Haibun story published in Scryptic 1.2
That spring in Kyoto, few people had heard of the word retrovirus or knew what it meant. As the sakura zensen (cherry blossom front) reached the old capital, hanami (blossom picnics) took place as usual. Couples and families gathered beneath the trees, spreading out their blankets to share food and sake as they have done for centuries. Stories and laughter fell from open mouths as the blossom drifted around them.
The first cases seemed little more than an allergic reaction. Patients were admitted to the university hospital with mild breathing difficulties after being in close proximity to flowering trees, but these resolved quickly in the emergency room with the administration of a little oxygen and some reassuring words.
In the days following, a small trickle of patients became a flood, and consultants from the Ear, Nose and Throat department found themselves being called to the ER with increasing regularity. More and more patients were admitted for overnight stays to stabilise their breathing, and a general warning was released to the population of the city that cherry blossom viewing was now considered something you should do at your own risk, with breathing masks advised as a caution.
Overnight, Maruyama Park, and other traditional places for hanami became deserted. The rest of Kyoto settled into a sombre silence quite unlike any other spring in recorded memory.
One week after the first signs, 23-year-old Yuko Konomi became patient zero, the first fatality from what was now being called Sakura yamai (Cherry blossom disease). Her parents stood by her bedside as doctors desperately tried to revive her, unwilling to give up while any hope remained. Eventually, even they resigned themselves to the inevitability of such a young death.
As Yuko’s face turned white, a single pale pink blossom appeared from between her lips.
No one said a word.
one breath
after another
spring moon
