The Current Festival #AmanoWritingClub

Approximately 1000 characters, short-short story

The festival in our town always arrives from the future.

Once a year, when the great clock in the center of town tolls, particles of light like gold dust rain down from the sky.

That is the 'after-festival'—fragments of memories from our future selves, of a time we have already enjoyed.

These light particles serve as the blueprint for the 'current festival' that is about to begin.

'My future self looks like he's having such a great time.'

In the images from the delivered particles, my face, glistening with sweat and the grease of a frankfurter, was crumpled in laughter. That smile was perfect.

The sweet scent of sauce from the stalls, candy apples, buttered potatoes. The sound of water from the goldfish scooping and the spirited voice of the man running the stall color the memory.

And the moment I spent looking up at the night sky with her was the most vivid of all.

We begin our preparations as if possessed by a fever, determined to recreate this 'after-festival' that is yet to come.

There was only one small, grain-of-sand-like snag in my heart.

The profile of my future self looking up at the fireworks.

Even though my mouth was clearly smiling at that moment, for some reason, a single tear was tracing a path down my cheek.

Is that a tear born from the pinnacle of joy?

Or is there some other reason...

Pushing that doubt to the bottom of my heart, the 'current festival' began, perfectly recreating the 'after-festival'.

Just as in the memory, I stood in line, and just as in the memory, I smelled the rich aroma of a crispy grilled frankfurter.

In the exact spot from the memory, I found her wearing the same cute yukata from the memory.

With a roar that seemed to tear the world apart, the first firework was launched into the night sky.

Just as in the memory, I am standing right next to her.

"……It's beautiful, isn't it?"

She said, in a voice that trembled just like in the memory of the future.

Just as in the memory, I couldn't say anything and simply stared back.

We were now perfectly recreating a memory that was supposed to have been fun in the future. It was too perfect, too hollow, and cold.

Her face, illuminated by the light of the night sky, was identical to the image in my memory.

Yet, my heart was hollow.

Am I actually enjoying this moment right now?

Am I not just an emotionless actor following a script, desperately tracing a predetermined future of a 'post-festival' that was supposed to be fun?

Beside me, she is just intently looking up at the sparks of fire destined to burn out.

Whiz, boom, crackle, crackle, crackle....

The sound of the fireworks continued to burst emptily and quietly, like the reverberations of a future memory echoing through our town.

A single tear traced down my cheek.

It was a tear of rebellion against the fact that even the moments of joy were predetermined, and that free emotion was not permitted.

And it was the first emotion that belonged only to the 'me' of 'now,' standing beside her.