Objects in motion - objects at rest

She arrived at Tokyo airport on a midnight flight from London-Paris-line,
holding in her hand a worn out light brown leather suitcase with a heart-
shaped sticker pasted on the right-hand side. Standing in front of the
large glass windows in the Arrivals lounge, she was anxious to get through
the security check without any unnecessary incidents. Clutching her old
case with a slightly sweaty left hand, placing it in the middle of her legs
while she herself sat down on a designer bench made out of half-circle chro-
mium steel pipes, matte-painted in cyan and yellow with end caps made of red
polypropeine plastic. The lounge was very silent, and the only people in sight
were two tired-looking salarymen with their flawless top-of-the-pile gray busi-
ness suits from Macy's, New York. Postal order, speedy delivery, of course.

They were sitting on a bench that was perfectly identical to the specimen she
herself sat on, eating something that looked like a vending machine sandwich
slash health disaster. They both had the same sandwich flavor as well, tuna and
mayonnaise. "A carbon-copy world with carbon-copy food and carbon-copy archi-
tecture", a thought idly crossed her mind. The thought was quickly forgotten
when an announcement sprung through the airport speakers: "*Would the passanger
Ichiyo Taki-san please report to the Air Japan desk three.*". Nobody seemed
to react to the announcement at first, but then one of the businessmen,
Ichi-San for all intents and purposes, she noted, stood up and quickly started
shuffling towards the Air Japan desk near the luggage reclaim coaster four.

He stopped in mid-step.

By some strange glitch in the space-time all movement ceased instantly.

There is his partner, sitting on the designer bench, biting into a lurid mess
of tuna and mayo with brown lettuce standing out of the mix like a sad old dog
turd laid on an early winter walkie.

There is Ichi-San, with a facial impression that was a distinct mix of tired-
ness, anger and anxiousness, looking directly into the eyes of a beautiful
Air Japan desk clerk, a woman in her mid-twenties, with a small golden
wedding ring with an inset small diamond in her left hand ring finger.

And yes, she is also there. Like the cherry petals flowing around in spring
wind on the last day of school, her name is Hana Sakura. "Cherry Flower".
This time, she will be waiting forever. For without time, nothing moves.
Without time, nothing really is, as everything is in a state of flux.

Were all their combined actions meant to lead up to this point of total
stillness. Is it the Harmageddon? Kami-sama's final judgement? Will ancient
gods get off their Eternal Thrones, climb the sky and finally eat the sun?

But it is not the end, as it is not really anything. For there to be and actual
end to anything, something would be actually required to be recorded after
the end-event. In this case, the world seemed to be more of paused, in a manner
of a giant causal remote control switching on pause while fetching the giant
intergalactic advertisement break sandwich filled with metaphysical tuna and
non-tangible mayonnaise.

Are we just on a break? And what is the main event? Is this all that the
announcer promised us?

"Yet to come", "Don't miss", "After this", "Tomorrow at Eight",
"Next time on Lost".

Oh, switch off.