Duane Swanstone

23 November 20XX

Basement

END OF DAYS

I heard before that mankind’s “end of days” would be when he made peace with himself and nature. And because of that, he builds his own utopia, without war, strife, chaos, corruption or none of that. I wonder if I’m not gettin’ mine.

This damn girl was gunnin’ for me the whole time. This is just like that thing she was tellin’ me about in anime, the “childhood friend archetype” she calls it. And yeah, we do watch the real sappy kinda stuff now. She says it’s good for “immersion” and language-learning.

Because she’s been teachin’ me Japanese, too. I know bits and pieces, expressions and stuff now. But it’s fun, I don’t mind it. Who am I kidding?

It shoulda been obvious it was gonna go this way. I mean, it says somethin’ ‘bout me, that I’d join this stupid club just to spend more time with a gyaru—she finally figured out how to pronounce that one—and, well… yeah. It shoulda been obvious.

She won’t take me to her house, or won’t let me go there yet. Maybe we’re not that deep into it, maybe her parents aren’t for it, whatever. Either way, she waits for me after club with a bag full of DVDs and comics—that’s “manga” in Japanese—and we go to my house, fire up the DVD player, and sit back, relax, and just…

Alright, this is between you and me, but I don’t think I’ve felt this excited about somethin’ in years. She’s ecstatic—I think is the right word—youthful, lovely. If I say I love you, it’s rare, but I do for her. Really, I love her.

“Your basement is so nice!” she says to me. It isn’t, not in my opinion. It’s just an unfinished basement with a big TV: only half-carpeted, walls are bear, but it’s right next to the furnace room, so it’s the warmest in the house. It’s cozy in the winter.

But anyways, she likes it here, and my parents love her. “Certainly an improvement over last time!” my mom said she was. Rosa Migno, when me and her were together that really shut me and Chickarrin’s relationship down. Now I know why. This is why.

There’s textbooks, bootleg OVAs, some dirty doujins and other nonsense scattered all over the coffee table. I tell her it’s important we clean this mess up when we’re done. My parents’d be on my hide had we not. She’s got this chaotic way of workin’, I notice. It ain’t bad, she gets things done, but it is messy, for sure. I like my clean space, so, we’ll have to work on that. But for now, I don’t mind the extra pickup.

“Why do they draw girls like that?” I ask. “I find it a little… I don’t know how to feel about it.”

“Oh, that’s a bishoujo! It mean’s ‘cute girl’. They became really big in the ‘80s and they’re everywhere in manga, anime, games, everywhere!”

“Why do they all look the same?” Really, it’s a genuine question: why do they all look alike? But she just bursts out laughing. I don’t get it, really.

“There’s so many nuances!” she screams.

“Shhh!” This late? If I woke my parents up now they’d really tear me a new asshole.

Of course, I’d be responsible ‘cause Chickarrin’s a guest, and I’d made the mess, and I got her to scream, and “Is she okay?” and yeah, Dad, she’s fine, I ain’t done nothin’ to her.

“Sorry,” she whispers, “You wanna make out?” What the hell.

“Wha?”

“Do you wanna make out?” she gets off the ground where she was sittin’ and moves towards me.

“This is sudden,” I say, and I’m not against it, but shit, girl, “Hold on!”

“No,” she says, flatly, and then she starts to crawl on top of me on the sofa. Fuck, it’s hot in here.

She takes my hands, and I can’t see what they’re doing, but I feel more and more of her skin.