I am not hikikomori!
Jun’s mother was being locked out of her own son’s room. The hurt slapped across her as though her son had thrown a wet blanket in her face.
Jun Kosugi ran his fingers along the top of the desk. He could and would carve it into something spectacular. It was one thing he was grateful to his father for, that he’d built the desk of wood. No synthetics here. Jun could carve the desktop. He had a feeling of such joy and anticipation for what he might create.
He had removed the plastic covering. He put it in the hallway. In the night Jun snuck out from his room and grabbed his father’s ashtray and lighter.
He needed to get rid of the photos that had been mounted under the plastic, photos of a long-ago soccer tournament, when his team had won a first-place trophy.
Now he had no fond memories of soccer. He burned the photos one by one, watching his smiling face and those of his soccer teammates turn to ashes in the heavy cut-…