Chapter Text
Dying is easy. All the songs about the difficult and painful agony were just fear-fed imaginings of those lying in wait. Just fairy tales to scare the children into staying alive.
We don't want to die out as humans, even if one or two never matter. At least not this one. Dazai Osamu.
And yet he had managed to make a hideous, terrifyingly inhuman impression as a member of the mafia. He had caused people the death he himself had so desperately wished for. How often jealousy coursed through his veins when he pulled the trigger of his gun. He wanted it. Wanted someone to have the same mercy on him as he had on his victims. Go ahead, shoot me, bash my head in and scatter my obtuse mind over the asphalt, the walls and throw my guts into a garbage bag at the nearest disposal site. Dazai himself would not mourn this. Maybe that day the sun would shine for the person who could finally redeem him.
Normally you couldn't leave the mafia, at least not through the front door, but if you were serious you could leave well dressed in a luxurious coffin or if you were a nobody then with a bullet in the back of the head and thrown into the water like garbage. For very bad traitors there was a special treatment that was supposed to be so cruel that ...if you were able to, you begged to be killed.
Dazai was not so lucky. Why should he? After all, Mori knew he wouldn't even have to execute him if he decided to leave the mafia one day. Dazai wouldn't give away any secrets. You could save yourself the bullet when it came to Dazai.
No one was interested, and if Dazai was going to reveal information, it would only be to really piss off someone who was going to end his life. That's why the mafia boss just grinned darkly when Dazai told him he was leaving. It had probably come as no surprise to Mori. Dazai had almost gotten the impression that Mori had literally written it down in his personal calendar when Dazai would want to leave before he made the decision himself. It was Mori. The man has done creepier things than decipher and predict the decisions of a suicidal man. Though Mori as a fortune-telling oracle...Dazai chuckled inwardly at that.
Nevertheless...
Mori Ougai really was a cruel ruthless man, after all, he had let Dazai go in the end without a second thought. No bullet to the head, no knife slash, no poison to toast. It was like a cold embrace with which Mori had released him into the world. You're not even worth dying here. Not even the disposal. It was as if they hadn't taken any notice of him. Yet they had feared and praised him. Were they all just bitter little lies? Perhaps the mafia had enough in common with a family after all.
Of course he had told Dazai that if he wanted to shed his world-weariness-soaked depression and perhaps enjoy the sunshine outside a little longer, he could come back at any time. He had probably earned the privilege for his services. At that moment, Dazai wanted to tear the self-satisfied smile off Mori's face.
That wasn't going to happen. After all, Dazai still had some loyal enemies out there who would love to put a quick end to him without knowing that they were fulfilling his dearest wish. Mori should go back to hell. He wouldn't be coming back.
--
One shot and it's over. Life doesn't pass you by in agony, it devours you with an animalistic greed.
But he had known it for a long time. He had not been afraid of death, which had often looked at him with grim hatred in the form of a gun pointed at him or as hard, merciless fists pounded down on him. He saw no end to it, much more a sweet promise of redemption and finally, finally he could taste it on his tongue.
The force of the impact hurled him backwards, his body reacting instinctively to the sudden attack.
The cold, metallic touch of the bullet penetrating his flesh left a searing pain that spread through his insides like a fiery web. Dazai gasped as his body writhed reflexively. The feeling of being grabbed by an invisible hand made him hold his breath for a moment.
A violent recoil ripped through him as the bullet completed its destructive work.
To be honest, he should have given up long ago. He knew that inside. It couldn't go on like this. But he would never have thought that it would be the bullet of a stranger that would judge him. But maybe it was better this way. No chance of remorse. No one would know who had done it if they found him. Dazai smiled, or maybe he just thought he was smiling, it made no difference anymore. The world was in his hands for a faded moment before control was taken from him. Life itself was an addictive essence. Now he knew how wrong and inhuman he had been, because like a maniac he had fallen in love with death without mercy in his early years.
The cold of the water immediately penetrated his clothes and mingled with the burning pain of his injury. His breath came in gasps and the blood pulsed rhythmically from the wound, turning the water around him a gloomy red.
Apparently, life could still surprise him.
Every breath felt like a knife thrust, the water around him seemed to increase the pressure on his lungs. The water embraced him gently, a comforting hug that could ease the pain. The current seemed to lull him to sleep, his thoughts drifting on the cold waves. The sound of the water became a soothing lullaby, inviting him to enter the deep waters of salvation.
One last realization and now he could drown in his own stupidity and all he wanted to think about was love. It should taste like his favorite cookies from his childhood, which he had always secretly dipped in honey.
Let the river carry him to the end and all the filth that surrounded him cover him.
Reality blurred and he began to lose his connection to his own body. The cold and the pain merged into a diffuse feeling of numbness.
He thought of what it would be like to simply let himself be carried away by the currents of the river, to let go of control and allow the embrace of the water to envelop his soul.