The All-knowing Human

You are late. You are late for work. You are always late for everything. You wait for your dreams to choose you instead of chasing them. You’re late and you smack the alarm clock for constantly reminding. You sit up in your bed and the reflection of your mirror frazzles you for a while. The bedhead look was one you can never pull. Quickly, you change into a dress shirt and trousers. Taking a shower this morning was out of the question, it was even later than usual. You make your way to the kitchen and prepare a quick sandwich, deciding to eat it while the teapot boils. 

Wait, you forgot to brush your teeth. While sprinting up the stairs, the teapot gives a piercing ring, signalling it's finished. Once you finish brushing your teeth, washing your face, you glance at the mirror and return it with a gasp. Your hair is still a mess. Tired, you comb through it with your fingers while walking back down the stairs. Before leaving the house, you grab the navy blue blazer from the entryway closet, tea mug in one hand, suitcase in the other and loafers guiding your feet. You take a deep breath of the fresh air outside as you lock the door. Looking at the bright sky, you felt a little more comfortable in your unpunctuality. Even the loved sun could be and especially was late.

After an intense walk uphill, you arrive at the Shibuya station. The Toyoko line will arrive in 15 minutes. It seems it's running late, due to this you sit down on a bench and wait. You pull your usual red delicious snack out of your bag. You feel someone's lingering eyes over your shoulder. They belong to a homeless man, a man you haven't noticed until now. You don’t feel remorse, chomping on the apple in front of the man. He is merely another human being, a being you’d quickly become if you keep running overly late. 

A chubby woman wanders by the bench.

”Pig, ” the homeless man instantly says under his breath. That's rather rude of him, you think in your head. Then a healthy-appearing man in a business suit carrying a briefcase passes by the bench. “Human,” the homeless man mumbles this time. You silently chuckle. He's just crazy, you think, why am I even giving him the time of day? It isn’t like I have much time left for myself anyways. 

The train arrives. After an hour commute, you get off at Yokohama to start another day at the office, end the 9 to 5 shift and come back home the same way you came. In the evening, after watching hours of tv and drinking beer, you take a long-deserved shower. Before you rest, you take a light snack and curl up in bed. You remember the homeless man. You hadn’t noticed him on the way back though. No, I’m not wasting my sleep time on him, you think, that’s one time I surely don't like to waste. But something keeps making you think of him, something mystic. Whatever it is, these thoughts enable you to doze off, leaving gaping holes in your dreams.

The next morning is yet again a late one, but this time it's early enough to squeeze in a shower. Everything else about your morning routine is the same; slamming the alarm clock, unbrushed hair, strolling uphill to the station. Once you reach the station, you crave an apple until you see the same homeless man parked on the bench. Sternly, you sit down and scowl at him while he watches a group of commuters. There's a short man, a young boy, and an old lady.

 “Milk, Pizza, Cookie,” the homeless man cites as they roam. Although it seems like a recipe for disaster, at least it's not rude, you think. 

The healthy man from yesterday struts by.

“Human,” the homeless man whispers in exchange. Maybe he's stating the obvious, but then what does “Pizza” mean. 

You finish the apple to its core in a flash. Typically, you'd save it in your bag to throw in compost later, yet, you toss it in the trashcan by the bench, tired of the fruit flies growing population following it. 

“Apple,” the homeless man immediately says and repeats it once more as you pass by him. 

That's unusual, he hardly repeats the same two nicknames. Why hasn't he given me one the other countless occasions I pass him. Surely this is the first time you have passed him with an Apple. But no one else had the food physically on them. It's instead what you have just eaten, like the young boy who’s chin told of a sauce stain, particularly pizza. It makes sense now how the chubby man is the Pig, the short man is Milk, the old woman is Cookie and me, Apple. There's someone you are forgetting. Someone from yesterday. Yes, the businessman, the Human. 

Suddenly, you are stricken with terror at the thought. 

Across the bench, the businessman is swooping by.

“Human,” the homeless man mumbles again. Human stares at you, as if looking into your soul, the one thing he probably can't devour. Sweat starts to form wherever it can on your surface. Your body tremors uncontrollably. Similar to boiling noodles, your limbs feel boneless now. If the homeless man's right, you cannot let him escape. 

With all your strength, you fasten your knees, rise from the bench, and walk to the curb he's standing at. He doesn't notice your presence, even with his train running late. Without much assistance, your body seizes the train that comes. You cannot bother to check what bus you are on or what stops lead, still, you stand, barely breathing, 2 metres away from Human. Not after long, Human pushes a button, letting you know his stop is soon. You near the doorway, and get off with him. As soon as you get off, you kneel and pretend to tie your laceless shoes to create some distance. You follow him out the station and to a nearby neighbourhood all at a 10-metre distance. You have no idea what you are looking for or what you are going to do once you find it, but, there is something worth discovering. 

For around 10 more minutes, you trail the man on foot, doubting the mission. I look like a crazy person, stalking this perfectly regular man. Unexpectedly, the man takes a hard right and you jog a little to catch up. It was a dead-end street with only one house on the block. He takes a glance over his shoulder. Spontaneously, you swerve, face a random parked car, pull out your home key from your pocket and grab at the door handles out of frustration. Surprisingly your act was convincing enough because the man enters his house with ease. You run to the side of his house but there isn’t a clear view of inside. You decide to go to the backyard. The area’s unfenced, surrounded by trees, bearing a forest. From the back door, there’s a clear view of the kitchen. You peek in from the bottom of the deck, beneath the wide steps. Human drops his briefcase and grabs a beer from the fridge. He seems normal to me, minus this Victorian Style house, but he's certainly not a cannibal. 

You are about to leave from your awkward position when you witness him open the freezer. Within, a human head seats among body parts. Perspiration develops across your body again. Before your limbs go weak, you try to call the police. Then, who will believe my story, that a psychic homeless man told me the man eats human flesh. You hear a voice call out. It’s the man. You sprint into the forest. The man even faster tackles you to the floor. With unwavering eyes, he chokes you. Your environment starts to vanish as air does. At the corner of your eye, a thick branch comes into view. Almost automatically, it ends up in your hand and penetrates his neck. Human finally releases his hands and drops with a thud. In fits of breath, you come back to reality. Now, you check the man's quiet pulse as his eyes dilate. He’s dead. 

In complete utter silence, you drag his lifeless body through his backyard to his kitchen. You know what you have to do; use his weapons to decapitate his body. You can’t leave evidence, you can’t be known as a murder, you are simply an unpunctual person. Once executed, you throw his arm on a skillet and fry it. He deserves to die the way he lived. You finish as much of the meal as you can and squeeze the leftovers in the freezer.

You clean the place with baking soda. You forget your clothes are painted in blood. You walk up the stairs, throw the clothes in the laundry and go to his bedroom. Change into a t-shirt, trousers, and a navy blue blazer. The house was now as spotless as it was before. You leave the house and make way to the station with your suitcase in hand. Your appearance at the office is overdue more than natural. You call in sick as you get on the train back to the Shibuya Station. Your coworkers thought something incredibly horrid happened to you but you reassure them nothing too out of the ordinary occurred. 

As soon as you depart the train, you notice a person sitting on the bench next to the homeless man. 

“Human,” the homeless man says as you pass by. You glare at the man beside him and he reciprocates, hardly breaking eye-contact. You get out of the station and glide throughout the downhill walk to your house.

Once you enter, you release the immense weight of the day. Your stomach growls so you take a piece of Human's arm from your briefcase and nibble at it. You feel like a changed person. No longer is the tardy you alive, you desire to be early, or even on time. Now, sleep in Human's safe clothing instead of changing tomorrow morning. 

Peacefully sleep. 

Now, you've become early, the early bird that gets the worm. You are a cannibal. You are a murderer. 

Now, you are Human.