THE SPARKLER BEGAN to glow as I lit the few grains of gunpowder embedded in its tissue-paper tip. Only a few seconds later, this initial spark swelled up into a slag—a molten dewdrop dangling delicately from the end of the crooked stick; a mote of warmth, carved out from the cold. Suspended upside down, this orb of light burned most brightly from the bottom, as the resultant updraft from the tiny pocket of heat it created only drew in more and more oxygen to fuel its flame. And so on it burned in the crisp night air, bright and brittle until at last it saw fit to begin shedding sparks, and a firework was born at last.
For a moment, the crackling embers scattered wildly—each firing off in their own arcs before bursting and branching out in all directions—but then, all at once, the fizzling fountain froze over. The chirping insects in the surrounding fields and forests fell silent, and the flow of time seemed to slow to a crawl. This was a sensation I hadn’t felt in over a year—a strange phenomenon that could only be experienced here in this spot where the fabric of our world grew thin, and the fetters that kept us bound to it came undone.
Aoi was standing right beside me, with Ryo directly across from us.
The three of us stood huddled close together in a triangle, as if gathered to marvel at the sparks where they hung frozen in midair.
“Been a long time since we all got together like this,” said Aoi.
“Yeah, no kidding,” I said with a nod. “I’ve been so busy lately that I couldn’t afford to make the trip back home. Sorry you two had to wait up for me.”
“Don’t sweat it, dude. We’re just glad you could make it,” Ryo said, casting his gaze up into the sky. “Man, it’s hard to believe it’s been a whole year though, huh?”
Far off in the distance, the skies overhead had begun to fade from black into a deep, navy blue. It was that most fragile time of night, just before the first rays of morning light crept up over the horizon, and for a moment, I could almost see her there with us—that pale, fleeting specter I once knew.