literature

Midnight Rain

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A few side notes:

Although this story can be understood without any further explanation, I feel is is necessary to express my inspiration, of sorts, and clarify some cultural differences present in my short piece of fictional literature. Fist off, my short story deals with Japanese Idols. More specifically, a fictional Japanese Idol of the 1980's. The term "Idol", or in Japanese romaji, "Idoru", is a term for a very famous Japanese celebrity with sings, acts, or both. They're portrayed on a more personal level as their personality, hobbies, height, and even blood type are revealed in magazines on a regular basis. The idea, I assume, is to make the fan feel associated to this celebrity on a more personal level. Although idols in Japan are not really as popular as they where in the 80's through the early 90's, they where quite popular at that time. As many as 50 idols would surface a month back in the 80's, however only a few, such as Seiko Matsuda, went on to enjoy more professional careers and long-term success.

One of the biggest differences with idols in Japan is that their personal life was often controlled in order to maintain a specific image. As far as I've read, this included contracts prohibiting marriage or other various aspects of life. It can be assumed that such control took a toll on some of these people constantly in the public eye.

The whole idea of being forced to create a false persona for the public eye that everyone believes to be true inspired me a bit to explore this old aspect of Japanese popular culture a bit. I normally do not write such deep works, with such an "angsty" scenario, however I wanted to create a character caught up in the life of an Idol, who is not happy with the outcome, and portray her emotions and desires from what I assume the feelings of being trapped may feel like. Looking at other celebrities who made bad choices, from any nationality, and became unhappy, sheds a bit of light that, to me, says... "Maybe being famous isn't all that great", and thus, this short story was born."

This story was originally my submittion for a fictional story project in my Creative Writing class.

Midnight Rain

By Alexandria B.

Tokyo, Japan. 1988...

Imagine a bustling city as dark descends upon it. Daylight is replaced with city lights that never fail to

dazzle and emit their wonder; night falls in Tokyo. A city so welcoming in the day becomes darkened in

fear and mystique within the illuminating heat of the night. Hot Neon lights reflect on the cold

pavement in a great and daunting contrast. Rain begins to unleash it's wrath to the street; steadily

gaining momentum as it evolves from a gentle, misty, drizzle, to a merciless shower that never hesitates

in drenching the citizens caught in it's almighty force. In this hour, deep within the seclusion and

deception of the night, survival is not just key; it is a way of life. This was an undeniable truth known

to everyone among the city. They belonged to the city and lived by it's all-embracing demands.

All except one. One who crossed the boundaries and commands of Tokyo. One who searched for

comfort and ease from her lonely world within the enigma of the city night and its partner; the rain.

For this is the time she retreats; the time she seeks comfort in the only way he knows how. Her warm

skin leans onto the window as she sighs in pure solitude and a growing to find bliss. Her eyes drift shut

in defeat and longing for a paradise, for a safe haven, within the shelter the rains soft whisper provided.

The glare of the neon on her pale skin provided the warmth, the comfort, the embrace, she longed for.

The rain was her sanctuary. Her hollow pride, and the true form of her soul was sheltered within the

cold mystery of the night. She could no longer feel complete without this fix; this escape.

Her heart pounded in anguish as she leaned against the window more so. She grasped her chest

gingerly. The wild beating simulated a ticking time bomb. Counting down to what? She did not know,

yet, she feared it.

They made her this way. He r life was nothing but an illusion of what they made her. She no longer

lived for herself, but for the people who looked to her. The people who called her name, roared it, before the glittering lights of the stage. The people who where dragged into the illusion of adoration

and meaningless devotion. The people who called the shots in every aspect of her life; she was trapped,

She didn't know how she became this shell... this... this drone. Fame forced her to grow up, her ideals

began to change.

All she could do is count; count each of the steps she was forced to take into the revealing blaze of the

limelight, and look, through teary, worn, eyes upon the overall outcome of her actions. Her deflated

childhood dream. Despite that, all she needed for now, for this moment, was the rain. Of course, she

would have to leave the rain; leave her shelter. She would move on to another concert, another studio,

another repeated act to please the ones who dragged her into this fate. The result, the meaning, was

easy to see in her empty, expecting eyes; another tactic she had to do to keep her spot in the world of

Idols. For now, however, she had her escape. She leaned her head against the cool glass of the

window, a single tear descending down her porcelain cheek. This time, with the rain as her guest, the

regret rattled her to the core within the lonely, dark, walls of her apartment. A question screamed,

wailed, in the back of her mind.

私は誰か?

Who am I?

She was swept into fame like an abandoned newspaper thrashed in a wind's merciless and endless gust;

slowly breaking her down. Her name is known, and loved, throughout Japan. It was a name she

unwillingly grasped as a performer... nobody called her by her true name anymore. She yearned for it.

No longer for recognition as a performer, but simply as a person. Just as the 23 year old woman she

was. She was known for her innocent, charming, loveable, and completely flawless image.

A completely fabricated image nonetheless.

She, Amaya, was not the unstoppable force, the goddess, that the public knew her to be. The goddess

that her beloved fans thought they knew everything about simply because they read a few interviews

and bought the charming, colorfully-sleeved, vinyl records her voice was sealed within. She regretted

it; she despised this lifestyle and the lonely, tiring facade that it selfishly encompassed. Yet, despite the

demands of her lifestyle, nothing could stop her from having her discreet affair with the chilling echo,

the reply, of the rainfall. Yes, Amaya ruled as queen in a world where most Idols lasted a mere month in

the spotlight. That haunting realization is why she found it vital to mask, to harbor, her abstruse

yearning, her uncontrollable longing, for normalcy.

Uncontrollable... that was a word that defined her well. A label for her secret animosity to her cornered

emotional state.

The early hours of dawn where upon her now; night was taking it's leave and taking the safety of the

rain with it. Amaya... Amaya Ichiahara... realizing her solitude was taking it's gradual leave, stood.

Forming her hands in to shaking fists, she listlessly raises her head. Enthusiasm long drained from her

lite form. Her gentle voice escaped her lips to fill the silent air. As gentle as her voice was, anyone who

listened to her voice upon this moment could never manage to doubt the undeniable amount of

agitation and venom which laced her voice.

"私が一番上にないアイデアの生活がなかったことはとても気に寂しくなるだろ..."

In other words, words of the English language, she had no idea life at the top would be so damn lonely.

As this moment, the day's first light gingerly dusted her petite features from the window abaft her with

it's tender illumination. Her short, daintily feathered, raven hair glowed with a sublime glaze. Amaya

conveyed the look of epic upon her face: The same epic that was revealed in a man's eyes in the

moment where instinct ushers him to protect the one he loves. The epic that one unleashes when every

fiber of their being is pushed to the edge and all that is left is nothing but raw emotion and impulse.

The same epic one portrays when a decision is upon them; when they're ready to stand up, shake off all

the fear, melancholy, and unhappiness, and take a stand for what they truly desire within the absolute

, innermost, chamber of their soul.

She remembers. Yet she forgets. The bittersweet chill of childhood nostalgia leaving a remorseful

sensation in her mind. She yearned for those effortless, lighthearted days. Yet, as much as she wanted to

summon them back to the present, she knew she did not wish to move in a inevitably futile direction.

She did not want to do the work again when she was already in a place where her future independence

was obtainable and more at hand than she realized prior to this fateful night.

Now, with the dawn of a fresh day at hand, she knew her future could go in two different, very

adverse and independent, directions. She only hoped she would keep her determination, her

conviction, throughout the day. She needed this strength in order to create her own world, and demolish

the world secluding her from her heartfelt, absolute, cravings.

With no more thought, she bounded to the door. Ready to act on her need to be welcomed by more than

just the night. She no longer wanted shelter in the dark, she was ready to be accepted under the warm

light of day. Under the watchful eye of every human to grace her path. Amaya Ichihara was ready to be

exposed as the being she was born to be; not the fabrication born under strategic thought and the need

for celebrity fulfillment.

She only hoped, by the time she crossed paths with a rainy night once again, that she would greet it as

an equal. As an old an dear friend that she grew up alongside. That she would no longer need it's

comfort, and walk alongside its beauty and distinction with the same amount of power and unshakeable

pride.

Beside the day, as it took her by the hand, she walked. Making her way to her horizon. The point where

her dreams met her reality; where the ground met the sky.

The same connection the rain comprised as it connected the sky to the ground.

Another side note; The name Amaya is a Japanese name that actually translates to "Night Rain", and is one of my favorite Japanese names alongside the names Kaori, Akira, Natsumi, and Yui.
In 1988, a Japanese Idol reflects on her success during a cold rainy Tokyo night.
© 2013 - 2024 IchiharaAmaya
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