Walking the streets of Los Angeles; climbing the mountains of Everest; surfing the waves of the Pacific; lazing around the gardens of Edinburgh; all in a bid to forget, but I still don't. It haunts me. My nightmares at night.
I am Kurt, Kurt Matzumoto.
- - - -
A clap of thunder brought me out of my reverie, followed closely by a shower of rain. I watched teary - eyed, as the coffin was laid to earth. Within the coffin, as I told myself over and over again during my periods of grief, was my brother. Not just any brother, but my twin brother.
My eyes were red and puffy from crying; my breaths coming out in rasps. And to cap it all, the mother of hiccups. I felt a hand on my shoulder, and turned around to face my father, Ching Matzumoto, the most - feared Yakuza in all of Japan. He was staring straight - faced at the undertaker.
'Sad day' he said, at last shifting his gaze to me.
'Mhmm' I replied, sniffing back a fresh gust of tears.
We became silent, each to his own thoughts.
A gust of wind sent me shivering.
'Come on son, let's go back to the car.'
'Why' I shouted, letting go all pent-up emotions. 'Why did he have to die?'
'Come on son, you will catch cold.'
'I don't care.' I shouted. 'Why did he die and leave me?'
'God gives, and he takes.'
'Why did he take him now, and leave me heartbroken?' I yelled, and went down in a swooning faint.