Volume 1 - Epilogue

One month has passed since that incident. After spending some time in the center street of Bristol, I headed to the location Boudicia and I agreed to meet up.

“Hello there, Ursa-san,” I greeted the black and white bear guarding the Bearpit.

Once, Boudicia laughed at me for doing so, but now it feels so nostalgic. It’s become something like my habit. Even as I headed down the stairs leading to the Bearpit, it had become as lively as it always was. And while admiring the graffiti to my left and right, I walked toward the plaza. The incident related to the graffiti here turned into a major happening for everybody involved, including me. The purge of the Bearpit and destruction of Ursa, as well as the city council’s measures against graffiti were put on ice since then. The citizens learned of the police’s intervention, as videos of this event spread across the internet, which resulted in the city council and aggressive police force being condemned.

The white walls of the Bearpit were quickly filled with graffiti once more, as regular life returned to Bristol. The sudden appearance at the Bristol Art Museum and Gallery caused a major uproar, which was reported across the whole UK. People speculated who could have done it, including the assumption that Banksy may have returned, as the people kept on talking about for weeks.

However, every writer living in Bristol knew…that the Ghost of Bristol worked to resist and obstruct the city council’s purge. The opinions regarding this graffiti were split in two: Critique for the graffiti appearing in a public institution like the art museum, and praise for a message that halted the radical purge of Bristol’s culture. The only thing that nobody argued about was the absolute beauty this simple graffiti held.

“Yo, Yoshi.”

“Hungry?”

A long neck and a round face appeared from the green bus.

“Ah, JF-san, Peni-san. I got somewhere to be today.”

“Daaaw, boring. I finished a new track so I was hoping you’d give it a listen.”

“That sounds quite enticing…Could you send me the data later?”

“Not happening. You gotta listen to it in person.”

“Somewhere to be? Ah, it must be a date!”

“In that case, we’ll have to mill Yoshi with the coffee mill.”

“Or turn him into a kebab, slowly cutting the meat off him.”

“I-I’m not on a date or anything! Anyway, I’ll see you later!”

From time to time, I would go drink some coffee at the Bearpit, or order myself a burrito when I was feeling hungry. Each time, Peni would recommend me a new burrito he came up with. Then JF would come in and tell Peni to work on his graffiti some more because that’s what makes him this fat, as he brings me a coffee. Whenever that happens, I talk about music a bit. Thanks to JF’s recommendations I learned about Massive Attack or Portishead, who are famous bands here in Bristol. Whenever I hear the breakbeats mixed with a calm melody, I’m once again reminded of the beauty of Bristol.

“Oh dear, if it isn’t Yoshi.”

“Ah, Lara-san.”

On the opposite side of the Bearpit entrance, I ran into Lara, who just finished spraying something on the wall.

“A new work of yours?”

“Someone wrote a tag on top of a piece, so I’m punishing them,” she said as she shook her spray can with a beryl green color.

“Guess you’ve got your work cut out for you, Captain.”

“Tell me about it. I wonder if there isn’t any reliable crew member who’d help me clean and swear absolute allegiance to me?”

“I’m not part of your crew, nor am I a writer…”

“My, but you might have talent if you try it yourself?”

“That joke isn’t funny.”

“More importantly, how’s Boo doing? Is she wearing the clothes I gave her? She’s not showing herself at all…That’s not what we promised!”

“Ah, that…Well…It was a bit too…much, I guess? But, she was happy.”

“What a blatant lie! Well, it can’t be helped. I’ll take her to a shop with me next time. And of course, you’ll be joining me, Yoshi. Boo might be an exception, but you should learn about the beauty of fashion yourself. For example, we should do something about those glasses of yours.”

Whenever I happen to run into Lara, she always goes on a tangent like this. The reason that the city council loosened its strictness with the Bearpit’s graffiti was regarded as the Captain Lara’s result, as she’s been acquiring more and more fame. Since George’s betrayal led to this situation, she did feel guilty about it but continued to do her thing.

“…You agree with me, right Aeon?”

“I’m not as obsessed with clothing, in fact,” Aeon showed a wry smile as he crossed his arms and gazed at the graffiti next to Lara.

It felt like his arms had gotten even thicker compared to before. I heard that the police’s supervision of Aeon had gotten wishy-washy, too. And the sale of spray paint was opened up again. Since he returned to his graffiti work, he would often complain that people lack practice and experience. The only difference compared to before is that he would sometimes show up here at the Bearpit, or draw his own art on a canvas. It even had a hint of calligraphy mixed into it, which was highly valued by the gallery. He’s probably trying to find a new reason to write.

Either way, I said goodbye to these two and left the Bearpit, heading along Rupert Street. Along the road, some people were having picnics at College Green, and when I looked across the street to gaze at the Bristol City Office, I was reminded of George. I don’t know the exact details of what happened to him after that incident. He stopped showing up at the shop and hasn’t been in contact with me since. In fact, he hasn’t committed any felonies. All he did was stab my arm, but everything else was indirect involvement. In a way, that was still very much like George.

When the police came to the museum, they must have found George looking like that, assuming he was attacked by somebody. According to Boudicia, he’ll eventually show up at the shop again as if nothing happened. I honestly felt the same way, and I could see myself talking to him normally if that were the case.

Granted, the wound on my arm was fairly deep and cost me a lot of blood, but according to the doctor, you’d usually slice someone’s arm with a knife like that vertically, but it was a miracle that no muscles or nerves got injured in the process. As a result of that, I’d be dealing with the pain for a while longer, but no long-lasting or severe aftereffects will remain. When I heard that, I had to question George’s intentions. He did stab me. That was an undeniable fact, but the reason my wound ended up so deep is that I basically stabbed myself in the end. How serious…was George really?

The following day after the art museum incident, I made up my mind and sent my vocalist a message. That I was in a city called Bristol, where I encountered graffiti and the many writers who created it. And that something massive happened because of it. I wanted to keep it a brief report, but couldn’t stop myself mid-way. And after all that, I added a comment, saying that once I return to Japan, I wouldn’t mind playing in a band again. The response to that came back quicker than I thought. Three simple words, nothing more.

[Not gonna wait.]

There were two ways to interpret this. Either, they’d just kick me out of the band and continue. Or maybe…Oh, well. Reading that, I felt easier. There was nothing to get anxious over. I have all the time in the world. I can always return to being a beginner. It all depends on what I want to do. Searching endlessly for the answer is pointless because I’ll take my path eventually. Not under anybody else’s orders, but because I choose to do so. If there really was something a soul, then it’ll surely wait for me up ahead.

Passing College Green, I walked along the river. With the circular aquarium and the glass-ridden science museum at my side, I headed down Anchor Road. I’ve walked this path once before, so I won’t get lost again. Eventually, I entered a side path from Lower Ram Street, revealing a narrow passage surrounded by brick walls and joined commodities. At the very end was a dead end—where she stood.

“Sorry, did you wait long?”

“You’re so slow. The clocks of you Japanese folks are so meticulous, eh?”

“I’m still on time. You British just have messed up clocks. Do they work based on steam?”

“Hah. Time marches on so we’re living in the future.”

I returned sarcasm with sarcasm, when Boudicia grumbled excuse after excuse, yet seemed fairly happy. Even after what happened at the museum, she hadn’t written any new graffiti since. She just sat on her chair at the 8-Bit World, watching me clean the shop as she yawned. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t a bit excited to see her return, but I was also the one who said she should write for her own sake. Because this is something she has to decide for herself. That’s what I thought, but when I heard that we’d meet up here, I was surprised.

I looked up at the brick wall. There was the lion drawing I had seen so many times. It’s Boudicia’s way of life, only aiming for victory. Before, it emitted pressure unbelievable to have been created by spray. Even the absolute hostility and ferocity were unlike anything else…But now, it felt different.

“…I told you I hated this drawing, right?”

“Yes.”

“I was thinking of overwriting it today.” She said and put down her backpack.

I had a feeling, but even so…I was surprised. Because she—

“…Um.”

“What?”

“I might ask you something rude now, so please don’t get angry.”

“You really think of me as some wild animal, right? Pisses me off.”

“Don’t get angry before I even get to ask my answer.”

“It’s your fault for acting rude before asking the question. I’m not angry. I’m not some wild beast. I’m a beauty.”

“Huh?”

“Don’t ‘Huh?’ me. I’ll roll you up into sushi and have you get run over on the Great Western Railway.”

“Your reaction is the exact opposite of what a true beauty would do.”

“Enough about that! Ask me! I’m curious now!”

I sighed faintly, made up my mind, and asked.

“…Can you write?”

“Who do you take me for? I wouldn’t have come here if I can’t,” Boudicia said, sounding extremely confident. “What do you think I’ve been doing the past month?”

“I don’t know?”

“Why?!”

“Because you never said a thing.”

Boudicia heard my response and thought about it.

“…Guess so.”

“Indeed.”

Whatever it may be, he always lacked the words when it mattered. Looking at her reaction, she wasn’t even aware of that fact. I swear, these stray cats require so much attention…Then again, it’s because she’s a stray cat. And of course, that short exchange made it obvious what she was doing the past month.

“Yoshi.”

“Yes.”

“…Are you angry?” She leaned over to look at my face.

Her complicated expression made my heart skip a beat, but I looked away so she wouldn’t find out.

“I’m not angry. It’s just…”

“It’s just…”

“I wish you’d told me.”

Even if I had known that she was secretly going through this recovery, there wouldn’t have been something I could have done for her. But through meeting her, learning more about graffiti, and everything else…It’s thanks to her that I could properly face my own music again. That’s why I wanted to help her, too. Even if it wasn’t anything to write home about.

“That’s…Well…Um…”

“Yes?”

“I wanted to make it a surprise!”

Because of a reason I hadn’t expected in a million years, I had to take a few seconds to register what she even just said…and then burst out laughing.

“Ah, you shit! Why are you laughing?! Gaah, I shouldn’t have told you after all…!”

“I’m sorry.” I wiped my tears and apologized.

I wasn’t laughing simply because I saw it as funny. I was genuinely…happy.

“Geez! Whatever! You just watch! Ah, but get back a bit. You might get sprayed, too.”

I followed her orders, as she took out a spray can and aggressively shook it with her left hand. The metal ball inside clicked and clacked as she did so when she held the spray can in her left hand. It’s obvious that she wasn’t fully back in her prime, but I can tell she practiced. She accepted what she had lost, but kept her soul burning. And with what she has right now, she chose to write.

“I’m doing it.”

“Yes.”

“I’m gonna write now.”

“Please do.”

“I swear I’ll do it.”

“Boo-san.”

“What?”

“You’re nervous, aren’t you?”

“…Just a bit. This wall is fresh, after all.”

I don’t blame her. The graffiti in the art museum was a special case. And that was one month ago. The last time she wrote before that was probably the day her arm was stabbed. However…

“It’s okay.”

“…I know.”

Right now, she was smiling. She looked at the wall ahead of her, readied the spy can, and pressed the nozzle. Once she started, everything went by fast. I thought she was going for a simple tag, but it surpassed a slow-up, showing intentions of turning this into a masterpiece. She used her full body, switching between spray cans, as she brought shape to the graffiti. At first, it simply looked like the trails of spray paint, but adding more colors and changing the writing, it gave new meaning to it.

I watched this unfold when I was reminded of George once more. ‘I think that…Goram actually lost against Ghyston on purpose.’ It was a phrase that threw me for a loop. Why would he say that at the very end? Lost on purpose? Who…against who? It felt so vague when the dots suddenly connected. Two giants…and one princess. Maybe he had anticipated even this very moment where I would watch over Boudicia as she writes a new graffiti?

Then again, I have no way of confirming that, and there’s most likely nothing to gain from doing so either way. All that matters is that she’s writing graffiti again. That’s all that should matter. To me…as well as to George.

“Done.”

Boudicia’s voice pulled me back to reality. She stuffed that spray can she held in her bag and moved away a bit to stand next to me. And together, we observed the finished graffiti. Fresh colors I hadn’t seen before jumped right into my eyes. Compared to the gloomy graffiti from before, you wouldn’t think it was written by the same person. Strokes moved to the sides, up and down, as they changed into a shape and created an image. It wasn’t particularly detailed, but also not rough either. All because she still lacked full control…But that’s exactly why it felt so free and beautiful.

“…Ah, crap. Forgot my sign.” She said and took out a spray can filled with white paint, drawing a small ghost in the corner.

I glanced at her profile while she did so. It’s been only a month since she was drawing with her left arm. It’s far from perfect, but her expression as she looked at her graffiti…seemed satisfied.

“Surprised?”

“Amazing.”

I said so from the bottom of my heart. The fact that she could draw this well was one part of it, but even more so…Being able to draw in such a cheerful and refreshing manner was an unexpected change.

“Hey, Yoshi.”

“Yes?”

“Why do you think we’re even doing this?” Boudicia asked as she looked at the graffiti. “We write on the walls, get overwritten, and have our work erased. Nobody asked us to do this, and we’re just being hurt in the process. For what reason are we writing?”

“…Good question.”

This world might even be better off without graffiti. And it’s not just graffiti. People could survive without music. We are attracted to things and objects that aren’t needed by this world, wasting our lives away. Why, indeed? When I had just met Boudicia, I surely would not have been able to answer that.

But now…I feel like I understand. Even if nobody wishes for it, we’ll continue to birth new creations. And then, both she and I will change. We change ourselves each and every single day, improving by doing so. Sometimes, we may run into a tall wall that keeps us stuck, but we’ll never truly be complete. And…that’s probably for the better.

We’re just like graffiti. Sooner or later, we’ll use up our life and vanish. But even so…No, exactly because of that, we continue to change. Not for anybody else’s sake. Not to win, either. To become something we consider beautiful. That’s why…we overwrite. Ourselves—and the world. So if she asks me for the reason, then…

“Because we’re alive, I guess?”

“…Yeah. That makes sense.” Her golden hair swayed as she smiled.

And looking at her, I was forced to admire that beauty. However, this beauty only lasts for a moment. Only visible when she writes something that truly satisfies her. It’s a fleeting appearance only I get to see. And that exactly—is the Ghost of Bristol to me.

“Maaan, all this working hard and drawing has me starving. Still can’t move it as much as I’d like.” She stretched her arms and grabbed the backpack from the ground. “It’s just noon, so how about we, well, grab a bite?”

“Sounds good. What do we eat?”

“Meat!”

“So abstract…Oh, right. When I went to the river with Lara-san the other day, I found a restaurant that looked great.”

“Huh?”

“Ah.”

“Hold on, I wasn’t informed of that.”

“Um, well, there were certain circumstances…”

“Hmph. Whatever, just go with Lara then.”

“A-Ah, oh, come on! Wait for me!”

“Never!”

I desperately chased after Boudicia, who ran away. The graffiti on the wall behind us was hit by the pleasant sunlight, shining in a refreshing radiance.

OVERWRITE: THE GHOST OF BRISTOL

THE END.