The Peninsula

The Fiction and Poetry Archive of Liana Mir and scribblemyname



Prompt: any. any. “Do not waste your breath with some nonsense about how I should… move on with my life for their sake. That is merely the logic of the living. It is meaningless.” ~Dmitri, Fire Emblem Three Houses

Looking back, there was a lot of sake after Oda died. Days passed in a blur. The command to be good, to be on the side that saved people, couldn’t be implemented right away simply because Dazai was that much of a monster, which meant he couldn’t move forward, couldn’t move on, and the truth was he didn’t want to.

He’d had friends. Somehow, his coldhearted emptiness had found an echo of warmth in Ango and Oda, and one had betrayed them all and the other was dead now at the hands of Mimic—and the Port Mafia that had once sheltered them all. He’d had friends and now he had nothing.

For two years, he drowned himself and his memories in sake, wondering if he could drink enough to poison his liver and die, but not quite willing to experiment because in Oda’s dying moments he asked him to live, to be good, to be on the side that saved people. So for two years, he lived without living, without moving, and never mind anyone that told him he should do otherwise.

Dazai had never abided by the logic of the living. Somewhere beyond life, there was the taste of death, of a dream upon his heart—oblivion.


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