STORY: "Hold your Breath"

The clock struck midnight once more. In the dead of the night, the city slept, unaware of the pulse that echoed through the empty streets - an energy that called to those who were lost, to those who wandered in the spaces between life and death. The sushi house stood as it always had, shrouded in mystery and silence. The door, now creaking open and closed with an unnatural rhythm, had seen its first true returnee.

It waited. Always.

A figure appeared in the alley, his face hidden beneath the brim of a ragged cap. His walk was sluggish, almost as though his body carried the weight of a thousand invisible burdens. His hands were shoved deep into the pockets of a worn-out jacket, and his steps lacked purpose, as if he were a man drawn to something he couldn’t comprehend. He paused before the sushi house, staring at the door for an unsettling moment. His brow furrowed, but there was no hesitation. The city’s strange rhythm—the cold, silent pull—had led him here, just as it had led so many others before him.

He pushed open the door.

A bell tinkled softly above him as he entered, the faint sound of waves crashing in the background, blending with the low hum of the radio. The air inside the sushi house was heavy, thick with an ancient scent - saltwater, fish, and something older, darker, that could not be named. The low light from the paper lanterns filtered through the dust that hung in the air, casting elongated shadows across the wooden floor. The place seemed unchanged from the last time he had been here - though he couldn’t remember when that had been.

The man looked around, his heart beating with an unfamiliar urgency. His eyes scanned the empty seats, the pristine counter, the strange objects that lined the shelves. There was no sign of life, save for the faint, almost imperceptible sound of something swimming in the tank behind the counter. The water was murky and dark, hiding whatever creatures lurked beneath its surface. He shivered involuntarily, unsure of whether the feeling in his chest was anticipation or dread.

And then, he saw him. The man behind the counter, still and silent as always.

Hitoshi.

The sushi chef stood like a statue, his hands folded in front of him, his expression unreadable, his eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. The man felt a chill run down his spine as he approached the counter, though he could not explain why. There was something unnerving about the stillness of this place, the deadness that seemed to hang in the air like a fog.

"Welcome," Hitoshi spoke, his voice quiet, but the words held weight, as if they had been spoken in a place beyond time.

The visitor did not speak immediately. He simply stood there, staring at the counter, his breath shallow, unsure of what to say. His hands were still buried deep in his pockets, and his mind raced, but it was as though he were trapped in the strange aura of this place—he couldn’t shake the feeling that he wasn’t alone, even though there were no other customers in sight. Something about the space, the shadows, felt full, as if the very walls were alive with unseen presences.

Finally, his voice broke the silence, thin and broken. "I don’t belong here."

Hitoshi did not respond, but the flicker of something in his gaze - the faintest shadow of an emotion - indicated that he had heard.

The visitor shuffled closer, hesitating for only a moment before sitting down on the stool at the counter. His eyes were still glued to the tank, watching the water as the faint ripples pulsed from something unseen, something other. He swallowed hard, forcing his hands to stay still. They ached, almost as if they had been clenched for a very long time.

"You’ve come to the wrong place," he muttered to himself, though he didn’t truly believe it.

Hitoshi didn’t respond to his words. Instead, he began to prepare a plate of sushi, the knife slicing through the fish with an eerie precision that made the man’s skin crawl. The sound of it - sharp, almost unnatural - was soothing in its way, but also unsettling. As Hitoshi slid the delicate pieces of fish onto the plate, the visitor could feel his heartbeat pounding in his ears, could feel the pull in his chest intensifying.

He wasn’t sure why he was here, why he had come. He didn’t even know what it was about this place that had drawn him in. The air was thick with something ancient, something forgotten. The man had been wandering the streets for days now, numb, and the same feeling had followed him - the pull toward the sushi house, the pull toward this moment.

And there it was. A small plate of sushi, placed gently before him on the counter.

The man stared at it for a long moment. The fish was vibrant, as though it had never touched the air. It gleamed with an unnatural light in the dimness of the room. It was perfect, pristine, and...wrong. There was something about it that twisted his stomach into knots. His breath caught as he stared at the plate, the strange sensation deepening inside him.

He had seen this before. He didn’t know where, but he had.

Without thinking, his hand moved, as if it had a will of its own, and he picked up a piece of the sushi. The flesh was cold, smooth. He brought it to his mouth, his body trembling, but then—before he could take a bite - he stopped. Something was wrong.

The room seemed to grow colder, as if the temperature had dropped several degrees. His vision began to blur, the edges of the room bending, warping. He set the sushi back down, his hands shaking, his pulse thumping in his ears.

Why couldn’t he just eat it?

Hitoshi did not seem to notice the visitor’s hesitation. He merely continued his task - preparing the sushi, placing it in front of him, his movements fluid, deliberate.

But the visitor could not tear his eyes away from the plate. There was something about it. The fish. It called to him.

He reached out again, this time without hesitation, and took a bite.

The taste exploded in his mouth, overwhelming and rich. It wasn’t the taste of the ocean, not the way he remembered. No, this was something deeper, something darker. It was the taste of decay, the taste of death, and in the moment he swallowed, it felt as though the floor beneath him had vanished. The world around him seemed to tilt, and a sudden, excruciating pain shot through his chest.

He gasped, clutching at his ribs, his vision blurring further. The room spun faster, the shadows on the walls twisting, stretching, as though they were coming alive. The tank behind Hitoshi bubbled once more, the ripples in the water intensifying, as if something was moving beneath its surface. A soft, almost imperceptible whisper emanated from the tank - low, guttural, unintelligible.

And then, with a sickening jolt, the man realized: he was drowning.

His chest tightened, and he gasped for breath, but there was no air. The coldness that had begun in his chest spread through his limbs like an insidious toxin. The shadows in the room grew darker, and he could feel them, feel them wrapping around him, pulling him closer to the floor. His skin prickled, his hands went numb, and a searing pain shot through his spine.

In his desperation, he looked up at Hitoshi, his eyes wide with terror. But Hitoshi was unmoved, his expression still unreadable, as if the agony unfolding before him was nothing more than a passing moment.

And then, the visitor understood.

He wasn’t here by mistake. He wasn’t lost. He had been chosen.

The sushi house didn’t just wait for the lost to arrive. It called to the ones who were lost, who were wandering.

And as the darkness closed in around him, the man realized with a final, overwhelming sense of clarity that there was no way out.

The sushi house had claimed him.

The man’s vision faded in and out, as if he were slipping between two worlds—one of shadow and one of light, neither solid nor certain. His breath grew shallow, a rhythmic rasp that matched the rising pulse in his chest. Every inhale felt like it might be his last, and yet... he wasn’t dying. Not in the way he thought. Not in the way he feared.

The pain in his ribs, sharp and unyielding, began to dissolve into something softer, almost comforting. The coldness that had first crept into his body - climbing like an ice storm - was no longer just a threat. It spread, yes, but now it felt... freeing. The weight in his chest lifted, bit by bit, as though something was being drawn from him, something heavy, something tied to his earthly existence.

For a moment, the room around him stilled. The shadows stopped twisting. The fish in the tank ceased their restless motion. The murmur of the air itself quieted, until all that remained was the low hum of the old radio, playing a soft, unearthly tune.

The man felt a shift, a pull - like being tethered to something unseen—and before he could grasp what was happening, his body began to feel lighter. His hands trembled, but they were no longer as heavy as they had been moments ago. There was a strange sense of peace, a growing awareness that he was no longer bound by the constraints of flesh and bone.

Hitoshi’s eyes met his - calm, knowing, as though the chef had been expecting this moment all along. The silence between them stretched, comfortable, and then the chef finally spoke.

"It’s not always about death," Hitoshi said, his voice soft but deliberate, "not always about taking someone’s life."

The man’s eyes fluttered, confusion clouding his mind. He wanted to speak, but words felt foreign. His throat felt constricted, as though he couldn’t grasp them in the same way. Still, he tried, pushing through the fog that clouded his thoughts.

"You... what...?" His voice cracked, but there was an underlying calmness to it now—a curiosity he hadn’t felt before.

Hitoshi slid another plate of sushi toward him, the motion slow and deliberate, as if savoring the moment. He didn’t respond immediately, only watched the man with his inscrutable gaze, before speaking again.

"Not every person who comes here is meant to stay. Not everyone is meant to cross. The house doesn’t just take. It guides." He paused, his gaze flickering toward the tank, where the fish swam in peaceful, undisturbed circles. "Some souls are... lost. Adrift, caught between the worlds. The sushi house helps them find their way—find their place—wherever that may be."

The man’s heart, or what was left of it, thudded slowly in his chest. He couldn’t quite understand. Was he alive? Was he dead? Was he neither? The line had blurred—no, it had disappeared entirely.

He turned his eyes to the plate of sushi that sat before him. Shimmering, delicate pieces - seeming to glow now, more radiant than they had been before. They looked inviting. Beautiful. A bridge, somehow, between what he had been and what he was about to become.

"You’re not here by accident," Hitoshi continued, his voice quiet now, almost like a prayer. "You’ve come here because you need to find the path. Some people find their way to the other side of the veil through... fear. They cross when they can no longer avoid it. Others, like you, are given a choice."

The man’s hands clenched, confusion swirling in his chest. "I don’t understand," he muttered. "I... I thought this was it. I thought I was dead."

Hitoshi nodded slowly, as though he had anticipated the question. "In a sense, you are. But it’s not the end, not yet. The house gives you a chance - a final meal, a final moment to remember who you were, what you’ve lost, and who you’ve become."

The sashimi on his plate seemed to shimmer brighter, and he found himself unable to tear his gaze from it. He had been here before, hadn't he? He had wandered these streets long ago, lost and drifting in a fog of his own making. He had been looking for something, searching for answers that never came. But now, the pieces were beginning to fall into place. He remembered his own life - the mistakes, the regrets, the ways he had fallen short, the ones he loved, the ones he hurt. He remembered the accident, the one that had taken him from this world and cast him into the unknown.

But now, in this strange, ethereal place, he understood. He hadn’t just been taken. He had been lost - lost in his grief, in his fear, in his refusal to accept his own mortality. This place, this sushi house, had called to him because it was time to cross over. It was time to let go.

He looked up at Hitoshi, his expression softening. "I get it now. This is... my choice."

Hitoshi smiled faintly, his eyes glinting with an ancient understanding. "It’s always been your choice. But it’s not a simple one. You don’t have to go. You don’t have to cross the line. Many who come here, they take a bite and leave it behind. They find their way back, still tied to their unfinished lives."

The visitor looked back down at the sushi. His hand hovered over the plate, the weight of the decision heavy in the air. He could almost feel the pull of both worlds - one that was familiar, full of his regrets, the mistakes he had made. And the other, the one beyond the veil, a place of peace, of release.

"I can go back?" he asked, voice trembling.

"You can. If you choose to."

The room seemed to hold its breath, and for a long moment, the visitor wrestled with the choice. The sushi gleamed on the plate before him, its invitation too tempting to ignore. But he knew, deep down, that it was never about the fish. It was never about the meal. It was about what it represented. A way forward. A crossing.

He watched as the fish in the tank moved gently. They shimmered, shifting slightly under the dim light, their eyes - those dark, knowing eyes - seeming to beckon him forward.

He closed his eyes, feeling the quiet around him. The tension in his chest softened, as if a great weight was being lifted. Slowly, he reached out and took the sushi into his hand, bringing it to his lips.

For a moment, everything stopped. There was no fear. No confusion. No pain.

And then, as he bit into the delicate flesh, the room around him seemed to fall away. The walls, the counter, Hitoshi - all of it began to dissolve into the quiet of the night. The water in the tank rippled gently, its surface reflecting the calm moonlight that had begun to filter through the windows. The shadows, once so oppressive, lifted.

It was as if the veil had parted.

And the man understood. He understood now. This was not the end of his story. It was simply another chapter. One where he could lay his burdens down.

The choice had always been his.

And as he swallowed, his body relaxed, his spirit easing into the unknown. There was no more fear. No more hesitation. Only the gentle embrace of the crossing.

________________________________________

Outside, the lanterns flickered. The air shifted as a warm breeze with the sweet smell of jasmine blew into the sushi house.  Outside the city continued to sleep, unaware of his soul passing through the thin space between worlds. As the man’s body slowly disappeared Hitoshi sat quietly, waiting for the next visitor.

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