RELEASE

by Nanami Fetter

The reason I’m alive is because of release dates. Album release dates, book release dates, and movie release dates. There are so many good pieces of art to look forward to, and so that’s why I’m able to live another day.

Stuff that I can buy, watch, or read are the only things I look forward to when I wake up in the morning. If there’s nothing in the future that I can stay alive for, then I’d rather just die. Everyday is a battle for survival. If only I didn’t have to go to work, and I could stay in my apartment all day, renting movies and buying the latest comics at the convenience store, how perfect would that be?

You’re probably thinking that someone like me is the lowest of the low. A useless piece of garbage. A stain on society. That even food is wasted on someone like me. What’s a bum like me doing in a world where everyone else works hard for the sake of not just themselves, but for the sake of others?

In which case, you’d be totally right. I have to agree with you there.

But if the rest of the world is participating in life, then I’m the observer. I’m here on this earth to just watch all of you lovely people make amazing things, make terrible mistakes, and then forgive and bask in all of your light. If you are the performers, then I am the audience. After all, you wouldn’t like it if after all that hard work, there wasn’t someone behind you, clapping in a thunderous roar, allowing you to feel what you have always been looking for, right?

Recognition from this world is what you’ve been searching for, no? Or at least, from one pathetic bum. At least in that respect, even someone like me can be useful too, right?

But I think being useful is a little overrated anyways. Human beings aren’t really useful, and to call them such, well, that feels a little bit backwards. I think that trains, cars, and knives are all useful, but that’s just because they’re convenient. I don’t think humans are convenient, even though they can be helpful. But most of the time, they’re a lot more trouble than they’re worth. You lose more by being with people than you get.

It’s funny, but these are the things that people call meaningful bonds. I don’t like having to mend and create these bonds though. They’re much too complicated and annoying. But I like the things that people make. Like movies, books, and songs.

So that’s why useful things are the reason that I’m able to live another day longer. Because if I die, then I can’t clap my two hands together for you, the people who create such lovely entertainment for someone like me, now can I?

And anyways, I like clapping. I like watching all you people live the life I can’t.

You upstanding citizens, you.

My name is Banri Kanata. And when I was sixteen, I killed a person.

That’s why I can never go back to a normal way of living ever again. From that day on, I crossed over the line into the territory known to most people as a “degenerate.” Basically, it means that I was no longer considered a normal human.

That’s okay though. How should I say it? It’s like, I didn’t mean to kill someone, so at least I’m a step up from those murderers who plan out that sort of thing. Or at least, that’s how the court ruled it, and that’s why I’m out in the open today and not rotting inside of a cage or anything. I just rot inside my apartment like a “normal person.”

You can look it up on the internet or read a news article about my crimes. The facts of my case are very simple. I killed a person on my way home from soccer practice. It was a foggy evening, and I saw a light pole in the distance. I kicked the ball, just because I was bored, and instead of a pole, it happened to be a person.

The sound they made when they hit the concrete wall next to them was pretty loud. The part that leaves me liable though was that they would’ve lived had I noticed them.

That’s right. I didn’t know I had hit someone until later.

It seems they didn’t die instantly. That’s what really did me in, in everyone’s opinion.

The person who died was named Tono Taichi. He was a high schooler just like me, walking home from school before his strange and untimely death. In the news, they portrayed him as a goody-two-shoes, and the type to get along with everyone. They talked about how his mother and father were devastated, and how they had always expected him to go off to college and get married and have kids, and that they couldn’t imagine a world without him in it. He was apparently the eldest son. The same as me.

But what the news didn’t cover were the most important things. The things I wanted to know most like what his favorite movie was? And what was his least favorite movie? What books would he recommend to others? What was his favorite song? His favorite album of all time? His favorite artist? What was he doing so late on the same path that I was? I had never seen him before that day. What was the worst thing he ever did in his life? What was he most guilty of? And was he a human being who maybe deserved death? Even at the ripe age of sixteen.

Sure, I still feel the weight of being responsible for killing Tono Taichi. But what Tono Taichi’s death really came down to was that he and I were just very, very unlucky. Both of us through that experience had lost our privileges of living, though I couldn’t argue that I had definitely gotten the better end of the deal. Because I can still watch movies, read books, listen to music, and look forward to the future.

But Tono Taichi has no future. Unless you believe in karma or reincarnation, I guess.

I would’ve been curious to know what sorts of things Tono Taichi liked to read, watch or listen to. If he was one of those people who didn’t like listening to music at all, I still think we could have been friends. But when I saw a photo of his body later, he had a face like he liked whatever music and movies were most popular for a guy his age.

Maybe he wasn’t such a reader though. He didn’t look like his soul was that tortured.

Although I like most forms of media, movies are my thing. In particular, I like horror movies the best. Or movies that have lots of grotesque imagery and blood.

Man, movies are just so entertaining. I like it most when I can’t predict what’s about to happen in a film. That’s why movies that are too predictable are just unforgivable to me. I mean, tropes and things like that can be entertaining. But I guess I just can’t forgive a movie that’s boring. It can be slow, cheesy, or even plotless, but if the movie bores me, then it’s just no good. After all, what a waste of space! What a waste of time. When there are so many good things to watch, read, and listen to, I don’t even want to waste a second watching something bad. Unless it’s so bad, it’s good. I only want to fill my days with things that I find worth within.

There’s so much waste in this world. Failures. Regrets. Misunderstandings. So much time and energy has been wasted on unimportant things. If a movie doesn’t touch my heart by the time it ends and hasn’t moved me to absolute tears, then what’s the point? I want to be completely moved. To be utterly changed by the end of it all. No trace of the original should exist. Everyday, I want something completely unrecognizable to happen to me.

I was sentenced to six years for accidentally killing Tono Taichi, but because I was such a good prisoner, my time was cut in half. By the time I was done, I was nineteen years old, almost considered a fully grown adult.

I can’t say my time in prison was exactly comfortable, but it was exciting. When you’re locked up, the whole world is inaccessible. Which means in the three years that I was gone from the world, there were so many movies, books, and music that I hadn’t heard about that I could now access. I had to catch up and watch, read, and listen to all of it. It was heaven.

Once, I stayed in a movie theater for an entire day to watch everything that was playing, moving from room to room without even once stepping outside. Then the next day, I went to a bookstore and bought twenty novels, and then tens of volumes of comic books. It was then that I discovered the magical power of streaming, subscribing to almost every service. My mind was blown wide open.

I made a list of everything I needed to consume from the time I was locked away, vowing to become a media eating monster. I felt that I had finally found my purpose in this world. I was no longer lost, living an aimless and meaningless existence.

The list was endless, and that reassured me. But if the list ever became empty, what would I do? That’s why, artists, writers, and creators, if you’re listening: You can’t stop creating things. Otherwise, I’ll starve. And if that happens, I might have to resort to eating other people instead of just killing them. (I’m just kidding…calm down…)

When I was released from prison, no one was waiting for me. Not my parents, nor the world around me. It was to be expected, of course. But the first thing I thought when I was released was this: Was this really the freedom I had waited for for so long? If that was the case, then it would’ve been better if I had never known the truth. That the world was ugly, and that it was in part, my fault. Because I’m a person with a very confused, deranged heart.

Freedom rings within me, but I then become disgusted by it. Or maybe that’s just an excuse, too. Since I was born already rotten to my very core.

I know that everyone’s grieving every waking minute. That’s what’s even worse.

Without consuming things, human beings are actually pretty empty. I’m even worse than all that though. Because I’m a black hole. All I do is take and take, and I have nothing to offer this world. I’ve even taken things that can never be returned. I’ve taken a life. That’s not something that can probably ever be forgiven.

After all, it’s like I said. I’m just a good-for-nothing bum. What could someone like me have to offer this world? I thought and thought about it the entire time I was in prison, and could only think of one thing. To become an audience member for people who love to make things. In a way, wasn’t that similar enough to loving people? Didn’t they say that a writer and their work could hardly be separated? In that case, artist and art would become one entity, because when someone makes something with all they’ve got, they put their lives on the line to make it.

Isn’t that cool? I couldn’t help but give my total respect. To risk everything for the sake of art. I would’ve liked to have done something that was that noble with my life. But alas, that’s just the way it is. Some people have a vision, and something that they have to say no matter what, or else they’ll die. Who wouldn’t be jealous of something like that? I wish I had strong convictions, and ideas about everything. But instead, I’m actually a pretty boring person with no imagination, and no sense of wonder. I can’t switch up my old routines or change my terrible habits, and I always end up leaning on other people as my emotional crutches.

But then in that sense, it’s like I’m really consuming people when I consume art. Oh, I don’t know. Maybe all along I wasn’t just some audience member. Maybe even someone like me can become the reason hope exists. Like a villain, or a monster.

In that case, maybe one day, I’ll be killed, just like Tono Taichi. In a very similar way.

I really hope that’s the case. If so, I can’t wait…

But still, sometimes, I too, wish to cry out into the world and throw a tantrum. I want to stand outside of a train station and hold up a sign with my thoughts and yell, “The world is ending!” Not because I’m particularly that mad about the state of the world, but just because I think it would be fun. And complaining is just as fun as lying, if not more.

“The world is disgusting and broken,” he shouted. “This isn’t normal!”

I’m not sure what’s not normal about all this. Of course, I walked up to him and said so.

“Are you trying to start a fight with me?”

I wasn’t. I was agreeing with him.

“Then stay out of my way.”

But wasn’t he shouting in order to get a response from someone?

“Huh?”

I quickly realized my mistake, then bowed and turned to leave.

“Hey, hang on a second. Are you saying that I’m only doing this to get attention?”

What else could it be?

“I’m trying to save the world. I’m doing this to change people’s minds.”

I doubt people’s minds can be changed just by shouting at them. If that was the case though, world peace would easily be achieved. I didn’t say this to him though.

“Anyways, what right do you have to question me? Who are you?”

“I’m a monster,” I said.

“Huh?”

“A criminal,” I said. “You don’t recognize me? I’m not sure who should be more worried about who they’re talking to.”

He stared at me then, searching for something. I tried to enlighten him a little by asking him if he recognized the name Tono Taichi.

“Sorry. Was it on the news? I don’t watch the news much.”

“You’re not concerned about current affairs?”

“Ha! Current affairs? I’m more worried about the state of the very ground I’m standing on. The threat isn’t out there. It’s already here.”

He held up his sign that had been at his side briefly and put it high above his head, his chest and shoulders inflating.

“The world is ending! And it’s all of our faults. We deserve it!”

The words on the sign were crudely written in some sort of red marker.

“Hey, what’s your goal in doing something like this?” I asked. “Can the end of the world be stopped, or are you just cursing all of humanity?”

Something like rage flickered in his eyes, and his jaw was clenched. It was a look I was already very familiar with.

“There’s no need to get mad. I’m on your side here. I’m just really interested in what you have to say since no one else seems to be paying attention to you. So, why don’t you talk to me about it? Come on, tell me. How is this world going to end?”

He didn’t say a word, his arms still raised. There was a slight breeze that kicked in that seemed to color his nose a slightly pink tint.

“An asteroid? Aliens? Or maybe something more simple, like nuclear war? Drought? Famine? Disease? All three? A zombie apocalypse? Or is it God, the great creator of the universe, that’s come down to forsake us all, even though we are God’s children? Or maybe it’s the Devil, and God has died. That would be fun! In which case, who’s going to be the hero that comes and saves us all in the end? Surely, it’s not you, is it?”

“There’s no one who can save us,” he finally said. “We’re all doomed.”

“Hmm, so, a tragedy, huh? That’s fine. I like bleak stories too. Ones that leave you feeling hopeless with despair. You know, I felt that way after watching a movie once. That movie was a real downer. But it was great! If the world ends on a sad note like that, I wouldn’t complain.”

“My wife,” he suddenly said. “She's going to be so disappointed in me.”

“You’re married?” I said. “You look young. What are you, twenty?”

“Twenty-two.”

“You don’t say? You’re a year younger than me. That means you need to show me some respect. Come on, didn’t your parents teach you any manners?”

“Um, okay.”

He made a face as though saying, “I don’t have the slightest idea of how to go about doing that though.” I decided to let him off the hook.

“If I was your wife, I’d definitely be embarrassed of you,” I said. “Don’t you have a job?”

“This is my job.”

“Alright, alright. So what can I do to help?”

“Huh?”

“Is there anything I can do for you? You know, to help you save the world, Mr. Hero?”

“Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not. I believe you.”

He then made a face as though he was saying, “I don’t believe you.” Hypocrite, much?

“You can help me,” he started. “By listening to what I have to say.”

“Okay. I’m a pretty good listener. Go on.”

I smiled my biggest, most friendly smile I could muster, all the while he looked around at anything but me.

“I have a few questions,” he said. “And I need you to answer them as truthfully as possible. Got it?”

“You betcha!”

He finally looked me in the eyes and said it.

“Do you think I’m crazy?”

“No,” I said. “Next question.”

“Wait. What makes you think that I'm a sane person?”

“The fact that you’re even asking that. Crazy people don’t even question their reality.”

“Really?”

“Of course. If an outsider like me can see that, then it’s the truth. The audience is always in on the truth in movies. The whole point is to make them think they aren’t, while actively pulling the rug out from under them.”

“Umm.”

“Basically, if you were just plain crazy, that would be the great reveal. But since you’re already telling me that you think you might be crazy, you’re not.”

“Uh…huh.”

“Trust me on this.”

“Okay,” he said, looking a little relieved. “Then, how do I outgrow my childish ideals?”

I laughed.

“Please! It’s no laughing matter! I’m hurting someone very precious to me!”

Before I knew it, I realized a good amount of time had already passed by. I looked down at my phone.

“Shit. I’m gonna miss my showing,” I said.

“What?”

“I was on my way to the movie theater.”

“Oh.”

I could see he was already almost in tears. I began to look up the quickest way there, until finally, I couldn’t take it any longer.

“You’re free, right?” I said.

“What?”

I held my phone out to him, tapping the screen. “Come watch this movie with me.”

“Huh?”

“Come on. Even heroes need to take breaks. It’s two hours max. Then you can go back to your post and tell these sorry folks about their inevitable fate.”

“No way. What are you talking about?”

“Suit yourself. But if the world really is ending, wouldn’t you want to spend at least some of the remaining time you have left sitting in a reclining chair, eating popcorn and watching a real happy ending?”

He slowly lowered his sign, his shoulders drooping. The bags underneath his eyes were dark, and his hair was covered in small flakes of snowy dandruff.

“I’m going now. It’s a fifteen minute walk. But I bet if I run, I can make it in eight.”

I turned to leave, adjusting my bag on my shoulder.

“No,” he said, his voice faltering. “Enjoy your movie.”

“Bummer. But thanks. Good luck saving the world.”

As I jogged, I kept looking over my shoulder at him, standing there with his arms outstretched. He had stopped shouting, and was staring straight down at his feet. Suddenly, something seemed to come over him, and he set his sign down, picking up his backpack that was leaning against a fence, and grabbed his cardboard sign again, waving it all the while running over to me. He shouted for me to slow down, even though I had already come to a complete halt. He continued to chastise me the entire way there, saying that I should’ve asked more than once. That I shouldn’t have taken his no for an answer.

What can I say? I’m a gullible person. When people tell me something, I always believe it’s the truth. Always.

(Oh, was it that obvious that I was lying? Haha. You got me.)

The real reason I’m alive is because a group of people decided to forgive me. It’s really as simple as that, and it’s the same for everyone.

Real life is extremely different from the fairytales we grow up reading. It feels like at maybe one point in time though, fairytales did reflect the world as is. But now, people are too scared to go against old traditions and make new ones. It’s pathetic.

When I feel completely content, and I’m laying in bed and feeling totally safe, I remember it’s because someone is either killing someone, forgiving someone, or forcing them into submission. My world comes at the cost of other people, and regular citizens like me live because of those sacrifices. In that sense, only those who turn a blind eye to suffering can achieve contentment. It’s the only way.

The world that most people want comes at a cost. It’s an exhausting world, where effort needs to be put in everyday. But people aren’t actually that strong. They’re not capable enough for it. The utopia that most people wish for is unachievable because they’re weak.

But for me, it’s enough. I don’t mind if I’m weak and if I’m at the mercy of this world. As long as I can keep living in my own bubble, that’s enough for me. If that’s what other people wish for, then I don’t mind going along with it. After all, I’m perfectly happy where I am right now in life. As long as I stay out of everyone’s way, I’ll be allowed to watch movies, read, and listen to music. All of that is a luxury I wouldn’t have normally been able to afford. As long as I don’t kill another person, I’m allowed to live however I want. As long as I follow the rules, I’m able to do whatever I want. Isn’t it funny how that works?

In this world that’s full of evil, I need to accept it. You need to accept it too.

It’s called suspension of disbelief. Ever heard of it?

The end of the movie blew me away. I actually stood up to clap when it ended, unable to stop myself from cheering. It was that good.

“Sit down,” the conspiracist hissed. “You’re embarrassing me.”

“Who cares?” I shouted. “There’s no one else in here anyways. And weren’t you moved, too? How come you’re not clapping?”

“I didn’t really get it.”

“Really? What didn’t you get?”

“Nevermind.”

“Spit it out already, before I punch you.”

“P-punch me?”

I sat back down and hit his shoulder as though I were a boxer.

“Ow! Stop that!”

“What about the movie didn’t you like?”

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it,” he said. “I just didn’t understand it.”

“What’s there to understand? The ending was incredible.”

“But then why was the main character crying?”

“If you have a brain, maybe think for yourself for once and figure it out.”

“Okay. You don’t have to be an asshole about it.”

“You’re the asshole here. The ending was genius.”

The conspiracist huffed, leaning back into his chair.

“No one listens to me,” he muttered.

“You’re a really empty person, huh?” I teased.

“Please. Take it back.”

“You’re just like me.”

His eyes widened, then narrowed, like a lens of a camera.

“Wait,” he said, sitting up. “You…I do know you. How did I not see it before…? You’re…you’re the person who killed that kid.”

I grinned as it all fell into place. Now, we were finally starting to talk to each other.

“With a soccer ball, right? What a terrible way to die. It’s so surreal...”

“It could’ve happened to anyone,” I said. “One day, I was a regular high schooler. Then the next, I was the most hated person in the country.”

“If I were the victim’s family, I would’ve killed you,” the conspiracist said.

“Oh, please. Someone like you could never kill someone.”

“Shut the hell up.”

“No, you shut the hell up, Mr. Hero,” I said. “There are actual people out there in this world who plan out their next kill. Whether they kill for their own twisted sense of justice or from genuine good intentions. No one knows where those people are or when they’ll decide to show themselves. So don’t act like you have any idea what you’re talking about when it comes to causing real harm to this world. Someone like you who’s too busy wrapped up in their own world can’t even get a single person to listen to their theories.”

“You listened to me, didn’t you?” he spat.

“I can see why your wife can’t stand you.”

“That’s it. I’m done.”

He got up from his seat and began walking down the aisle to the stairs leading to the exit. He then stopped, refusing to look back at me.

“This whole world would be better off falling into hell,” he said. “And when it does, you’ll be all alone. Everyone is, in the end. Love and ideals are nice and all until you actually release them into the world. Then they get broken. You can’t replace the things you’ve lost. People can’t really change or do better. Criminals exist and live alongside perfectly kind people, who follow the rules and uphold morals. You can’t trust anyone. I don’t know why I even bothered trying to save the world. Just die without even knowing a single thing about warmth or people. You monster.”

That’s more like it, I thought.

“Well,” I said. “I guess I should thank you for accompanying me. And I’m sorry. I take back everything I just said.”

He stood there silently. Then took a deep breath and sighed.

“Even if you take it back, I actually can’t forgive you,” he said. “I’m sorry. I really want to, but my heart won’t let me.”

“I understand,” I said. “That’s just how it is sometimes. You can’t take anything back. Our pain, and our scars. All of it remains, even if it fades. And you shouldn’t force your heart to do anything. It’s useless anyways. People should just do whatever they feel like. That’s what I think. Because even if you try not to, your heart will find a way to do it, no matter what. I think that’s what they call human nature. People do as they see fit and get away with all of it. Even if they’re not forgiven, they live. And they take things without a second thought, forgetting to say thank you. Adults who can’t even articulate how they’re feeling or express themselves are a pain. No one else is going to know how you feel, so you have to speak up for yourself. Otherwise, you’ll go your entire life wondering what it would be like to be yourself.”

I started to laugh. Sometimes, I was surprised at how passionate I could be. Even for things that weren’t movies, books, or songs. I suppose there was always something within me that could be started up over anything. Even for a conspiracy theorist freak.

“So long,” he finally said, making his way down the stairs and disappearing below the glowing exit sign. I sat back down again, watching the credits roll by. I paid my respects to the people who had made the movie by staying perfectly still, my eyes never leaving the screen.

Every time, there are moments I get desperate to live. Watching the end of that movie was one of them. But there will also be countless others, until there isn’t. Who knows when my last moment of bliss will occur? Did it already happen? That fear eats at me sometimes. If I can’t feel that way again, then I’d be better off dying. The thing is, the world ending doesn’t scare me. But my world ending without that black screen scares me.

I want to die alongside the main characters. I don’t want to die in the middle of it, unable to see how the story ends.

If this world really does end, I want to watch.

Even Tono Taichi. I regret not knowing that he was dying. After all, if I had known…

I would’ve stayed.

And maybe, maybe in that moment, would I have been able to save him? Maybe watching a person die kickstarts something in you. Makes you want to do the right thing. Maybe if I had saved Tono Taichi, a completely different story would’ve begun. Even thinking about it sends shivers down my spine. It gives me goosebumps. Is that a passionate response to have? Is it worthy of a main character to be moved by something like that? Just thinking about that kind of beginning, I wonder how the rest of that story would’ve played out?

It isn’t like me. I’m a pretty positive person. It isn’t like me to look backwards and imagine something different. I’m not that creative. I’ve always looked forward to tomorrow. To everyone’s bright and shining faces, and their new and exciting ideas. Even though that was always enough for me…

The reason that I’m alive? What such thing is there?

I’m realizing it now. For someone like me, there can only be this type of ending.

BIO: Nanami Fetter is a Japanese American fiction writer from Portland, Oregon. Fetter’s writing is interested in exposing deep personal truths and subconscious hauntings through tales of time traveling daughters, aliens who create organs out of rainwater, and highschoolers with the power to grant wishes of world wide destruction. Her works have been featured in OxMag, Rock Salt Journal, and Drunk Monkeys. Her novella, “Documentary” is part of The Shortish Project, celebrating short novels at theshortishproject.com. Fetter is a current MFA student at the Rainier Writing Workshop at Pacific Lutheran University in Tacoma, Washington. Instagram @fetnanami.