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Guidance

An unusual counselor

By John EvaPublished 2 years ago 5 min read
2
Guidance
Photo by Daria Rom on Unsplash

25 April 2005

I'm always so busy.

Today is no different.

The conductor announces his plans for travel, and apologizes for being behind schedule. The train itself is only a few minutes behind, but at the West Japan Railway Company they're known for their punctuality.

Ah, but where are my manners? You may call me Jefferson.

It's my job to know about people. Who they are, where they're going. Most importantly, when they're going.

For instance the woman to my right staring out of the window without a care in the world is Ito Akari. She just turned 37, but she could pass for much younger. In fact, she tells her current boyfriend that she is 31.

She's going to die. At precisely 11:37

She has a nice smile, and callused hands. You might not think it, judging from her grease-free clothes, but she's one of Hyogo prefecture's top rated mechanics. 4.8 stars on yelp with over 3,000 reviews.

She smells of lavender.

Not right now of course, she smells like typical human.

I mean her true smell. It is like friction, motor oil, and heart break. The combined experience of living is contained in a broader scent. One that fits together for every soul on this earth like clasped hands, and that scent, for Ms. Ito, is lavender.

I could tell her you know.

I could let her know that it's her time. But that wouldn't change a thing. I've tried before and failed. They all travel their path. And in the end I guide them.

A dog barks as I walk past. I give him a scratch behind the ears. His owner pulls him in close and tells him to hush. It's an emotional support animal after all, it really ought to contain itself. Neither he, nor his owner are coming with me today.

I make notes of each and every person aboard the train as it speeds up again. Trains are all meant to go a certain speed you know.

A nervous man to my left sweats profusely through his shirt, dark grey stains spread from his armpits and down his side. He dabs hopelessly at his perspiring forehead with a napkin. He may as well be trying to mop the ocean.

Nakamura Souma. Beady little eyes enlarged by thick rimmed glasses. He smells of salt and nervousness. Guilt pours out in a thick sludge surrounding him like a putrid cloud of rot. He is one of the population who I will greet with wicked smile and scythe.

I convulse with pleasure when one of his ilk treads in my overwhelming seas. I reserve the depths of misery and fear for those who rob the innocent of their purity.

To tell you that he smells of sewage would be too much of a compliment for the foul stench that curls and coils around him like tentacles. I can hardly wait. But I will. 17 more minutes.

Trees and buildings fly past as the train picks up its speed once again. Trying to make up for lost time. No one really can do that, though. Not even the West Japan Rail Company.

I get closer to the front, noting scents I will add to my collection today. Daffodil, sunflower seed, cinnamon, rotten egg, sex, frost... I feel sometimes like a poor incense collector who buys each stick at random.

As I reach toward the door, I'm greeted by a scent most pleasant.

Ah.

I had forgotten one it seems.

Such a small scent.

Ms. Kobayashi Hina. She is five and a half years old. In much the same way as it is hard to describe the worst of smells, it is hard to describe the purest. What does innocence smell like? No perfume captures joy, no cologne captures the smell of unbridled sincerity.

Yet here she is. Clutching a teddy bear whose name today is Kiki. Her mother says she must get rid of that bear soon. She clutches it tight to her chest as the train starts rocking from the speed.

I go through the door to the conductor.

Mr. Ryujiro Takami, 23 years old, is a young professional. His whole life's ahead of him. Not that it's terribly long at this point. 7 minutes 36 seconds.

He's been warned a few times by his boss that he shall not be late anymore or there will be consequences. He was late today though. He slept in.

I am the consequences.

I peer in for a moment. So young, and troubled. I can see verbal abuse, an angry father, a tender and broken mother. I can hear the reprimands from his bosses confirming all of his darkest fears of isolation and worthlessness. I can see a ring on a table with a note.

As we near the point of impact I can feel the panic rise.

I can smell it.

Time doesn't matter to me in these moments. It hums a small tune as I stop to smell the souls. Ryujiro smells of regret. It's the smoky scent of a burning wood. One that had such potential as a sapling, and yet it burns to a shallow and empty crisp.

The train is engulfed in such flames even now. I must get to work.

Most are confused when they first see me. I'm hardly what they expect. Nearly a mirror, a representation of all their hopes, dreams, and fears rolled into a lone figure. A specter to some, a deity to others, and an old forgotten friend to those whose hearts remember.

I guide them all.

All of the smells exit that train. Lavender, pain, frost, courage, grass. Most of them wind their way up and around a tornado of fragrant twilight.

The small one waits.

She is afraid. Until she sees me.

"Kiki!" She yells, and I nod.

She throws her arms around me, pushing her face into my cloth and cotton, and so gently, but certainly, I guide her.

Short Story
2

About the Creator

John Eva

I just like writing.

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Comments (2)

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  • Dharrsheena Raja Segarran2 years ago

    This was fantastic! Loved your story!

  • Cathy Marshall2 years ago

    Really enjoyed reading this, thanks!

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