Cradle the Sky: Prologue, Episode 1

By MORI Hiroshi

I have been broken from the beginning. It is the reason why those in the hospital can never cure me.
I run away from the medical facility, and turn to a woman, whose name I do not remember. Then, the two of us start an escape journey.

In the first place, what am I?
I wonder who I am.

In the chaos, I cannot even recall my name, but the deadly beautiful view of the sky emerges in my mind.
Since I know it will disappear sometime in the future, I want to touch it a little bit before it is too late.
I want to reach for it, and seize it with my hand.

“Cradle the Sky,” the 5th (final) novel of the series, leads to already available “The Sky Crawlers,” chronologically the last story in the timeline.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jun 29, 2020
• ISBN: 9781716791116

Book preview

978-1-71679-111-6

Foreword

With some rhythm,

The color of blue continues forever.

Behold, this is our place.

Thin smoke is twisting like snakes.

Yes, those are our graves.

The edges are colored by the sun,

The wings are cutting in.

The restless air is jitterbugging.

It shines, quivers, shakes, howls, and screams.

Everything is twining around,

Everything is being peeled off.

Beauty and ugliness lose their colors in brightness.

No one can distinguish them.

Even so,

Do not close your eyes.

In the white light,

There exists the one you should shoot at.

Definitely, the one is there.

At any time.

Somewhere.

Do not close your eyes.

You should not sleep.

The beautiful wings you have never seen before would appear,

Probably only for a moment.

It would describe a beautiful loop,

Which you have never imagined until now.

The most beautiful one.

It is your enemy.

Cradle the Sky

Dolly’s soft face hollowed; an urge to go to Verena was rising, at the same moment some sense of self, a deeper will, held her. Regretfully she gazed at me. It’s better you know it now, Collin; you shouldn’t have to wait until you’re as old as I am: the world is a bad place.

This excerpt is from The Grass Harp by Truman Capote

Prologue

In front of me, there always is a ceiling. It never falls to me and prevents me from seeing the sky beyond it. It has wholly enveloped the tiny space on my side, where I am now as if it owns this place. Yeah, the thing obstructing my view does not move. It looks as if it insists on its strength by not moving. However, for some reason, I occasionally hear repetitive whispers softly and quietly.

Who is it?

Good boy. Good boy. Yes, what a nice boy you are. Pretty one, you are mine. Smile. Please. How lovely. Beautiful pupils. Nice lips. Smooth cheeks. Please. Smile. Adorable boy. You are mine forever ...

Endlessly, forever, the voice repeats.

Who is whispering in my ear?

Then, the voice is gradually getting huskier, blurs into two layers, and has become just breathing. Before long, the slight quiver of air and only the rhythm are left. Similar to waves lapping against a beach, it has become fine white foam and is sinking into the sand. It vanishes and has been lost. It forgets and has been forgotten. Only the terribly beautiful flatness remains.

It’s sand.

The flatness accumulating around me is sand, isn’t it?

Probably, it is fine sand.

Moreover, it is fine sand.

Words are also sand. They sink and disappear in a moment. It accumulates countlessly and becomes flat. Right. Whatever words they may be, they will vanish more quickly than smoke. A sand hill, which pretends to know nothing, is left. Still, even so, words are a bit kinder. It is much gentler than the cold sensation that the body feels when being touched by a stranger. While hearing words, until they vanish from your ears, even machine gun can keep silent, I guess.

Bratatat.

My right thumb touches it gently. The next moment, all my hand muscles, except for the thumb, become tense and put the control stick down as if I tear it apart.

Doing a barrel roll toward left, I have my aircraft inverted.

Have it upward, and bring it back downward immediately.

Keeping it inverted, I start ascending.

As if I were drawn into the outer space.

I am climbing upward endlessly.

Until my thoughts are torn apart.

My body is fastened tightly with the belt like a turkey. My blood has stopped; my breath is skipping. The sky is gradually dyed red and, at the same time, enveloped in the cotton-like darkness.

Don’t worry. That’s okay.

A woman’s voice. Who is this?

A warm voice.

But it sounds far away.

Everything about humans is distant.

It is too far to reach me.

The chill that I feel when I touch the canopy is probably the proof.

From everyone else, yes, from the place that is named city and where everyone else lives, I am leaving. From the moment at which I take off from the base, everything becomes a distant place and far distant past. I have come up here alone.

Just alone.

Except me.

There is the sky.

Every existing warmth has already come off me.

In other words, it is the same as the condition in which I no longer live.

Even so, it is laughable.

Do I no longer live?

If I no longer live, why am I thinking about such a silly thing?

Maybe, am I thinking about it even after I die?

Wait a minute ...

To begin with, what am I?

Yes, that’s the question.

Where is this place?

Am I a human?

Is this the planet Earth?

Who am I, by the way?

I do not remember my past. I do not know my future, either. This moment is undoubtedly here. I can touch myself. I believe I can do it. Even an aircraft can move like my body.

But ...

Who am I?

If I open my eyes, I might be able to recall it. I somehow feel so. Like electrons flying in a vacuum, I feel it just for a moment. Probably, I am closing my eyes now. All I can see is just white light. But I do not like the situation if I open my eyes and see the dark