Deadly Games

3 days ago.

No explosion. No flash. You were just riding in the last carriage of the Yamanote Line train. Music was playing in my headphones, and the lights of Tokyo at night were flashing outside the window—Shibuya, Harajuku, Shinjuku. There weren't many people in the carriage: a tired sarafan with his tie askew, a student flipping through a ribbon, an old man with his eyes closed. You dozed off. I woke up to the silence. The train was parked in the tunnel between the stations. The lights were on, but the doors were open. Come out. The silence was so heavy on my ears that my eardrums hurt. You went through the tunnel towards the nearest station. Trains passed by, but they were empty. All the lights were on on the platform of Sibya station. Escalators were working. Soda vending machines hummed softly. But there wasn't a single person. Not on the platform. Not in the transitions. Not at the famous crossroads. The cars were frozen at the intersection with their engines running. The coffee in the cup on the hood of the taxi was still warm. On the giant screen of the Shibuya district, the clock was lit instead of advertising. The stopwatch counted down the time from the moment you opened your eyes in an empty carriage.