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Scratches and graffiti adorned the walls like cave paintings depicting the victory of one drunken youth over another. It felt like a cave aswell with the sudden drop in temperature. It must have been some kind of apartments. When we reached the top of the stairs a bleak wide yet short corridor stretched out behind us with three doors on the left and right walls. An open window on the end wall let in the afternoon light. She dragged me to the door right of the square hole representing a window and stopped. The red door... the other five where black, but this one red. Now is it just me or is that a bit strange? The one red rose among the withering garden.
Anyway, there were three locks on the red scratched wooden door. Looking at the state of the corridor it was no wonder. Klari took a key out of her pocket an unlocked one. She then reached down into her boot, taking out another key, unlocking the second lock. She then turned away for a moment, smiling, and reached into her chest, pulling out another key and unlocking the final lock. She then backed away to the side of the door, gently holding out her arm presenting the unlocked door.
"well done!" I praised. She sighed.
"Just get in"
The door lead straight into the square main room of the apartment. Tanned stone walls. Window on the left. Kitchen on the right. Three doors on the wall in front of me. A light bulb hanging down from the cracked white ceiling on a single wire. A mixed style of tables and chairs probably scavenged from various sources. A Holographic TV? How'd they afford that? The only thing in the apartment that looks new. The only thing that looks like it's actually worth anything. Probably a prized possession of the house pack leader. A stained kitchen in the same room, separated from the living space by a counter. Well used, but not well cleaned. Creased folded clothes piled up on one chair. Cartons and bottles lay empty on the floor. A place to live. Cosier than the streets. More welcoming than the shack I awoke in.
Klari strutted past heading for the door on the left nearest the window. I decided to stay where I was. Didn't really feel right standing half naked in some stranger’s house. She opened the door and disappeared into the room. There was a lot of rustling clatters and mumbling. She must have been looking for clothes for me... I hoped. She peered around the corner and started to laugh. "Why are you still standing there?!" I gazed back feeling a bit embraced. "C'mon make yourself at home, Take a seat!" I pointed at myself as if to say, who... me? "Sit! Now!" she snapped, pointing at the cushioned sofa. I awkwardly walked over in silence to the sofa and slowly sat down, trying by best not to disturb any of the debris lying about the house. She waited until I sat down before disappearing back into the room. "If you want a drink or anything to eat there's shit in the fridge".
'They must be without toilet then...' I thought to myself. "No thanks, I'm Fine" I shouted back. Unfortunately that last remark reminded me of some unfinished business. "actually, could I use your bathroom?"
"Far right door" she shouted back.
I arose from the sofa wandered over to the bathroom door avoiding all the rubbish, making sure I didn't touch anything in case I set of some unseen alarm. I opened the door revealing the small box shaped room with nothing more than a hole in the floor. That was it, Just a hole in the floor and a sink on the right wall. However, above the sink was a mirror. It took me a second to notice, but there it was. A mirror. A reflection. Maybe now I could remember.
I pulled the door closed behind me and slowly walked over to the sink, staring at my reflection. The gleaming narrow black eyes where the first things I noticed. Followed by the face. A roundish face with a sharp jaw line, like a shallow upside-down triangle. My face was almost cat like, except without the fluffy cheeks. My elfish ears sticking out of the side of my head, just like the other azikai. I Had hair! Pale blond spiky hair, medium in length. Some strands going down into my eyes which I was constantly trying to brush away. The rest me body was white. Thin but athletically muscular in build. This was me? Yes... this was definitely me. But no matter how long I stared. No matter how hard I tried. I still couldn't remember.
I stood there for quite a while, leaning on the sink, staring at an unfamiliar face. Maybe, just maybe if I stared long enough, it would all come back. There where lapses, brief momentary lapses. I kept on pondering on those words. The streets flashing in my head. Small thin square plastic boxes lined among angled shelves, each with a different picture on them. The shack where I slept last night. One shack among a concrete jungle of suntanned boxes. Lapses, momentary lapses. Familiar, those words. I didn't even know what a lapse was, what momentary lapse meant, but I used it anyway to describe the faint memories surfacing and sinking. The female Azikai with a green bottle in her had. That sweet innocent face. Her forehead pressed against my own. A momentary lapse. Red powder filling the palm of my hand being thrown into the air. Everyone else around me throwing different colours leaving streaks of bright dusty clouds shooting through the air before raining down again. Like a trail left behind by rockets made for pixies. A momentary lapse of reason? THAT! yes, that's something... that's so familiar! Those words. Something old, something sacred, something beautiful. Sound, beautiful sound. Something that took me back. Something that reminded me. Something I was known for. Archives. searching the past. The sound. The archives, archives, ARCHIVES!. Sound archives, 322 Dongsheng Rd, Lishuizhen!
That's where I found it all, that insanely brilliant Azikai, obsessed with human music. A momentary lapse of reason. Pink Floyd. Released 1987. The first of two studio albums released without their Bassist and lyricist Rodger Waters. MY GOD!
It all came rushing back. That Azikai, my, friend. My best friend. My only friend? Standing there. Short spiky hair, brown striped fur. One inch taller than myself. Those pointless one inch arguments, puns. Reaching for the top shelf boasting about his extra inch. This image, Rushing in. Memories slowly pushing against the walls of my mind. Barging past. Racing to the finish line. A beat pulsing in my head. An intro. Clocks ticking out of time. Voices fading in. An old voice. Strong English accent. Almost resentful detached. Weathered with experience. "I've been mad for fucking years, absolutely years. I've been over the edge for yonks". Speak to me. Pink Floyd again.
Those bright black shining eyes shimmering with curiosity. I can't remember myself but I can remember him! I can remember the old music! The pulse getting louder and louder. More voices. A shaky dusty drone rising. Bachi, standing there in a trance moving his headphones from ear to ear. Making the sound orbit around him, controlling the sound. Surrounded by plastic cases.