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20th Century Novelというクラスで、The Periodical Tableからelementをひとつ選んで、そのelementの性質に基づいて、フィクションを書く課題がありました。課題が出たときは、「どないしよう?!」と焦ったんですが、納得がいくものが書けたので、英語タウンにも載せようと決めました。
Yutaka Kubo
30 October, 2008
Oxygen
Every living thing needs oxygen to continue to live. There is no exception. Oxygen is colorless, invisible, and odorless; it is everywhere, though you cannot sense it.
It is everywhere, embracing your body, piercing your body without giving any pain (respiration), and letting you be alive.
Oxygen is cruel, because, without it, you cannot live, and with the excessive amount, it can be toxic.
At the age of seventeen, I lost my girlfriend in a car accident. Now that I finished reading Written on the Body and that I think of her six years after her death, I can fully understand how the narrator felt when he/she lost Louise.
She was my oxygen. When she was alive, I thought that it was natural that she be always next to me, laugh with me over stupid things, and hold each other’s hand while walking up the hill to high school. I could feel her warmth and softness of her skin. Then, she was tangible, unlike oxygen.
But after the accident, she became colorless, odorless, and intangible.
Oxygen is cruel, because it is an accelerator of fire. After the funeral, she was cremated. Oxygen in her body or herself as oxygen cremated her body—softness and tangibleness of her body gone. Only could I see the smoke coming out of the chimney. Was it she after all?
When she, my oxygen, was around me, I used to feel really comfortable. Sure, it was really hard to move on a life without her.
At the age of seventeen, I might not have known what it was to be in love, really in love. But what I was sure of was her existence kept me energetic and alive. I had to learn a life without her.
Thinking of the oxygen I couldn’t get, I felt like I was suffocating. Thinking of clichéd words I couldn’t say to her, I wished I were dead.
But my body that consists of cells that respires against my will has kept me alive. Oxygen is cruel, so are human cells. Cells accept any oxygen they can find to keep them alive—to keep me alive physically. I didn’t want that. I didn’t want any oxygen to keep me alive. I wanted her to be my oxygen.
For six years I had been emotionally dead, not realizing the fact that she did continue to be my oxygen for as long as I remembered her. But now I do realize that my memories with her as oxygen have been carried by red blood cells throughout my body. She and I have finally become one.
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