Asakusa Senso-ji Loop: A Time-Fractured Short Story
The tea tasted of rust and repetition. Not the fragrant, mellow green tea I craved near Asakusa’s Senso-ji temple, amidst the incense and the throngs of tourists, but a metallic tang that lingered, an echo of something decaying. I took another sip, or perhaps it was the same sip, endlessly repeated.
The first anomaly was subtle: a vendor selling trinkets I’d purchased just yesterday, their display identical, down to the misplaced Daruma doll with the chipped nose. I dismissed it as déjà vu, a trick of the mind in this sensory overload of ancient tradition and modern commerce.
The second anomaly was a flicker. A young woman in a bright kimono, her face a blur, passing me twice in the same direction within seconds. A glitch in the matrix, a skipped frame in the film of reality.
The Spiral Begins
It started small, these repetitions, these minor inconsistencies. A discarded newspaper with yesterday’s headlines. The same tour group snapping the same photos of the Kaminarimon gate. The scent of the same incense wafting from the same censer. But the feeling intensified, a growing unease that burrowed deep into my bones. The feeling was similar to when I was using too much memory, when there were too many browser tabs open and the computer would choke.
Then came the conversations. Snatch of words overheard, repeated verbatim. A child’s laughter, echoing not just in the air, but within my skull. A hawker’s cry, a perfect replica of the cry I had heard a few minutes ago.
I tried to break the loop. I deviated from my path, took a different turn down Nakamise-dori. It didn’t matter. The repetitions accelerated, overlapping, converging. The world became a broken record, a scratched CD skipping endlessly on the same groove.
I saw myself. Or, someone who looked exactly like me, walking towards Senso-ji, his face etched with the same growing horror. He didn’t see me. He was trapped in his own loop, oblivious to the other versions of himself that were surely emerging.
The Crimson Sky
The sky began to bleed. A slow, creeping crimson stain that spread across the heavens, turning the ancient temple, the bustling streets, the throngs of people into a macabre tableau. No one else seemed to notice. They continued their rituals, their shopping, their conversations, oblivious to the impending doom, the temporal fracture that was consuming Asakusa.
I ran. Away from Senso-ji, away from the crimson sky, away from the endless repetitions. But there was nowhere to run. The loop was tightening, compressing, squeezing the life out of reality.
I found myself back at the tea stall, the metallic taste of the tea stronger now, more corrosive. The vendor smiled, a knowing, predatory smile. “Another cup?” he asked, his voice a digital echo. “You’ve got all the time in the world.”
I looked up at the sky, now a solid, pulsating crimson. The temple was gone, replaced by a swirling vortex of color and chaos. The people were gone, replaced by ghostly figures, frozen in perpetual motion.
Escape?
Then, a flicker. A tear in the fabric of reality. A brief glimpse of another world, another time. A world where the tea tasted of jasmine and peace. A world where the sky was blue.
I reached for it, desperately, knowing it was a futile gesture. But as my fingers brushed against the edge of the tear, everything went white. The crimson sky, the metallic tea, the endless repetitions… all vanished.
I was standing in front of Senso-ji, the sun shining, the air filled with the scent of incense. The tea tasted of jasmine. Had it all been a dream? A nightmare induced by too much sake and too little sleep?
I looked down at my hand. There, imprinted on my skin, was a faint, metallic stain. The taste of rust still lingered on my tongue. And as I looked around, I noticed a vendor selling trinkets, their display identical, down to the misplaced Daruma doll with the chipped nose. The loop had reset. Or had it?
The taste of rust filled my mouth once again. It was a closed loop, and Asakusa was now my own personal hell.
