spine. The ship was eerily drifting in the water. When he climbed back onto the main deck, he realized with a shock that the ship was quickly approaching land that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere.
The ship sailed steadily towards the shore and showed no signs of slowing down. The man braced himself against the main mast for the crash. The ship finally hit land and he thought he heard the hull crack. The impact threw him forward and sent him sliding painfully across the wet deck. He could hear his heart beating over the groaning of the ship as he frantically tried to grab hold of something to steady himself.
When the ship finally ground to a halt, he slammed into the railing on the front deck. A rope-ladder was dangling off the side. He clambered over in a daze and descended it. As he neared the bottom, he realized it was hanging at least ten feet above the ground. He steeled himself and jumped, landing painfully in a pile of soft sand.
The man sat up wearily, wincing as his whole body protested in pain; on the bright side, nothing seemed to be broken.
Where am I?
The man looked inland towards a modern city, and a strangely familiar skyline greeted him. He was sure he knew this place, but he couldn’t quite place it. He spotted a battered black wallet lying in the sand a short distance away and plodded towards it; he assumed that it had slipped out of his pocket when he fell from the ladder. He found a tiny mirror in it — the face that looked back at him appeared alien. He found three photos and was startled to see himself in all of them — having a meal with a lady and two children; laughing with a group of people as he proudly showed off a trophy, and standing in a white church in another. He pulled out a driving license, which also had his photo on it. He then read the name.
Hiro Inayashi.
Pain coursed through Hiro’s head and he fell to his knees. Garbled voices echoed around him but the beach was as empty as the ship had been.
Hiro’s eyes watered as he blinked away the pain. Digging further, he found a sealed, opaque silver package that appeared to be filled with some powder. He put everything back into the wallet and slipped it back into his pocket — he had more pressing problems to deal with at the moment. He checked his other pocket and pulled out an ancient keypad phone. Its battery was dead. More confused than ever, he put it back and staggered towards the road he could see in the distance.
When Hiro reached the street, the feeling of disorientation was exacerbated by what he saw. Most of the buildings had their lights on and the nearest traffic light was working too. He recognized some of the buildings, but his head ached when he tried to recollect the broken fragments of his memory. It would have felt like a normal city if he hadn’t been absolutely alone. He looked up and down the road — not a single person or vehicle in sight. There were a few crows perched on lampposts in unnerving silence. They turned their heads at the sound of him walking on the footpath.
Are they looking at me?
Hiro shivered and kept walking aimlessly. He had to figure out what was going on, and what had happened to everyone. The silence was thick and weighed down on his ears, and he found himself covering them. He shook his head. He was being silly, or was he? He passed a bakery that had its doors open; he could see freshly baked bread through the window, but the bakery had an air of frigid inhospitality.
All of a sudden, the phone in Hiro’s pocket rang, violently breaking the silence. Hiro jumped. How is it ringing? He pulled out the phone with shaking hands and pressed the little green button.
“Hello?”
There was a long pause. Then a familiar voice answered. Hiro couldn’t quite place it but knew he had heard it before. Something was off.
“Hiro.”
Hiro gulped. “Yes?”
“Bring the silver package to 409, Seventh Avenue. I’ll be waiting.”
The call ended abruptly with a short beep. Hiro lowered the phone from his ear and stared at it. The screen had blacked out again. He weighed his options. He was lost in some kind of a post-apocalyptic city, and the mystery-caller would probably have some information for him. On the other hand, the whole situation reeked of danger.
How did the caller know my name? Why is this city so empty? Why don’t I remember anything? How in the world did I land upon the ship?
Hiro took out the package. He didn’t dare open it. The boards above the stores told him he was on First Avenue. Against his better judgment, he set off towards the Seventh.
