The Japan Stories

By Steve Howard

In this collection of short stories from author Steve B Howard a young woman decides to return to a temple in Japan where she once found peace, a Japanese solider during WWII searches through the ruins of Hiroshima for his family, a young skateboarder desperately tries to deal with his drug addiction, as well as several other stories. Also included is an excerpt from the up coming thriller novel series, The Yakusa Hunter.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Steve Howard
• Release date: May 2, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201657536

Steve Howard

Steve Howard has a BA in creative writing from Western Washington University and has published flash fiction, short stories, haibun, and creative non-fiction in numerous literary journals. His novella The Adamantine River Passage was released in 2017. He currently teaches English in Japan and is a semi-professional stand up comedian. He can be reached at [e-mail]  

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The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Slipping Satori (original short version)

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Drowning and dumbfounded you round the corner and stare at your shattered existence. The gates of Shobuji, the Zen temple you’ve lived at for the past two years, stands stark in it’s simple blacks and whites before you. Partially inviting, partially menacing. Narrow streets flanked by tiny shops selling dongo, ramen, and Ninja trinkets that the region was once known for run to the north and south. Behind it all bamboo covered hills and mountains loom. Steep wooden steps lead up the hill to the temple. There had been a young man in the spring in those hills before the meditation and stick had drained your wildness.

Th resident poets and monks rebuilt you with their inked haiku and daily zazen training, but only on paper, true reality’s diamond is still an allusive treasure. By this time tomorrow you’ll dance on the ashes of the one you wish you could weep for. He thought Japan was just another way for you to hide, never admitting it was his childhood terror night hand visitations that you were running from. Angelina, suck it up and get on with life,were his parting words.

The white zero point of emptiness and form resides in the heart so the Roshi says. The zafu waiting quietly in the mediation hall is your only friend and tomorrow you will abandon it prematurely for a funeral and a lawyer’s office to sort the spoils. The one way ticket from Narita to LA burns in your hand.

Ethical Batteries Not Included

She stripped the last bit of plastic coating from the copper wires spilling out of the shattered dry wall. Just enough of a lead to wire it in, she thought.

She clipped the tiny wires from the busted wall socket and wrapped them tightly to the leads from the tiny data chip.

The tiny room she occupied was on the tenth floor of a burned out factory on the outskirts of Osaka. Evidence of the last war, probably the final war, still scarred the surrounding hillsides. The blackened stumps of dead cedar trees marched up the hill behind the factory to a burned out Shinto shrine. The stone Torii Gate was burned black as well.

She had been living and scavenging in this building for a week now. It had once been a water purification plant before the war. Until today though, she hadn’t found anything that might be of value in the Namba trading stalls that ran along the Yodo River in the city center.

Turning the data in her hands she could still see the faint aquamarine tint on the casing. Designed for a bio-electric gel pack, she thought.

I can still Mickey Mouse it to an old battery and rip the data. Who ever the hell Mickey Mouse is.

That evening she left the factory and made her way north towards an old hospital. Armed guards stood out front. A rusted sign above the entrance read, Imperial Care Facility

To the left of the entrance a stand of thick bamboo sat in the shadows. Moving slowly taking care to remain in the darkness, she made her way to the stand of bamboo. From a backpack she removed a small pistol with a silencer as long as the gun itself attached. Then she removed a surgical kit wrapped in a leather tool belt.

She watched several elderly people emerge slowly from the building led by a burly orderly. Pacemakers, she thought. She’d found her power source. Extraction was always the worst part.

An Emperor’s