Unscheduled Ayakashima Shrine Street Sing-Along

 The flickering sun traces its lazy path along the horizon, peeking out over the monochrome ocean. A strong and playful wind is about today, blustering through the streets and carrying secrets. Gleam listened, more to make the wind feel good about itself than to learn anything. 

She was restless. This scheme was exciting, and anxiety is excitement’s other face. 

To make matters worse, the Tourism Board had put her effectively entirely in charge of feet on the street promotion. Sure, her producer was technically doing the same job, but the overlap was quite literally nonexistent. Completely different worlds. Still, she was grateful. She wouldn’t have been capable of bridging the gap alone. Alone… well, she never really was, but when someone (or something) is always there, you eventually become inured to it. Familiarity breeds contempt, it is said. And even in this vast city, with its bustling streets and clamorous festivals, she was melancholy. 

A part of her she couldn’t silence saw the shadows and phantoms for what they were. But what cannot be silenced, can be ignored. At least somewhat. She hums a little one-and-two three-and-four rhythm, harmonizing with her own echo. A song reaches her lips, and she starts to sing to the shadows in the streets, the poltergeists on her porch.

“The sun and the moon and the stars

They could each and every one

All of them could someday be ours

But you can’t finish what hasn’t begun”

The wind leaves her side to carry the song.

“The stars and the sun and the moon

Tell me something new is coming soon

So lend me an eye and an ear

Though there’s always something to fear”

Other voices take up the tune, humming along.

“The moon and the stars and the sun

Sing to me even failure is fun

When you give it all of your all

It’s okay to fall, to fall fall fall”

The city is still. Silent but for the song and the wind.

“Because down is a direction

And directions are relative

And so, so long as you function

You can change your own narrative

Start from the ending and begin

Start to build a better story

Learn the rules and loopholes and cracks

‘Cause when we understand surely

We’ll learn to have each other’s backs”

She isn’t crying, but tears are flowing down her cheeks nonetheless. A cry is a sound, and this was silent. She wept. A dream is a fragile thing, prone to vanish if looked at too closely. But what about the dreams that keep coming back? The dreams that haunt you more than any ghost every could? Those smoldering ambitions nearly smothered in your heart that cry out in yearning? 

We have resolved; to stoke our flame, burn bright and honest. Far better than choking on dead smoke.