Seta Ichika - I Don-t Have A Mother Anymore- So... Now

A late autumn evening. The sky above Tokyo is a bruised purple, fading to black. Seta Ichika sits alone in her room at the rooftop flat she once shared with her mother. The window is open a crack, letting in the cold air and the distant sound of a train.

Ichika’s fingers hover over the strings of her bass guitar. They don’t press down. They just hover, trembling slightly. The instrument is not plugged into an amp. In the silence, the only sound is the hum of the city below.

“I’ll forge it. She would have told me to.” Seta Ichika - I Don-t Have A Mother Anymore- So...

Ichika closes the cupboard.

“So… I have to play for myself now.” A late autumn evening

Ichika gets up and walks to the small kitchen. She opens the cupboard and stares at the row of instant ramen cups. Her mother used to cook nikujaga on cold nights. The smell of simmering soy sauce and beef would fill the whole apartment. Ichika hated the carrots. She would pick them out and leave them on the side of her bowl. Her mother would always sigh and eat them herself.

“You were right.”

Her mother’s fox is gone. Buried.

And now the witness is gone.

The title appears:

A small, broken laugh escapes her. It’s the first laugh since October. The window is open a crack, letting in