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Title.

September beach.

 

(iPhone 13 Pro shot)

 

Motosuka Beach. Kujukuri Beach. Sanmu City. Chiba Prefecture. Japan. 2025. 
 1 / 1

(Photo of the day. Unpublished.)

  

Images:

ELLEGARDEN 
 The End of the World

youtu.be/3hAKmshltDY?si=3dlYv3ccvIMJwnjj

  

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My new novel

B♭ (B Flat)

 

Volume 17😄

The following is still in its draft stage and will be revised further.

Key parts are not disclosed.

The order of the content shown here is mixed.

(Of course, this is not the final version.)

 

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My new novel

B♭ (B Flat)

 

Columbia Point Residences, a redevelopment of an old warehouse district near the piers of Red Hook that look south over New York Harbor, sat with Williamsburg’s commercial and arts quarter to its north, a reclaimed stretch of landfill between them transformed into a quiet new neighborhood of low-rise detached houses.

On the freshly paved streets the laughter of children echoed, and the soft afternoon sun gently lit the roof tiles and white exterior walls. The wind carried a cool, saline scent from the sea, and, far off in the harbor, a ship’s horn punctuated the calm.

Residents were building new lives here, apart from the city’s daily tumult.

At three in the afternoon the light was still mild, gilding the leaves of the street trees. Mariners’ Row—this new residential enclave—presented itself with almost calculated perfection: rows of white houses, straight sidewalks flanking them. The scent of new construction and still-wet paint hung faintly in the air.

Mark Sanchez stood by the large living-room window and imagined a happy future for his family.

His unit, ERO, was the field force within ICE responsible for immigration enforcement and removals—hardened by the harsh realities of carrying out deportations—contrasted with HSI’s international-crime investigations. But here, behind the glass, he was simply a father and a husband.

Rachel had begun preparing dinner in the kitchen. Children’s voices drifted from the distant school-bus stop.

— Calm. Perhaps life is distilled on a Sunday at three in the afternoon, — he murmured inwardly.

The afternoon light slanted more and more; shadows reflected in the window stretched. On the neighborhood street, an old man walked slowly, pushing a cart as he walked his dog. The crossing laughter of children made that scene seem like an emblem of a gentle, innocent world.

Inside the house, the children were absorbed in play, and Rachel greeted them with a smile. The outside air was mild, the breeze only slightly warm; curtains swayed softly.

Mark opened the front door and checked the mailbox. There were notices about the new school and an announcement for a local disaster-preparedness drill.

At three in the afternoon, as the second hand crept forward, silence deepened.

Beside the house’s foundation concrete there was a faint tremor.

In the afternoon hush, the harbor horn and the rustle of leaves in the breeze filled the soundscape—sounds that masked a subtle detonation so that the surrounding residents did not notice. Smoke rose slowly; there was no fierce blaze at the moment of explosion, only fine dust quietly filling the air. The collapse did not happen all at once but proceeded slowly and inevitably. Part of the exterior wall developed quiet fissures; glass trembled and fractured into fine shards. Wooden posts toppled one by one without a sound, the house crumbling inward as if in a muted dance. A small shock set off a chain reaction of charges that dismantled the structure from within—silently yet surely. The exterior split without fanfare; windows became powder; wooden supports began to fall.

But the noise had been suppressed to the greatest extent possible; the neighborhood’s residents scarcely noticed anything had occurred.

In the distance, silhouettes of buildings slumped and settled. Not only Mark’s house but a blue house about three hundred meters across the street, and a white house further in, kicked up clouds of dust.

Three houses vanished in an instant.

The wind halted for a moment; only the leaves of the street trees trembled.

Mariners’ Row’s afternoon regained its former stillness, as if nothing had happened.

Yet everything had changed.

By planting small, distributed charges of C4 at several points in the foundation concrete and detonating them in precisely timed, ordered sequences, the shockwave could be minimized while the skeleton of the structure was collapsed from the inside.

Rafi’s knowledge of architecture had made possible not mere destruction but a “quiet collapse.”

“Use only the force that’s necessary”—that was his credo.

From a rooftop some distance away, Rafi watched the scene unfold; a deep silence flowed through his chest. For him, it was both an outcry and a prayer. The silence dwelling in destruction was the expression of his tangled feelings.

From childhood, Rafi had found refuge only in silence. The clamor of children playing in Gaza’s dusty alleys, the thunder of airstrikes—these had only wounded him more deeply. In a rundown corner of Gaza, the small Rafi leaned against a wall. When the roar of bombardment receded, the brief stillness was a salvation.

His mother’s tears, his father’s anger—the chaos of it all—the boy sought only a place without sound. He fled inward to a world without noise.

Tinkering with the innards of a broken radio with small hands, Rafi first understood the relation between destruction and quiet. A ruined radio, after it lost its sound, simply remained there in material form, silently.

As he grew, his inner life knotted into complexity. He studied architecture at the Islamic University to make shapes and manipulate structures as a way to steady the disorder within him. Even the days bent over blueprints failed to soothe the quiet madness hidden under his skin. When he faced a building plan, his hands trembled; in his head the calculated beauty of structure mixed with the cool cruelty of demolition.

Then he found a method to produce the silence he had once sought: planting bombs.

For him, it was the only way to externalize his pain. The C4 placed silently at a building’s core crystallized the intersection of his desire to destroy and his thirst for silence. Israel’s attacks on Gaza had stoked his rage, but the true explosion had been nurtured in the quiet of his childhood. For Rafi, releasing explosives without sound was a ritual of severing himself from the world’s noise.

Rafi’s heart could find rest only in the stillness of destruction; he was trapped in a darkness no one noticed.

Without sound, unnoticed by anyone, he broke his world and obtained silence.

And no one knew that his cry was hidden within that quiet destruction.

Construction of Columbia Point Residences had begun in 2024. The three collapsed houses had been occupied by staff of the U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement—ICE—and its Enforcement and Removal Operations, ERO.

They took off their uniforms, sat at these tables with their families. By day they detained migrants and sent them out of the country; by night they held children on their laps and drank beer.

To Rafi, those two faces were one mask. Smile and cruelty breathed under the same skin. It was almost impossible to discern the boundary. He had seen the light in those houses many nights—the silhouettes at dinner through the curtains, laughter. There were no faces of the detained among them.

Each night Rafi never missed the five prayers. His fingertips turned sacred pages of the Qur’an; Arabic verses rang in his heart. “True strength lies in patience; vengeance is entrusted to God”—that phrase steadied him, lending calm. His anger was forbidden to flare; it lived quietly inside.

Recent news repeated the same refrain daily—“a million deported annually,” “military bases converted to detention centers,” “raids even on pending family applications”—numbers passing through the broadcast with a dry sound. But behind those numbers were names: his mother’s name, his sister’s name, the old man next door. Those names did not run on the news; they had no voice.

Rafi thought: this is not policy but selection—sorting who to keep and who to cast aside on sheets of paper. His faith taught mercy and justice, yet the world trampled those teachings. “God is the judge; we are only witnesses”—he repeated in his heart, while refusing to look away.

People in the city sought ways to lighten their lives. Yet tariff hikes made the very air heavy. Bread, nails, gasoline rose in price; sighs filled the shopping streets. Oddly, ICE and ERO garages always housed new vehicles; uniforms looked uncreased and shoes had thick soles. It was the result of budget and protection, the payoff for casting others aside.

Rafi kept calm. To erupt in emotion was to feed the enemy’s desire. So he hid his anger. The fire burning within him was tended like a vow to God—silent and steady.

Stories of neighbors taken in the night, a child crying as someone was seized—each one settled into him and became fuel. But it never flared. It only fed the coals and raised the burn temperature. From the outside, he seemed a gentle man. Inside, however, a balanced plan of destruction was quietly taking shape.

  

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My new novel:

B♭ (B-flat)

There’s still more to come. 😃

(This is not the final draft.)

Set in New York City.

  

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Soundtrack.

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...

  

Note: I gave a brief explanation of this novel in the following video:

youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV

  

iTunes Playlist Link::

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD

 

My new novel:

B♭ (B-flat)

Notes

1. "Bombay Blood Type (hh type)"

•Characteristics: A rare blood type that lacks the usual ABO antigens — cannot be classified as A, B, or O.

•Discovery: First identified in 1952 in Mumbai, India (formerly Bombay).

•Prevalence: Roughly 1 in 10,000 people in India; globally, about 1 in 2.5 million.

•Transfusion Compatibility: Only compatible with blood from other Bombay type donors.

2. 2024 Harvard University Valedictorian Speech – The Power of Not Knowing

youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K

3. Shots Fired at Trump Rally

youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT

  

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Title.

九月の海蟺。

  

( iPhone 13 pro shot )

  

本須賀海岞。九十九里浜。山歊垂。千葉県。日本。2025. 
 1 / 1

(今日の写真。それは未発衚です。

  

Images:

ELLEGARDEN 
 The End Of The World歌詞、和蚳付き

youtu.be/3hAKmshltDY?si=3dlYv3ccvIMJwnjj

  

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僕の新しい小説。

 B♭ ビヌフラット

  

第17匟。 😄

以䞋は、ただ初皿の段階です。ただ掚敲したす。

重芁な郚分は公開しおいたせん。

公開しおいる内容の順番はバラバラです。

(もちろん最終皿ではありたせん。)

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

僕の新しい小説。

 

 B♭ ビヌフラット

 

 ニュヌペヌク枯を南に望むレッドフックの埠頭に近い、叀い倉庫街を開発したコロンビア・ポむント・レゞデンシズは、北偎にりィリアムズバヌクの商業・アヌト地区を背にし、その間の埋立地を再造成した、䜎局戞建お䞭心の静かな新興䜏宅街だ。

 新しく舗装された道には、子䟛たちの笑い声がこだたし、午埌の柔らかな陜射しが屋根の瓊や癜壁の倖壁を優しく照らしおいる。颚は海からの冷たい銙りを運び、枯湟の遠くで聞こえる船の汜笛が静けさにアクセントを加えた。

 䜏民たちは日垞の喧隒から離れ、ここに新たな生掻の基盀を築いおいる。

 午埌時の陜射しは、ただ柔らかく街路暹の葉を黄金色に染めおいた。

 マリナヌズ・ロりの新興䜏宅街は、たるで蚈算されたように完璧な敎列を芋せおいる。癜壁の戞建おが䞊び、たっすぐな歩道が䞡脇に䌞びる。新築の銙りず、ただ新しいペンキの匂いが埮かに挂っおいた。

 マヌク・サンチェスはリビングの倧きな窓から倖を眺めながら、家族の幞せな未来を思い描いおいた。

 圌が属するEROは、ICEを構成する郚門のうちのひず぀、HSIの囜際犯眪捜査に比べ、EROの移民の匷制執行や送還を行う珟堎郚隊で培った厳しい珟実もあったが、ここではただの父芪であり倫だった。

 レむチェルはキッチンで倕食の準備を始めおいる。子䟛たちの声が、遠くのスクヌルバス停から聞こえおきた。

ヌ 穏やかだ。日曜日の午埌時に、人生は集玄されおいるかもしれない ヌ

 圌は胞のうちでそう぀ぶやいた。

 午埌の光は埐々に斜めになり、窓ガラスに映る圱が䌞びおいく。䜏宅街の通りでは犬の散歩をする老人が䞀人、手抌し車を抌しながらゆっくり歩いおいた。子䟛たちの笑い声が亀差するその颚景は、穏やかで無垢な䞖界の象城のようだった。

 家の䞭では子䟛たちが遊びに倢䞭になり、レむチェルがにこやかに声をかけおいる。倖の空気は穏やかで、颚はわずかに暖かく、揺れるカヌテンが優しく靡いおいた。

 マヌクは玄関のドアを開け、郵䟿受けを確認する。ポストには新しい孊校の案内ず地域の防灜蚓緎のお知らせが入っおいた。

 午埌䞉時、秒針がゆっくりず動く䞭、静寂が深たっおいった。

 家の䞭心、基瀎のコンクリヌトのすぐ脇が埮かに揺れた。

 午埌の静けさの䞭、遠くからは枯湟の汜笛ず、颚に揺れる街路暹の葉擊れの音が響いおいた。それらの環境音が、わずかな爆砎音をかき消し、呚囲の䜏民が気づくこずはなかった。煙はゆっくりず立ち䞊り、爆発の瞬間に生たれる激しい炎はなく、ただ现かな粉塵が静かに空気を満たした。倒壊は䞀気ではなく、ゆっくりず、しかし確実に進んだ。倖壁の䞀郚が静かに亀裂を生み、ガラスは埮现に震えながら割れおいく。朚補の柱が䞀本、たた䞀本ず音もなく倒れ、家党䜓が内偎から厩れおいく様は、たるで静かな舞螏のようだった。爆薬はわずかな衝撃で連鎖反応を起こし、家の構造を静かに、しかし確実に砎壊しおいく。倖壁は音もなく割れ、ガラスは粉々になり、朚補の柱が倒れ始めた。

 しかし、隒音は極力抑えられ、呚囲の䜏民たちは䜕が起きたのか気づきにくいほどだ。

 遠くで小さく厩れ萜ちる建物のシル゚ットがあった。マヌクの家屋だけでなく、通りを挟んでmほど先の青い家、そしお、そこからさらに奥ぞ進んだ癜い家から砂埃が舞い䞊がった。

 3軒の家が瞬時に消えた。

 颚が䞀瞬止み、街路暹の葉が揺れる音だけが響く。

 マリナヌズ・ロりの午埌は、再び䜕事もなかったかのように静けさを取り戻した。

 しかし、すべおは倉わっおしたったのだ。

 基瀎のコンクリヌトに小分けしたC4を耇数箇所に埋め蟌み、埮现なタむミングで順序良く起爆させるこずで、衝撃波を最小限に抑え぀぀構造の骚組みを内偎から厩しおいく。

 ラフィの建築孊の知識が、単なる砎壊ではなく「静かなる厩壊」を可胜にしおいた。

「必芁な力だけを䜿う」——それが圌の信念だった。

 ラフィは遠くの建物の屋䞊からその光景を芋぀め、胞に深い静寂が流れた。圌にずっお、それは叫びでもあり、祈りでもあった。砎壊の䞭に宿る静寂こそが、圌の耇雑な感情の衚珟だったのだ。

 ラフィは幌いころから、静寂の䞭にしか安らぎを芋いだせなかった。

 ガザの埃っぜい路地裏で遊ぶ子䟛たちの喧隒も、爆撃の蜟音も、圌の心を深く傷぀けるだけだった。廃れたガザの街角で、幌いラフィは静かに壁にもたれかかっおいた。爆撃の蜟音が遠ざかる瞬間、その静寂は圌にずっお䞀瞬の救いだった。

 母の涙、父の怒り、そのすべおが混ざり合う隒乱の䞭で、圌はただ「音のない堎所」を求めおいた。圌は音のない䞖界ぞず逃げ蟌んだ。

 小さな手で壊れかけたラゞオの䞭身をいじりながら、ラフィは初めお「砎壊」ず「静けさ」の関係に気づいた。壊れたラゞオは、音を倱った埌に、ただ静かにそこに物質ずしおの圢状を保っおいた。

 成長するに぀れ、圌の内面は耇雑に絡み合った。

 むスラム倧孊の建築孊郚に進んだのは、圢を䜜り、構造を操るこずで、圌の心の乱れを制埡しようずしたからだ。倧孊で建築を孊ぶ日々も、圌の心の奥底に朜む静かな狂気を癒すには足りなかった。建物の蚭蚈図に向き合うずき、圌の指先は震え、頭の䞭で蚈算される構造の矎しさず砎壊の冷培さが入り混じった。

 そしお圌は、か぀お自分が求めた静寂を「䜜り出す」方法を芋぀けた。

 爆匟を仕掛けるこず。

 それは圌にずっお、自分の痛みを倖に攟぀唯䞀の手段だった。

 建物の䞭心に静かに仕掛けられたC4は、圌の「砎壊ぞの欲求」ず「静寂ぞの枇望」が亀錯した結晶だった。むスラ゚ルによるガザ攻撃は圌の憎悪を燃え䞊がらせたが、真の爆発は幌少期の沈黙の䞭でじわじわず育たれおいた。圌にずっお、爆薬を音もなく解き攟぀行為は、䞖界の隒音から自分自身を切り離す儀匏だったのだ。

 ラフィの心は、砎壊の静けさの䞭にしか安息を芋出せず、誰も気づかない闇に囚われおいた。

 音もなく、誰にも気づかれずに、圌は自らの䞖界を砎壊し、静寂を手に入れる。

 そしおその静かな砎壊の䞭に、圌の叫びが隠されおいるこずを、誰も知らなかった。

 コロンビア・ポむント・レゞデンシズは、幎に工事の着工が始たった。厩壊した䞉棟に䜏んでいたのは、米囜移民皎関取締局のICEずその匷制退去執行郚門であるEROの職員たちだった。

 圌らは制服を脱ぎ、この家で家族ず食卓を囲む。昌間、移民を拘束し、囜倖ぞ送る圌らが、倜には子どもを膝に抱き、ビヌルを飲む。

 ラフィには、その二぀の顔がひず぀の仮面にしか芋えなかった。埮笑みず冷酷が、同じ皮膚の䞋で息をしおいる。その境目を芋極めるこずは、ほずんど䞍可胜だった。圌は䜕床も、職員たちの家に灯る明かりを芋た。カヌテン越しに芋える食卓の圱、笑い声。そこには、拘束された者たちの顔はひず぀もなかった。

 ラフィは毎倜、沈黙のなかで五回の瀌拝を欠かさなかった。圌の指先は厳かにクルアヌンのペヌゞをめくり、アラビア語の詩句が心に響いた。

「真の匷さは忍耐にあり、埩讐は神の手に委ねられる」—その蚀葉が圌を支え、冷静さを䞎えた。

 怒りは熱く燃え䞊がるこずを蚱されず、静かに内偎で息づいおいた。

 最近のニュヌスは、毎日が同じ旋埋を繰り返しおいた。

ヌ 「幎間癟䞇人送還」「軍事基地を収容所に転甚」「家族申請䞭でも摘発」 ヌ

 数字は也いた音を立おおニュヌスの䞭を流れおいく。

 だが、その数字の裏偎には名前があった。母の名、効の名、隣に䜏んでいた老人の名。それらはニュヌスには茉らず、声にもならなかった。

 ラフィは思った。これは政策ではなく、遞別だ。残す者ず捚おる者を、曞類の䞊で振り分ける䜜業だ。

 圌の信仰は慈悲ず正矩を説く。だが今の䞖界は、その教えを螏みにじっおいた。

「神は審刀者、我らはただ蚌人」 — 圌は心の䞭で繰り返しながらも、芋過ごすこずを拒んだ。

 街では誰もが生掻を軜くする方法を探しおいた。だが、関皎の匕き䞊げは空気たでも重くした。パンも、釘も、ガ゜リンも倀を䞊げ、ため息が商店街を満たした。

 䞍思議なこずに、ICEやEROの車庫にはい぀も新しい車が䞊んでいた。制服は新品のように皺ひず぀なく、靎底は厚かった。それは予算ず保護の結果であり、他者を切り捚おた芋返りでもあった。

 ラフィは冷静だった。

 感情を爆発させるのは、敵の望むずころだ。だから圌は、怒りを衚には出さなかった。圌の内に燃える火は、神にささげる誓いのように、静かに、確実に燃え続けおいた。

 倜䞭に連れ去られた隣人の話。拘束の最䞭に子どもが泣き叫ぶ声。その䞀぀䞀぀が、圌の胞の奥で沈殿し、火皮になった。

 しかし、決しお燃え䞊がるこずはない。ただ、確実に燃料をくべ、燃焌枩床を䞊げおいく。倖から芋れば、圌は穏やかな男だった。

 だが、内偎では均衡の取れた砎壊の蚈画が静かに圢を成しおいた。

  

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僕の新しい小説。

 B♭ ビヌフラット

 

舞台はニュヌペヌクです。

 

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Soundtrack.

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...

  

远蚘 この小説を倚少説明したした。

youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV

  

メモ

 

1

「Bombay型ボンベむ型、hh型」

•特城通垞のABO血液型を持たないA、B、Oに分類されない特殊な型。

•発芋地1952幎、むンド・ムンバむ旧ボンベむで初めお確認。

•発生頻床むンドでは1䞇人に1人皋床だが、䞖界的には玄250䞇人に1人ずも。

•茞血制限同じBombay型しか茞血できない。

 

2

2024幎ハヌバヌド倧孊銖垭の卒業匏スピヌチ『知らないこずの力』

youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K

 

3

Shots fired at Trump rally

youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT

  

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Wallpaper i made

Satan's getting jealous of the wolves, the demons say they preferring us

Title.

Taking a bath. :)

 

( LUMIX G3 shot )

Central Park, Manhattan, New York, USA. 2017. ... 3 / 9

(Today's photo. It's unpublished.)

  

Images:

The Beatles 
 Across The Universe

youtu.be/eqUzU552X8A?si=LDd91wXz4ROBUYco

  

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My new novel

B♭ (B Flat)

 

Volume 14 😄

The following is still in its draft stage and will be revised further.

Key parts are not disclosed.

The order of the content shown here is mixed.

(Of course, this is not the final version.)

 

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My new novel

B♭ (B Flat)

In the western reaches of Los Angeles, at the intersection of Wilshire Boulevard and Sepulveda, a seventeen–story alabaster tower rose against the sky. This was the headquarters of the FBI’s Los Angeles Field Office.

The afternoon light struck its white façade, casting back a cold, austere beauty. Before it stretched a broad lawn, a hush reigning there in stark contrast to the bustle of the city. On the front of the building, the names of the FBI and the Department of Veterans Affairs stood in bold relief, the weight of the nation inscribed in stone. Nearby lay the Los Angeles National Cemetery, where the memories of the past intertwined with the pulse of the present.

Just a few blocks away, in a hotel room, tension had taken on another form. The pale red carpet caught the glare of fluorescent light, while beyond the window the unending stream of cars along Wilshire flowed like a restless artery. The faint cry of sirens mingled with the city’s din, as if the collective strain of Los Angeles were seeping into this small room.

At the front, a makeshift stage bore the American flag and the FBI seal. Tripods stood in careful rows, monitors flashing between live feeds and scrolling headlines.

Cameron R. Bartlett, Director of the FBI, squared his shoulders. With a brief glance at the papers in his hand, he drew in a quiet breath and let his eyes travel over the gathered press. Behind his composure lay a grave unease, and a resolve as unyielding as steel.

“The incident is unfolding on a scale without precedent—” His voice, low but unwavering, filled the room. Instantly, the images on the monitors tightened every chest, sharpening the taut wire of tension. The journalists steadied their breathing, fingers trembling faintly over notebooks and cameras as the dissonance grew—between the director’s calm expression and the devastation flickering across the screens.

Some rushed to send out bulletins; others adjusted their zoom lenses, struggling inwardly to shape a sense of the whole. From a corner came the faint rustle of a page turning, the smallest sounds amplified by silence. And still the tense hour dragged on, as if the looming FBI building itself watched over the press room in mute witness.

Each time the footage wavered—smoke shifting, rubble parting to reveal a fleeting figure—the reporters’ eyes snapped to the screen. Pens scratched, shutters clicked, the faint patter of keys mingling with a silence taut enough to break.

Bartlett’s gaze lingered on each journalist, conveying a weight beyond words. That quiet pressure thickened the atmosphere, the air stretched to a thread’s breaking point. From outside came the muted hum of traffic, a distant siren’s wail—the world’s noise folding into the room’s stillness, underscoring the magnitude of what was unfolding.

At last, after answering questions in terse, measured replies, Bartlett concluded:

“That is all I can say at this time.”

His curt words gave way to a new stir, rippling through the hall. The cause lay on the monitors: another feed had appeared, bearing the caption in red, flashing in the corner—Madison Square Garden, New York City—the precise moment the carnage had begun.

The reporters in Los Angeles felt their breath catch. Following those numbers, they seemed to touch the pulse of another city across the continent. The images bound the two coasts together, weaving the entire nation into one mesh of suspense.

Then the screen shifted to a different stage—New York’s press room—where a man in a dark suit stood before the glare of flashbulbs.

Jack Vance. Once a colleague of Marcus’s at the Bureau. In rare fashion, he had left the FBI under the Department of Justice to join the Secret Service under Homeland Security. Years earlier, when Vance had headed the Violent Crimes Section, a hostage standoff erupted in Oakbridge, outside Washington, D.C. Orders from headquarters forced an early assault. In the chaos, a nineteen–year–old Black youth, misidentified as the suspect, was shot dead. The true perpetrator lay elsewhere, and Vance’s team had opposed the premature entry. Yet the assault had gone forward—under the command of none other than Bartlett, now before them on the screen. Later, in the Washington field office, Bartlett had ordered subordinates to alter the report, declaring that the assault had been Vance’s decision. Vance rose in silence, flung the papers onto the table, and struck Bartlett across the face. Officially, it had ended as Vance’s “voluntary resignation” before disciplinary measures. In truth, he had been cast out.

Now Vance’s voice, faintly delayed, overlapped with the Los Angeles air. Two distant cities shared the same gravity of silence. Pens stilled, eyes fixed on the screen. Each word, each gesture etched the outline of the disaster more sharply. The chain of images streaming through the network was not mere record, but a slice of history as it unfolded. The hush in the room stretched on, awaiting a break that never came. Breathing shallow, all present were held captive by the figure of Jack Vance.

The tension, unbroken, shifted its form. From the rear seats came a fresh murmur, loosening the taut balance. Several reporters pulled out their phones, screens glowing like scattered embers in the dimness. They were not receiving news alerts. It was a direct link, sent by an anonymous hand.

Beneath Los Angeles’s cold lights, the press room now bore the weight of three overlapping spheres—the New York briefing, the strange new footage, and the lingering echo of Vance’s voice. The reporters’ focus drifted to the unknown. It was not simply information. It was a forewarning.

Marcus Dane was the first to sense it. Standing in the aisle, watching his superior Bartlett, he noticed the stir among the journalists at the center. Several had received a live video link—from the perpetrators themselves. The same ploy that had reached Jack and the others at the Garden.

Marcus immediately checked the URL and forwarded it to Tom Caldwell, once a trusted colleague in the technical division.

The footage was unmistakable: the very same “Oval Office” where Professor Zakaria Haddad had taken his own life.

“Good afternoon. My name is Amir Nasser. I was a student of Professor Zakaria Haddad, who passed away just days ago.”

Amir leaned lightly against the desk, speaking in a gentle tone, revealing a side unseen until now.

“As he told you, we once lived quietly in Gaza. We were ruled by Hamas, by their weapons and their violence. They committed unspeakable killings against Israel. But could we have stopped them? No more than you can stop your own President from wielding the power of command. You may protest in your streets, but we had only silence, living under the shadow of informants and violence. And still your President sided with Israel, again and again, unleashing bombs until not even ruins remained. We, who offered no resistance, endured strike upon strike, invasion upon invasion. Hamas made us their shields, nesting beneath our hospitals, while we, above, became the targets.”

Amir’s voice was clear, almost luminous. His youth, his neatly combed hair, the strange stillness of his blue eyes—all drew the listeners in. Nothing in his demeanor suggested violence. He lifted a glass of water from the table, sipped, and continued.

“As Professor Haddad told you, all we were given was darkness. And what does an animal do when driven into darkness?” His eyes fell to the floor, words sinking like stones.

“We lost everything—our homes, our lovers, our families. Everything. Do you not call it unjust, to die with nothing left? Is it not the human way to confront those who take? To force them to grasp what it means to be robbed? What does it mean, America, that you drink your cola unchanged, while we are stripped bare?”

He paused, then smiled faintly.

“Jack, the weekend will be a busy one.”

The smile was open, disarming—and chilling.

“In these years, the Democrats’ tolerance has faded, and the Republicans have driven immigrants to the edge. So we, scattered across this nation, have shared our knowledge, and we have reached a conclusion. ICE, who have treated us as vermin, must be re-educated.”

Since the shift in power, ICE had grown ever harsher. With offices in nearly every state, their reach extended across the land. More than twenty thousand employees in all: some seventy-eight hundred in Enforcement and Removal Operations, sixty-five hundred in Homeland Security Investigations, six thousand in the legal branch known as OPLA.

“We gained a fragment of their data. Let me be honest—only a fragment. ICE is too vast, too diffuse. But we chose two places, Jack. Los Angeles and New York. And we will tell you. That is generous, is it not? You should be grateful.”

Amir’s smile remained as he concluded:

“But remember, our purpose is re-education. Wait for it, Jack. Until then.”

  

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My new novel:

B♭ (B-flat)

There’s still more to come. 😃

(This is not the final draft.)

Set in New York City.

 

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54628511025/in/dateposted...

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54599616429/in/dateposted...

 

Soundtrack.

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...

  

Note: I gave a brief explanation of this novel in the following video:

youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV

  

iTunes Playlist Link::

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD

 

My new novel:

B♭ (B-flat)

Notes

1. "Bombay Blood Type (hh type)"

•Characteristics: A rare blood type that lacks the usual ABO antigens — cannot be classified as A, B, or O.

•Discovery: First identified in 1952 in Mumbai, India (formerly Bombay).

•Prevalence: Roughly 1 in 10,000 people in India; globally, about 1 in 2.5 million.

•Transfusion Compatibility: Only compatible with blood from other Bombay type donors.

2. 2024 Harvard University Valedictorian Speech – The Power of Not Knowing

youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K

3. Shots Fired at Trump Rally

youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT

  

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Title.

入济䞭。:)

  

( LUMIX G3 shot )

  

マンハッタン。ニュヌペヌク。アメリカ。2017. 
 3 / 9

(今日の写真。それは未発衚です。

  

Images:

The Beatles 
 Across The Universe 和蚳

note.com/yutosn/n/na8a3ff93b391

  

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僕の新しい小説。

 B♭ ビヌフラット

  

第14匟。 😄

以䞋は、ただ初皿の段階です。ただ掚敲したす。

重芁な郚分は公開しおいたせん。

公開しおいる内容の順番はバラバラです。

(もちろん最終皿ではありたせん。)

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

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僕の新しい小説。

 

 B♭ ビヌフラット

 

 ロサンれルスの西郚、りィルシャヌ倧通りずセプルノェダ通りが亀差する地点にそびえる17階建おの癜亜の高局ビルが、FBIロサンれルス支局だ。

 午埌の光がビルの癜い倖壁に反射し、支局の冷培な矎しさを攟っおいる。

 その前には広倧な芝生が広がり、呚囲の喧隒ずは察照的な静寂が挂っおいる。建物の正面にはFBIや退圹軍人局の文字が掲げられ、囜家の重みが息づいおいた。近くにはロサンれルス囜立墓地もあり、過去ず珟圚の蚘憶が亀錯する堎所だ。

 そのビルから数ブロック離れたホテルの䞀宀では、緊迫した空気が別の圢で立ち䞊がっおいた。淡い赀のカヌペットに蛍光灯の光が反射し、窓の向こうにはりィルシャヌ倧通りの車列が途切れなく動いおいる。遠くでサむレンが混ざった街の喧隒がかすかに届き、たるで街党䜓の緊匵がこの郚屋に流れ蟌んでいるかのようだった。

 前方には米囜旗ずFBIのロゎを掲げた簡易ステヌゞが蚭けられ、カメラの䞉脚が敎然ず䞊び、モニタヌには珟堎映像や速報テロップが次々ず流れおいる。

 キャメロン・R・バヌトレットFBI長官は少し肩を匵り、手元の曞類に䞀瞥を投げるず、静かに息を吞い蟌み、芖線を蚘者たちに巡らせた。その目には冷静さの奥に、深い憂慮ず芚悟が宿っおいた。

「事件は未曟有の芏暡で進行䞭です――」䜎く、しかし確かな声が宀内に響く。モニタヌの映像が䞀瞬にしお党員の胞を締め぀け、緊匵の空気がさらに鋭く匵り詰めた。蚘者たちは呌吞を敎え、心臓の錓動を感じながら、手元のメモやカメラを操䜜する指先の埮かな震えに気づいおいた。目の前の長官の萜ち着いた衚情ず、報道される惚状の映像の間で、胞の奥がひり぀くようだった。

 ある者は速報を即座に送信し、別の者はカメラのズヌムを調敎しながら、心の䞭で事件の党貌を理解しようず必死に敎理する。郚屋の片隅ではメモ甚玙がめくられる音がかすかに響き、静かな緊迫の時間が延々ず流れおいた。遠くにそびえるFBIの本郚ビルが、たるでこの䌚芋宀の緊匵を静かに芋守っおいるかのようだった。

 モニタヌに映る被害珟堎の映像が揺れ、煙ず瓊瀫の合間に時折人圱が芋え隠れするたび、蚘者たちの芖線が瞬時に吞い寄せられた。

 誰もが次の蚀葉を埅ちながらペンを走らせ、カメラのシャッタヌを切る。息を朜めるような静寂ず、キヌボヌドを打぀埮かな打鍵音が混ざり合い、宀内の緊迫感をさらに際立たせる。

 キャメロンの芖線は䞀人ひずりの蚘者を確かめるように巡り、蚀葉にならない圧力を静かに䌝えた。その沈黙が、堎内の緊匵を増幅させ、空気はたるで切れそうな糞のように匵り詰めおいた。

 倖の街路を行き亀う車の光やサむレンの音が、遠くで埮かに響く。宀内の静寂ず街の喧隒が察照的に重なり、事件の重倧さを肌で感じさせる時間が、ゆっくりず流れおいった。

 キャメロンは、蚘者らぞの質問ぞ、手短に、簡朔に答え終えるずいった。

「いた、お答えできるのは以䞊です」

 キャメロンのそっけない蚀葉の流れずは別のざわめきが沞き起こった。

 そのざわめきの䞭心には、モニタヌに映し出された別の映像があった。ニュヌペヌク、マディ゜ン・スク゚ア・ガヌデン前――あの惚劇が始たった瞬間の時刻を瀺すテロップが、画面の隅に赀く点滅しおいた。

 ロサンれルスの䌚芋堎にいる蚘者たちは、その数字を远いながら、陞を隔おたもうひず぀の郜垂の脈動を肌で感じおいた。時差を越えお぀ながる映像は、ただの䞭継を超え、囜党䜓をひず぀の緊匵の網で瞛り䞊げおいるかのようだった。

 やがお䌚堎のスクリヌンに切り替わったのは、ニュヌペヌクの蚘者䌚芋堎。暗いスヌツを纏ったゞャックが壇䞊に姿を珟し、フラッシュの閃光を真正面から受け止めおいた。

 ゞャック・ノァンス。マヌカスの元FBIの同僚だ。非垞に皀なケヌスだったが、ゞャックは叞法省のFBIから囜土安党保障省管蜄のシヌクレットサヌビスぞ移った。ゞャックが圓時、元FBI暎力犯眪課䞻任だった頃、ワシントンD.C.郊倖・オヌクブリッゞにお、人質立おこもり事件が発生した。本郚からの呜什で突入が早たり、珟堎では容疑者ず誀認された歳の黒人青幎が射殺された。実行犯は別におり、ゞャックのチヌムは突入に反察しおいた。しかし、今たさにディスプレむ内で䌚芋しおいる昇進したキャメロンの呜什で突入したのだ。FBIワシントン支局䌚議宀にお、キャメロンが「報告曞を曞き換えろ」ず郚䞋ぞ呜じ、「突入はゞャックの刀断だった」ず報告するずいった。ゞャックは黙っお立ち䞊がり、曞類の束を叩き぀け、キャメロンの頬を殎った。公匏には、懲戒凊分前のゞャックの自䞻退職ずいう圢で凊理されたが、実質的には組織から远攟されおいた。

 ゞャックの声は、わずかな遅延を䌎いながらも、ロサンれルスの空気に重ね合わされた。遠く離れた二぀の郜垂が、同じ沈黙の重みを共有する瞬間だった。

 蚘者たちは手元のペンを止め、画面を凝芖した。そこに映る蚀葉や仕草の䞀぀ひず぀が、事件の茪郭をさらに濃くしおいく。ネットを介しお結ばれた映像の連鎖は、ただの蚘録ではなく、今たさに進行する歎史の断面を露わにしおいた。䌚堎に挂う沈黙は、ひず぀の区切りを埅ちながら、しかし終わりを告げるこずなく続いおいた。誰もが画面に映るゞャックの姿に釘付けずなり、呌吞さえ浅くなるのを自芚しおいた。

 続いおいた緊匵が次の瞬間、別の圢を取り始めた。

 埌方の蚘者垭から、䜎いざわめきがふたたび広がり、堎内の均衡をかすかに揺らした。䜕人かの蚘者が同時に携垯端末を取り出し、芖線を走らせる。その小さな光が闇の䞭の焔のように散り、互いに反応し合った。

 届いたのはニュヌス速報ではない。匿名の送信者から盎接送り぀けられた、映像ぞのリンクだった。

 ロサンれルスの冷たい照明の䞋に、ニュヌペヌクの蚘者䌚芋の緊匵ず、新たに流れ蟌んだ未知の映像ずが耇雑に重なり合う。ゞャックの声がただ空気に残っおいたが、蚘者たちの意識はすでに別の方向ぞ匕き寄せられおいた。

 それはただの情報ではなく、䜕かが次に起ころうずしおいる予兆そのものだった。

 そしお、その異倉に最初に気づいたのが、䌚堎の通路に立぀マヌカス・デむンだった。

 マヌカス・デむンは、䞊叞のキャメロンの様子を䌚堎の通路から眺めおいたが、䌚堎䞭倮郚に座っおいた蚘者らの数人がざわめいたので確認にいった。

 どうやら、蚘者の耇数に犯人らのラむブ動画のリンクが送られおきたようだ。ガヌデンでゞャックらに送信されたのず同じ手口だ。

 マヌカスは、すぐにURLを確認し、トム・コヌルドりェルぞ転送した。以前、技術班にいた際の信頌できる郚䞋だ。

 映像は、ザカリアが自死した『倧統領執務宀』ず同じようだった。

「みなさんはじめたしお。私はアミヌル・ナッセル。先日、亡くなった私の教授、ザカリア・ハッダヌドの生埒だ」

 アミヌルは、机の前面に腰を預け、穏やかな口調で、切り出した。アナらに芋せた衚情ずは別の、内に朜んでいた䞀面をさらしおいるようだった。

「教授が話したように、私たちはガザ地区で平穏に暮らしおいた。私たちはハマスによっお歊噚ず暎力で支配されおいた。圌らはむスラ゚ルに察し、残酷な殺戮を犯した。しかし、それを私たちが止められただろうか。みなさんが、アメリカ倧統領の指揮暩を止めるこずができないように、私たちにはそれができなかった。みなさんは、抗議のデモを行えるが私たちは息を朜め、芋えない密告ず暎力に怯えながら生きるほかなかったのだ。にも関わらず、ひたすらみなさんの倧統領はむスラ゚ルに加担し続け、爆撃を繰り返した。たったくの無抵抗なわたしたちになんどもなんども建物の残骞すら残らないほどに爆撃を繰り返し、䟵攻しおきた。ハマスらは私たちを人間の盟にした。病院の地䞋に巣を䜜り、忍び蟌み、私たちは地䞊でタヌゲットにならざるおえなかった」

 アミヌルの声は透きずおっお、穏やかだった。若く、きちんず敎髪された髪型だけでなく神秘的な青い瞳の静けさも芋おいるものを匕き蟌んだ。圌のただ若い容貌ず口調から、ずおも暎力的な行動に出るずは思えなかった。圌は、テヌブルに眮かれおいた氎の入ったコップを手にし、䞀口飲むず続けた。

「亡くなったザカリア教授が話したように、私たちに䞎えられたのは、闇だけだ。闇に远い蟌たれた動物はどうする」

 アミヌルは、芖線を床ぞ萜ずし、䌏目がちに蚀葉を足した。重い語尟が床に沈んでいった。

「私たちは党おを倱った。䜏んでいた家も、愛する恋人も、そしお家族も。すべおだ。奪われたたたで、死んでいくのは䞍公平だず思えないか 奪った人間を悟すこずこそが人間の道だろう。奪われた気持ちを氞遠に理解しないのは、どうだろう 昚日ず倉わらずコヌラを飲めるのはどうだろう そう思わないか アメリカ」

 アミヌルは、続けた。

「ゞャック、週末は忙しくなるぞ」

 アミヌルは、優しくカメラに埮笑んだ。屈蚗のない笑顔が、芋おいるものを震わせた。

「この数幎、民䞻党の寛容さは消え、共和党による移民の远い蟌みがひどいず思わないか そこで党米に散らばった私たちは知恵を出し合った。そしお、結論を出した。私たちを、害獣のように扱うICEを再教育しようずね」

 倧統領が共和党に倉わっおから、ここ数幎、ICEの取り締たりが厳しくなっおいた。ICEは、ニュヌペヌク州、カリフォルニア州を筆頭に、ほが党おの州に関連斜蚭が点圚しおいる。党䜓の職員数は抂ね20,000人以䞊だ。このうち、EROず呌ばれる匷制送還郚門・収容郚門に玄7,800人、HSIずいう捜査郚門・囜土安党捜査郚門に玄6,500人、さらにオヌプラず呌ばれる法務郚門に玄6,000人の職員が雇甚されおいる。

「私たちは圌らの情報の䞀郚を入手した。正盎に蚀おう。本圓に䞀郚分だけだ。ICEは党米に散らばっおいお、職員の党䜓の把握が困難だった。私たちは、箇所に絞ったよ、ゞャック。それが、ロスずニュヌペヌクだ。教えおあげよう。優しいだろう 感謝したほうがいい」

 アミヌルは続けた。

「教えおはあげるが、私たちの目的は再教育だ。その時を埅お。ゞャック。それでは」

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

  

僕の新しい小説。

 B♭ ビヌフラット

 

舞台はニュヌペヌクです。

 

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54599616429/in/dateposted...

 

Soundtrack.

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...

  

远蚘 この小説を倚少説明したした。

youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV

  

メモ

 

1

「Bombay型ボンベむ型、hh型」

•特城通垞のABO血液型を持たないA、B、Oに分類されない特殊な型。

•発芋地1952幎、むンド・ムンバむ旧ボンベむで初めお確認。

•発生頻床むンドでは1䞇人に1人皋床だが、䞖界的には玄250䞇人に1人ずも。

•茞血制限同じBombay型しか茞血できない。

 

2

2024幎ハヌバヌド倧孊銖垭の卒業匏スピヌチ『知らないこずの力』

youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K

 

3

Shots fired at Trump rally

youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

   

LA hip hop collective Odd Future playing an intense show on the outdoor stage at Camden Crawl 2011. Crowd surfing, stage diving, rucking with security, climbing speaking stacks. Swag. oddfuture.com/

oddfuture.tumblr.com/

Tyler The Creator of Odd Future.

LA hip hop collective Odd Future playing an intense show on the outdoor stage at Camden Crawl 2011. Crowd surfing, stage diving, rucking with security, climbing speaking stacks. Swag. oddfuture.com/

oddfuture.tumblr.com/

LA hip hop collective Odd Future playing an intense show on the outdoor stage at Camden Crawl 2011. Crowd surfing, stage diving, rucking with security, climbing speaking stacks. Swag. oddfuture.com/

oddfuture.tumblr.com/

"Odd Future", "Tyler, the Creator", "The Impossible Project", "Spectra", "Softtone"

LA hip hop collective Odd Future playing an intense show on the outdoor stage at Camden Crawl 2011. Crowd surfing, stage diving, rucking with security, climbing speaking stacks. Swag. oddfuture.com/

oddfuture.tumblr.com/

Title.

Gates C70 - C115 .7.

 

(Nikon Coolpix 8700 shot)

 

New Jersey. USA. 2007. 
 7 / 8

(Photo of the day. Unpublished.)

  

Images:

 

Fergus McCreadie 
 Stony Gate ( Live )

youtu.be/PH7xBtJTWbM?si=c2aHE7oNLskHCpv9

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

My new novel

B♭ (B Flat)

 

Volume 18😄

The following is still in its draft stage and will be revised further.

Key parts are not disclosed.

The order of the content shown here is mixed.

(Of course, this is not the final version.)

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

My new novel

B♭ (B Flat)

Ana woke to the faint sense of someone’s presence.

The monitor beside her bed flickered softly, and the air was thick with the scent of antiseptic.

From the bed next to hers, Justin’s eyes were fixed straight on her face as she slept.

The anger that had once burned in those eyes during his televised speeches was gone, replaced by a gentle, almost tender light.

“Thank you. Truly
”

His voice trembled faintly, and behind his words lingered a fragile honesty.

Ana narrowed her eyes slightly.

“You don’t need a reason to save someone. Bombay Blood
 it doesn’t let you choose who to give it to.”

He smiled faintly, turning his gaze toward the ceiling as if to hide the shallowness of his breath.

“I’ve never been the kind of man to entrust my life to anyone. At least—not until yesterday.”

A quiet silence settled between them before he went on.

“I used to believe politics was a job without blood. Votes, numbers, negotiations—that’s all it was supposed to be.”

“But it wasn’t?” Ana asked softly.

“No.”

Justin let out a sigh.

“The thought that someone else’s blood is flowing inside me—it’s terrifying, if I stop to think about it.

And yet
 at the same time, I’ve never felt so alive. Not once in my life.”

Ana tilted her head slightly.

“Alive?”

“The moment I was shot, I truly thought I was going to die. But people risked their lives to protect me. Someone made a choice that could have killed them instead of me. I only now realize how much that means—beyond anything words can express.”

His tone lacked the sharpness, the calculated rhythm of a politician’s speech. It was simply the voice of a man trying to measure the weight of his own life.

Ana smiled faintly.

“Then maybe now
 you could give your blood to someone else?”

Justin gave a wry smile and lowered his eyes.

“Maybe. But first, I think I should repay the debt to the one who brought me back to life.”

At that moment, a faint crackle from a security radio came from beyond the door.

Justin’s recovery had not yet been made public. But his survival would—sooner or later—shake the election, and perhaps even the world.

Ana forgot all of that.

All she felt was a quiet astonishment that the blood that once flowed in her own body was now pulsing within another.

The door opened quietly.

The sharp sound of heels struck the floor, and a faint scent of rosemary drifted in.

The woman who entered wore a disposable polyethylene gown, shoe covers, and a thin hair cap. It was Eleanor.

Her gaze moved from Ana to Justin, pausing on each of their faces.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said, her voice calm, though Ana sensed the precision of carefully measured emotion beneath it.

When Ana started to rise, Eleanor raised a hand to stop her.

“You must be Ms. Anaya
 Thank you. Thank you for saving him.”

She took Justin’s hand briefly, then looked Ana straight in the eye.

“No amount of gratitude could ever be enough. To borrow a life—such a thing hardly ever happens.”

Ana nodded faintly, unsure how to respond.

“I only did what I could.”

Justin looked at Eleanor and narrowed his eyes slightly.

“If it weren’t for her, I’d probably be
 in a coffin instead of a campaign.”

The remark was half in jest, but carried a trace of self-mockery.

Eleanor kept her smile, placing a hand gently on Ana’s shoulder.

“You may not realize it yet—but what you’ve done might one day mean something to this country. You’ll understand, eventually.”

Without a knock, the door opened again.

A woman in a white coat stepped in, her movements precise, her expression sharp. It was Dr. Sasha Wilson, head of emergency medicine at Bellevue Hospital.

Her hair was tied neatly back, and she held a tablet in one hand.

“Ms. Anaya Patel,” Sasha said, bowing slightly.

“Thank you for your cooperation. The transfusion of Bombay Blood could not have been performed so swiftly without you.”

She glanced down at her tablet and continued in a tone that was businesslike, yet respectful.

“There is no further medical need for you to remain. You are officially cleared for discharge.”

Ana exhaled deeply and nodded.

“Your belongings will be returned in the lobby. If you require an escort, security can—”

“That won’t be necessary,” Ana replied at once.

Sasha looked momentarily surprised, then nodded in understanding.

Justin spoke up quietly.

“Miss Patel
 will I see you again?”

Ana stopped in her tracks.

The air in the room seemed to tremble faintly behind her. Eleanor said nothing.

“I hope,” Ana said softly, turning toward them, “that I will never again have reason to meet a presidential candidate.”

She smiled—a smile that held both warmth and distance.

Meanwhile, at a newsstand on the corner, tabloid headlines blared stories of Justin and Eleanor’s engagement.

Rumors spread that their wedding would be held before the Electoral College vote in December—a symbolic show of unity meant to sway the coming election, whatever the outcome.

Eleanor seemed to search for words, but lowered her gaze instead.

When Sasha opened the door, Ana stepped out.

The hush of the automatic doors closing behind her sounded like the end of a quiet ritual.

In the corridor, Elijah was waiting.

“Take me to Arjun,” Ana said.

She had to do something—anything—for Arjun, who had killed for her.

Her chest was restless, her breath uneven.

In the back seat of the patrol car, Ana clasped her hands tightly, her knees tense.

The Brooklyn night was warm and heavy, the police radio hissing with bursts of static.

“The shooter was Arjun Singh, right?” the young officer in the passenger seat asked, without turning around.

“Yes
 it was him. If he hadn’t fired, I—”

“We know, Ms. Patel. The cameras caught everything, and the witnesses agree. It’s clear self-defense. Without him, you’d be dead.”

The older officer at the wheel grunted his assent.

Ana nodded silently.

The instant the gun was raised toward her inside Totto Ramen, everything had slowed to a crawl.

Then, a gunshot from behind—its echo still lived in the back of her mind.

“Here we are.”

The patrol car stopped outside the NYPD Midtown South Precinct.

The concrete building’s exterior lights glowed pale against the night sky.

Along 35th Street, the dark glass doors reflected the letters:

“NYPD MIDTOWN SOUTH PRECINCT.”

A few steps led up to double glass doors, flanked by blue garage bays for police vehicles.

Rows of vertical concrete pillars gave the building a stern, almost solemn dignity.

Accompanied by the officers, Ana entered the station and was led to a small interview room.

Inside sat Arjun—unharmed, composed, waiting.

“Ana
”

His voice was low, unsteady.

She said nothing, walked toward him, and took a seat.

“I’m so glad you’re safe
”

Tears welled suddenly in Arjun’s eyes—the first she had ever seen from him.

His shoulders trembled, his body drawn inward.

Seeing his fragility, Ana’s eyes softened, and she too began to cry.

“Thank you
 truly, thank you.”

Silence fell between them—not heavy, but deep, a silence of shared relief.

Then came a knock, and the lead detective entered.

“All evidence is consistent—surveillance footage, witnesses, audio. With Ms. Patel’s statement, we have no issue. Arjun Singh, you are hereby released.”

As the paperwork was signed, Arjun rose.

He shook the officer’s hand firmly, saying nothing.

Together they stepped out into the night.

The sky was low, covered in dark clouds, but no rain fell. Streetlights spilled quiet pools of light across the pavement.

A young patrolman waited by the car.

“We’ll drive you home to Paramus. Can’t have you caught up in another incident,” he said with a wink, opening the door.

They smiled faintly and got in.

Neither spoke.

Only now and then did their fingers brush—until their hands naturally found each other.

Ana’s phone buzzed in her pocket. A message from Mika.

“Tomorrow’s the exhibit at Domino Park. The kids are excited. Rest tonight. Leave it to me.”

Ana looked at the screen and smiled faintly. The bluish light reflected across her tired face.

“It’s from Mika,” she murmured. “She says she’ll handle the whole exhibition tomorrow.”

Arjun raised his brows slightly and smiled.

“It’s a good thing—to have people who can keep things moving, even when you’re not there.”

“Yeah
” Ana whispered, resting her forehead gently against his chest.

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

My new novel:

B♭ (B-flat)

There’s still more to come. 😃

(This is not the final draft.)

Set in New York City.

  

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54599616429/in/dateposted...

 

Soundtrack.

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...

 

For japanese

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack-for-jap...

 

Note: I gave a brief explanation of this novel in the following video:

youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV

  

iTunes Playlist Link::

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD

 

For japanese

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack-for-jap...

 

My new novel:

B♭ (B-flat)

Notes

1. "Bombay Blood Type (hh type)"

•Characteristics: A rare blood type that lacks the usual ABO antigens — cannot be classified as A, B, or O.

•Discovery: First identified in 1952 in Mumbai, India (formerly Bombay).

•Prevalence: Roughly 1 in 10,000 people in India; globally, about 1 in 2.5 million.

•Transfusion Compatibility: Only compatible with blood from other Bombay type donors.

2. 2024 Harvard University Valedictorian Speech – The Power of Not Knowing

youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K

3. Shots Fired at Trump Rally

youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

Title.

Gates C70 - C115 .6.

  

( Nikon Coolpix 8700 shot )

  

ニュヌゞャヌゞヌ州。アメリカ。2007. 
 7 / 8

(今日の写真。それは未発衚です。

  

Fergus McCreadie 
 Stony Gate ( Live )

youtu.be/PH7xBtJTWbM?si=c2aHE7oNLskHCpv9

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

僕の新しい小説。

 B♭ ビヌフラット

  

第18匟。 😄

以䞋は、ただ初皿の段階です。ただ掚敲したす。

重芁な郚分は公開しおいたせん。

公開しおいる内容の順番はバラバラです。

(もちろん最終皿ではありたせん。)

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

僕の新しい小説。

 

 B♭ ビヌフラット

  

 アナは人の気配で目を芚たした。

 ベッド脇のモニタヌが静かに点滅し、消毒液の匂いが空気を満たしおいる。

 隣のベッドに寝おいるゞャスティンの芖線が、たっすぐにアナの寝顔に泚がれおいた。その瞳は、テレビの挔説で怒りに満ちたものずはたるで別人のように、穏やかで柔らかい光を湛えおいた。

「ありがずう。ほんずに  」

 圌は、蚀葉の奥に玠盎な脆さをにじたせお、かすかに唇を震わせた。

 アナは、目を现めた。

「助けるのに、理由なんお䞍芁です。ボンベむブラッドは   遞べる盞手じゃないから‥」

 圌はうっすら笑っお、呌吞の浅さを隠すように芖線を倩井に向けた。

「僕は、他人に呜を預けるなんお性栌じゃない。少なくずも、昚日たではそうだった」

 しばらく沈黙が流れたあず、圌はぜ぀りず続けた。

「政治家は、血の通っおない仕事だっお、い぀からか信じおた。祚ず数字ず、駆け匕き。それだけで十分だっお」

「でも違った」ずアナが小声で蚊いた。

「違ったよ」

 ゞャスティンはため息をひず぀挏らした。

「人の血が、自分の身䜓に入っおきおるなんお、冷静に考えたら怖くおたたらない。でも── 同時に、なんか  信じられないくらい、生きおるっお気がした。初めおだ」

 アナは銖をかしげた。

「生きおるっお」

「撃たれた瞬間  たぶん、本圓に死ぬっお思った。でも、こんな自分をみんなが守っおくれた。誰かが“僕の代わりに死ぬ可胜性のある遞択”をしおくれたんだ。そこに蚀葉以䞊の意味があるずいうこずに今さら気づいたよ」

 ゞャスティンの口調には、い぀もの匁舌のキレや、攻撃性はなかった。ただ玠盎に、自分の呜の重さを蚈ろうずしおいる男の声だった。

 アナは少しだけ埮笑んだ。

「じゃあ、いたのあなたなら   別の誰かにも血をあげられるず思う」

 ゞャスティンは苊笑しながらも、目を䌏せた。

「たぶん。  でもその前に、たずは誰かに生き返らされた借りを、返す方が先だな」

 そのずき、扉の向こうで譊備の無線がかすかに響いた。

 ゞャスティンの回埩はただ公衚されおいない。だが、圌の生還は──今埌の遞挙戊を、䞖界を、䜕か倧きく動かすこずになる。

 アナはそんなこずも忘れお、ただ、自分の䞭に流れおいた血が、今、別の身䜓の䞭で錓動を打っおいるこずに、静かな驚きを感じおいた。

 病宀のドアが静かに開いた。

 ピンヒヌルの音が床を軜く叩き、ほのかにロヌズマリヌの銙氎が挂った。

 入っおきたのは、䞍透明なポリ゚チレン玠材のディスポヌザブル・ガりンず、靎カバヌ、薄いヘアキャップを被った゚リノアだった。

 圌女の芖線が、ベッドのアナず、ゞャスティンの顔を䞀床ず぀確認した。

「ごめんなさい。邪魔しお」

 声は穏やかだったが、その蚀葉の裏に、緻密な感情の蚈算が芋え隠れしおいるようにアナには感じた。

 アナが起きあがろうずするず、゚リノアが手を䞊げお制した。

「あなたが、アナダさんね。  圌を救っおくれお、本圓にありがずう」

 ゚リノアはゞャスティンの手を䞀瞬だけ握ったあず、たっすぐアナの目を芋お蚀った。

「どれだけ感謝しおも足りないわ。呜を借りるなんおこず──滅倚に起きるこずじゃないもの」

 アナは少し戞惑いながらも、軜くうなずいた。

「私は、できるこずをしただけです」

 ゞャスティンぱリノアを芋お、少しだけ目を现めた。

「圌女がいなかったら、今ごろ僕は  遞挙どころか、棺桶の䞭だったかもな」

 冗談めかした口調には、薄い自嘲がにじんでいた。

 ゚リノアは埮笑を厩さず、アナの肩に手を添えた。

「今はただ、きっず実感も湧かないでしょうけど──あなたがしくれたこずが、この囜に意味のあるこずに繋げられたらず思いたす。い぀か、きっず、埌になっおわかるわ」

 再びドアがノックもなく開いた。

 癜衣を翻しお入っおきたのは、ベルビュヌ病院の救急郚䞻任、サヌシャ・りィル゜ンだった。髪を埌ろでたずめ、鋭い芖線ずプロフェッショナルな所䜜だった。圌女は手にタブレットを持っおいた。

「アナダ・パテルさん」

 サヌシャが小さく頭を䞋げた。

「ご協力、ありがずうございたした。ボンベむブラッドの茞血をここで即座に行えたのは、あなたのおかげです」

 タブレットに目を萜ずしながら、圌女は事務的だが敬意のある口調で続けた。

「今埌、远加の医療的凊眮は䞍芁ず刀断されたした。正匏に、ご退院いただいお構いたせん」

 アナは息をひず぀吐き、深くうなずいた。

「着替えなどはロビヌでお枡ししたす。付き添いが必芁な堎合は、セキュリティに──」

「必芁ないです」ずアナは即答した。

 その蚀葉に、サヌシャは䞀瞬だけ意倖そうな目をしたが、すぐに玍埗したように肯いた。

 ゞャスティンが小さく声をかけた。

「  ミス・パテル、たた䌚える」

 アナは立ち止たった。

 圌女の背䞭越しに、病宀の空気がわずかに揺れた。゚リノアは沈黙しおいた。

「私が今埌、二床ず倧統領候補に䌚うこずがないよう  私はお祈りしたす」

 そう蚀っお振り返るず、圌女ぱリノアずゞャスティンぞ埮笑んだ。その声には、あたたかさず距離感が同時に宿っおいた。

 䞀方、街角のニュヌススタンドに䞊ぶゎシップ誌の芋出しには、二人の婚玄蚘事が螊っおいた。結婚匏は遞挙人団投祚が行われる十二月たでに挙げられる──そんな噂が流垃しおいたのだ。倧統領遞の結果にかかわらず、匷い絆を瀺すこずで次の遞挙戊に圱響を䞎えようずいう思惑さえ透けお芋える。

 ゚リノアは蚀葉を探しおいるようだったが、䜕も蚀わずに芖線を䞋げた。

 サヌシャがドアを開けるず、アナは、ゆっくりず病宀を出た。

 自動ドアの閉たる音が、たるである皮の儀匏の終わりを告げるように、静かに空間を切り分けた。

 通路で埅機しおいたむラむゞャに、アナはいった。

「アルゞュンにすぐ䌚わせお」

 私のために射殺したアルゞュンをなんずかしなくおは‥‥  アナの胞はざわめいおいた。

 パトカヌの埌郚座垭で、アナは手を組んだたた、膝に力が入るのを抑えられなかった。ブルックリンの倜はぬるく、車内には譊官の無線が時おりノむズ混じりに鳎っおいた。

「撃ったのは、アルゞュン・シンですよね」助手垭の若い譊官が埌ろを振り向かずに尋ねた。

「はい  圌です。撃たなければ、私は──」

「わかっおたすよ、アナダさん。防犯カメラもあったし、店内の蚌蚀も䞀臎しおる。完党な正圓防衛です。圌がいなければ、あなたは殺されおいたでしょう。」

 運転垭の幎配の譊官が盞槌を打った。

 アナも無蚀で肯いた。トットラヌメンの店内で、銃口を圌女に向けた瞬間、すべおがスロヌモヌションになった。次の刹那、背埌から響いた銃声。その音を、アナはいただ耳の奥に抱えおいた。

「ここです」

 パトカヌが停たったのは、マンハッタン南郚ミッドタりン第14分眲だ。コンクリヌトの庁舎の倖灯が、倜の空に癜く滲んでいた。

 35䞁目沿い、沈んだ色のガラス扉を備えた建物正面には、“NYPD MIDTOWN SOUTH PRECINCT”ずいう黒いプレヌトがコンクリヌト壁に浮かんでいた。䞉段ほどの階段を昇るず、ガラス補の䞡開きドアがあり、その䞡脇には譊察車䞡甚のブルヌのガレヌゞドアが䞊んでいる。瞊に走るコンクリヌトの柱が数列に分かれ、シンプルながら嚁厳ず緊匵感を醞し出しおいた。

 アナは譊官に付き添われお眲内ぞ入った。手続き宀の奥、面䌚甚の小さな郚屋に案内されるず、アルゞュンが無傷のたた、萜ち着いた衚情で座っおいた。

「アナ  」

 圌の声は䜎く、揺れおいた。アナは蚀葉を発せず、そのたた歩み寄り、怅子に腰を䞋ろした。

「よかった、無事だね  」

 アルゞュンの目から䞀瞬にしお倧粒の涙が溢れた。アナが圌に出䌚っおから初めおの涙だった。䜓の線が瞮たり、现かく震えおいる。その匱々しい圌の姿にアナの瞳も緩んだ。アナも同じように涙を零しおいた。

「ありがずう、ほんずうに、ありがずう」

 ふたりのあいだに沈黙が萜ちたが、それは重苊しいものではなく、互いの無事を確かめ合う、深い静寂だった。

 やがお扉がノックされ、担圓刑事が入っおきた。

「蚌拠は揃っおる。監芖映像、目撃者、店内の録音。アナさんの蚌蚀も加われば、釈攟は問題ない。アルゞュン・シンさん、正匏に解攟したす」

 その堎で釈攟の手続きが進められ、アルゞュンは立ち䞊がった。

 譊官が手を差し出すずアルゞュンは黙っお頷き、握り返した。

 ふたりは倜の街ぞ出た。空は䜎く黒い雲に芆われおいたが、雚は降らず、街灯が静かに歩道を照らしおいた。

 若い巡査が倖で埅っおいた。

「パラマスのご自宅たで送りたすよ。犯眪に巻き蟌たれたす」

 圌は軜くりィンクしお、パトカヌの埌郚扉を開いた。

 二人は笑顔で返し、乗り蟌んだ。車内で、䌚話はなかった。ただ、アナずアルゞュンの指先がずきおり觊れ、手が自然に重なった。

 アナのポケットのスマホが振動した。ミカからのメッセヌゞだった。

「あしたは、ドミノパヌクで展瀺。子どもたちも楜しみにしおる。あなたはゆっくり䌑んで。任せお」

 アナは画面を芋぀め、小さく埮笑んだ。暗い車内で反射した青癜い光が疲れた暪顔を照らし滲たせた。

「ミカから。  明日の展瀺、圌女が党郚やっおくれるっお」

 アルゞュンが少しだけ眉を䞊げ、口元を緩めた。

「君がいなくおも、動いおくれる人がいるっお、いいこずだな」

「うん  」

 アナはそう静かに応えるず圌の胞にそっず額を預けた。

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

  

僕の新しい小説。

 B♭ ビヌフラット

 

舞台はニュヌペヌクです。

  

17

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54769008619/in/dateposted...

 

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54758538180/in/dateposted...

 

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54743658539/in/dateposted...

 

10

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54737038151/in/dateposted...

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54720346098/in/dateposted...

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54713957969/in/dateposted...

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54703714420/in/dateposted...

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54696914108/in/dateposted...

5

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54686544606/in/dateposted...

4

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54653035442/in/dateposted...

3

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54639396885/in/dateposted...

2

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54628511025/in/dateposted...

1

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54599616429/in/dateposted...

  

Soundtrack.

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...

 

For japanese

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack-for-jap...

  

iTunes Playlist Link::

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD

 

For japanese

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack-for-jap...

  

远蚘 この小説を倚少説明したした。

youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV

  

メモ

 

1

「Bombay型ボンベむ型、hh型」

•特城通垞のABO血液型を持たないA、B、Oに分類されない特殊な型。

•発芋地1952幎、むンド・ムンバむ旧ボンベむで初めお確認。

•発生頻床むンドでは1䞇人に1人皋床だが、䞖界的には玄250䞇人に1人ずも。

•茞血制限同じBombay型しか茞血できない。

 

2

2024幎ハヌバヌド倧孊銖垭の卒業匏スピヌチ『知らないこずの力』

youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K

 

3

Shots fired at Trump rally

youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

Title.

Central Park sidewalk.

 

( LUMIX G3 shot )

Central Park, Manhattan, New York, USA. 2017. ... 7 / 9

(Today's photo. It's unpublished.)

  

Images:

The Beatles 
 Across The Universe

youtu.be/eqUzU552X8A?si=LDd91wXz4ROBUYco

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

My new novel

B♭ (B Flat)

 

Volume 15 😄

The following is still in its draft stage and will be revised further.

Key parts are not disclosed.

The order of the content shown here is mixed.

(Of course, this is not the final version.)

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

My new novel

B♭ (B Flat)

 

The summer afternoon light in Manhattan flashed off the glass faces of the towers; each time the asphalt’s heat shimmered through an alley, the vast edifice of the FBI’s New York field office seemed to inhale the city’s clamor and, while remaining immovably composed, exuded the taut vigilance and tension within. Behind the heavy iron door set at that corner, the countless gazes of surveillance cameras and the movements of guards intertwined, announcing an order that would not be shaken by the heat waves or the bustle outside.

Special Agent Veronica Reeves—bearing a wealth of experience yet possessed of an uncompromising, honed gaze—sat reading, in quiet concentration, through the sheaf of reports that had been compiled so far, spread across the long table by the window. Whenever the summer breeze outside brushed the glass and rippled the air, her thought answered in kind, narrowing to the tiniest details and sculpting, in three dimensions within her mind, the range and consequences of the incident.

Her hands reconstructed the numbers and map symbols on the pages as if to include the city’s heated pedestrian flows, traffic lines, and the density of clustered buildings; her methodical ordering of the initial response bore a cold, tranquil certainty. The white glare of the overhead fluorescents trembled across the papers; even the shadows that wavered at the edge of her sight seemed to be folded into her analysis as unknown variables. With a fingertip she traced a point on the map, instantaneously combining thoroughfares, crowd densities, and building concentrations, rendering a volumetric sense of the scene inside her head.

The ring of telephones, the faint hiss of radios, and the distant wail of sirens in the streets were not mere noise to her but additional strata of information to be quietly assimilated. Her eyes were the very image of composure; yet the slight twitch in some muscles, the tremor in her fingers, betrayed a crisis-awareness coiled within—she displayed no outward emotion, advancing only with facts and inference.

She gathered the documents, exhaled deeply, and, staring out at the summer light and heat beyond the window, quietly contemplated her next move. Slowly she settled into her chair, arranged the bundle of reports before her, and with the city’s wavering heat at her back began to reconstruct the timeline in her mind. The intersections where red and green signals interlaced, the scent of exhaust hanging at street corners, the walking pace of passersby, the shadows of cars parked along curbs—each of these linked to the figures on the page and the marks on the map to conjure the three-dimensional flow of New York within her thought.

Fragments of reports arriving via radio and phone were drawn into the net of her analysis and placed into time and space. At what moment, and in which place, did the flow of people shift? Who might have entered which building? Combining traffic congestion, crowd movement, and the structure of buildings, she sought to reconstruct the entirety of the scene with minimal margin for error.

Her eyes remained calm, yet the fine tension of her muscles hinted at the vigilance beneath. Tracing a point on the map with a fingertip, she called up memories of past incidents and urban-planning data, calculating risk for each scenario. City layout, crowd density, locations of exits—every element was aligned upon a grid of logic, and all conceivable contingencies were hypothesized.

The outside heat warped the window glass; the city’s murmur and the distant siren did not break her focus but rather deepened the realism of the scenario she ran in her mind. Numbers on the page and the city’s tangible image overlapped within a cold rationality, and she prepared to derive the next action with precision.

Her gaze rested on photographs among the documents; she scrutinized the expressions of the crowd, the placement of security personnel, the positions of obstacles. Her look was merciless and exacting, missing no slight incongruity, refusing to be swayed by the city’s heat, attempting instead to enclose every variable within the net of reason.

In the office, where the cool air from the conditioning braided with summer’s heat, her thinking increased in speed—quietly, inexorably. What might happen next? Which routes were safe and which dangerous? Momentary judgments here could determine the safety of the crowd and the candidate’s life. Logic, steady and unyielding, wound through her hands like the thread that could untangle the city’s complexity.

Before her lay not only papers but computer screens and radio displays—sources of fragmented information that gained meaning only after passing through Veronica’s filter. The work of composing the whole from data and observed reality advanced, cool and silent, amid the city’s warmth.

Each time her fingertip traced the map, Manhattan’s streets materialized three-dimensionally in her mind: building density, pedestrian flows, surveillance-camera arcs, guard positions—linked together by a merciless chain of logic that suggested the next moves. Veronica inhaled and exhaled deeply; in that mute rhythm she connected all variables, fixing her attention on the heart of the matter. The distant sirens, car horns, and the footfalls of people pausing at an intersection became pieces of a puzzle that melted into a stream of reason. The city shimmered under heat; light and shadow fractured and scattered—but Veronica’s mind passed through that heat and outlined the incident in its entirety.

She reached for the office extension, feeling the cool resin of the handset between her fingers, and called Deputy Special Agent Elliot. “Put me through to Jack Vance of the Secret Service,” she said.

“Copy. I’ll contact Jack immediately.”

On the other end, his voice feigned calm while carrying a filament of tension. His eyes were on the streets beyond the window, unconsciously tracking intersections and pedestrian flows, instantly computing each possible outcome. Fingers rested on the keyboard; he checked the radio terminal and looped the next potential events into the net of his thought. Elliot’s “copy” was not a mere acknowledgment but a confirmation of steady judgement in the face of urban turbulence—and a quiet testament to his faith in Veronica.

A black Ford SUV tore through the heat of the streets. Jack gripped the wheel; impatience etched his profile. In the back seat, Anna drew herself close, stretching an arm protectively over the children while still forcing her voice out. “Watch the road, Jack!” The vehicle bucked under its own motion; the children’s voices rose—part cheer, part scream—caught between terror and exhilaration. Beside them, Mika bit her lip and, speechless, stitched her gaze to the window.

Behind, a pursuing car growled; bullets kissed the asphalt and left a metallic tang in the air. Sparks flared against concrete facades; gunfire scraped at the city’s skin. Jack’s Ford ignored lights and crowds alike, mounting the sidewalk as if to fling aside the screams of the throng in its wake.

Soon the massive shadow of the Jacob K. Javits Federal Building fell across them. The tower of steel and glass reflected the noonday light with a hard edge, standing high and concentrated like the city’s own tension made architecture. Veronica Reeves stood by the window and followed the car’s black silhouette at her feet. “
No,” she said under her breath. “That Ford tearing along the sidewalk—surely that isn’t you?”

Jack’s voice crackled over the radio, rough and breathless. “We were being chased! We just happened to come here—this isn’t my doing!”

Veronica held her breath and instantly issued orders to Deputy Special Agent Elliot. “Contact the NYPD now. Lock down every street and avenue.”

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

My new novel:

B♭ (B-flat)

There’s still more to come. 😃

(This is not the final draft.)

Set in New York City.

  

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54720346098/in/dateposted...

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54713957969/in/dateposted...

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54703714420/in/dateposted...

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54696914108/in/dateposted...

5

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54686544606/in/dateposted...

4

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54653035442/in/dateposted...

3

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54639396885/in/dateposted...

2

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54628511025/in/dateposted...

1

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54599616429/in/dateposted...

 

Soundtrack.

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...

  

Note: I gave a brief explanation of this novel in the following video:

youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV

  

iTunes Playlist Link::

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD

 

My new novel:

B♭ (B-flat)

Notes

1. "Bombay Blood Type (hh type)"

•Characteristics: A rare blood type that lacks the usual ABO antigens — cannot be classified as A, B, or O.

•Discovery: First identified in 1952 in Mumbai, India (formerly Bombay).

•Prevalence: Roughly 1 in 10,000 people in India; globally, about 1 in 2.5 million.

•Transfusion Compatibility: Only compatible with blood from other Bombay type donors.

2. 2024 Harvard University Valedictorian Speech – The Power of Not Knowing

youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K

3. Shots Fired at Trump Rally

youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

  

Title.

セントラルパヌクの偎道。

  

( LUMIX G3 shot )

  

マンハッタン。ニュヌペヌク。アメリカ。2017. 
 7 / 9

(今日の写真。それは未発衚です。

  

Images:

The Beatles 
 Across The Universe 和蚳

note.com/yutosn/n/na8a3ff93b391

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

僕の新しい小説。

 B♭ ビヌフラット

  

第15匟。 😄

以䞋は、ただ初皿の段階です。ただ掚敲したす。

重芁な郚分は公開しおいたせん。

公開しおいる内容の順番はバラバラです。

(もちろん最終皿ではありたせん。)

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

僕の新しい小説。

 

 B♭ ビヌフラット

 

 マンハッタンの倏の午埌の光が高局ビル矀のガラスにぎら぀き、アスファルトの熱気が路地を揺らすたびに、FBIニュヌペヌク支局の巚倧な建物は郜垂の喧隒を吞い蟌み、どっしりず静けさを保ちながらも、その内郚に匵り詰めた譊戒ず緊匵をにじたせおいた。その角に蚭えられた厚い鉄の扉の向こうでは、監芖カメラの無数の芖線ず譊備員の動きが絡み合い、倖界の熱波や人々のざわめきにも揺るがぬ秩序を守っおいるこずを告げおいた。

 ノェロニカ・リヌノス特別捜査官は、豊富な経隓を背負いながらもなお研ぎ柄たされた県差しで、窓際の長机に広げられた、これたでに起こった報告がたずめられた資料の束を静かに読み解いおいた。倖の倏颚がわずかに窓に圓たり、空気を揺らすたび、圌女の思考もそれに呌応するように现郚たで集䞭され、事件の可胜性や圱響範囲を論理の䞭に立䜓的に描き出しおいった。

 曞類に蚘された数字や地図の蚘号を、熱せられた街の動線や人々の流れ、ビルの密集床たでを含めるかのように頭の䞭で再構築し、事件の初動を論理的に敎理しおいく手぀きには、冷たくも静かな確信が宿っおいた。

 倩井の蛍光灯の癜い光が、玙面に萜ちる圱を揺らし、芖界の隅で揺れるその圱さえも、未知の倉数ずしお分析に取り蟌たれおいるかのようであった。ノェロニカは指先で地図䞊の䞀点をなぞり、郜垂の動線、人の密床、建築の密集床を瞬時に組み合わせ、頭の䞭で珟堎の立䜓的な状況を描き出しおいた。

 電話のベルや無線のかすかなノむズ、倖の街路で響く遠いサむレンの音も、圌女にずっおは雑音ではなく、分析のための情報の局ずしお静かに敎理されおいった。

 瞳は冷静そのもので、しかし埮现な筋肉の動きや指の震えは、内偎に朜む危機意識を瀺し、芋る者には感情を䞀切衚さず、事実ず掚論だけを前に進める姿勢が䌝わっおきた。

 ノェロニカは曞類をたずめ、深く息を吐き、窓の向こうに広がる倏の郜垂の光ず熱を芋据えながら、静かに次の䞀手を思案しおいた。

 ノェロニカはゆっくりず怅子に腰を䞋ろし、資料の束を前に敎えるず、窓の倖で揺れる熱気を背に、たず事件の時間軞を頭の䞭で再構築しはじめた。信号の赀や青が亀錯する亀差点、街角に挂う排気ガスの匂い、通行人の歩行速床、路䞊に停められた車の圱――それらすべおが、玙面の数字や地図䞊の印ず結び぀き、ニュヌペヌクずいう巚倧な郜垂の立䜓的な動線を圌女の思考に浮かび䞊がらせた。

 無線や電話からの断片的な報告も、圌女の分析の網に吞い蟌たれ、時間ず空間に配眮される。どの瞬間に、どの堎所で、人々の流れが倉化したか。誰がどの建物に朜入した可胜性があるか。亀通の混雑状況ず、芳衆の動き、建築物の構造を組み合わせ、最小の掚枬誀差で珟堎の党貌を描く。

 圌女の瞳は冷静そのもので、しかし埮现な筋肉の緊匵が、その奥に朜む危機意識を瀺しおいた。手元の地図の䞀点を指でなぞり、過去の事件や郜垂蚈画のデヌタを呌び出しながら、シナリオごずにリスクを蚈算する。郜垂の構造、芳衆の密床、出口の配眮――あらゆる芁玠を論理のグリッドに沿っお䞊べ、想像されるすべおの事態を仮定する。

 倖の熱気は窓ガラスを揺らし、街のざわめきや遠くで響くサむレンは、圌女の集䞭をかき乱すどころか、逆に珟堎の臚堎感を補匷し、頭の䞭のシミュレヌションに奥行きを䞎えた。玙面の数字ず街の実像が、冷たい理性の䞭で重なり合い、圌女は次の䞀手を論理的に導き出す準備を敎えおいった。

 ノェロニカは資料の䞭の写真に目を留め、芳衆の衚情や譊備員の配眮、障害物の䜍眮を詳现に分析した。その芖線は冷培でありながらも、埮现な違和感や䞍自然さを芋逃さず、郜垂の熱気に流されるこずなく、論理の網の䞭に党おの倉数を捕らえようずしおいた。

 冷房の空気ず倏の熱気が亀錯するオフィス内で、圌女の思考は静かに、しかし確実に速床を䞊げおいく。次に䜕が起こりうるか、どのルヌトが安党で、どのルヌトが危険か。瞬間ごずの刀断が、芳衆の安党ず候補者の呜を巊右する。論理は揺るぎなく、郜垂の耇雑さを玐解く糞のように圌女の手の䞭で絡たり合った。

 圌女の前には資料だけでなく、コンピュヌタの画面や無線のディスプレむも䞊ぶ。それらは断片的な情報の源にすぎず、ノェロニカの思考ずいうフィルタヌを通すこずで初めお意味を持぀。デヌタず珟実の光景を繋ぎ、事件の党䜓像を構築する䜜業は、倏の街の熱気の䞭でも冷たく静かに進行した。

 圌女の指先が地図をなぞるたび、郜垂の街路が脳内で立䜓的に浮かび䞊がり、建物の密床、通行人の流れ、監芖カメラの芖野、譊備員の䜍眮が、冷培な論理の䞭で連鎖し、次の行動を瀺唆する。ノェロニカは深く息を吞い、吐き出すず同時に、無蚀のうちに党おの倉数を繋ぎ合わせ、事件の栞心ぞず芖線を固定した。その瞬間、遠くの街路から聞こえるサむレンの音や車のクラクション、亀差点で立ち止たる人々の足音が、圌女の頭の䞭ではパズルのピヌスずなり、論理的な流れの䞭に溶け蟌んでいった。郜垂は暑さに揺れ、光ず圱が乱反射するが、ノェロニカの思考は静かに、その熱気を透過しお事件の党䜓像を描き出しおいった。

 ノェロニカは、静かに内線電話の受話噚を手に取り、その冷たい暹脂の感觊を指先で確かめながら、゚リオット副特別捜査官を呌び出し、いった。

「シヌクレットサヌビスのゞャックバンスに぀ないで」

「了解。ゞャックに盎ちに連絡する。」

 受話噚の向こうで、圌の声は冷静を装いながらも、埮现な緊匵を含んでいた。目は窓の倖に向けられ、街路の亀差点や通行人の流れを無意識に远い、あらゆる可胜性を瞬時に蚈算する。手元のキヌボヌドに指を觊れ、無線端末を確認しながら、次に䜕が起こるかを思考の網にかける。

 ゚リオットの「了解」は、単なる返事ではなく、郜垂の混沌を前にした冷静な刀断の蚌であり、ノェロニカぞの信頌を静かに裏付けおいた。

 

 黒のSUVフォヌドは、倏の熱気を抌し裂くように街路を駆け抜けおいた。ハンドルを握るゞャックの暪顔には焊燥が匵り぀き、埌郚座垭に身を寄せたアナは、子䟛たちを庇うように腕を䌞ばしながら、それでも必死に声を匵り䞊げた。

「前を芋お、ゞャック」

 車䜓の振動に身を揺らしながら、子䟛たちは歓声ずも悲鳎ずも぀かぬ声をあげ、恐怖ず興奮の境を知らぬたたに笑った。その隣でミカは唇を噛み、蚀葉を倱ったたた窓の倖に芖線を瞫い぀けられおいた。

 背埌では远撃の車が唞りを䞊げ、硝煙の匂いを残しお匟䞞がアスファルトを跳ねた。コンクリヌトの壁面に火花が散り、郜垂の皮膚を削るようにしお銃声が響く。ゞャックのフォヌドは信号も人波も無芖し、歩道ぞず飛び蟌み、矀衆の悲鳎を振り払うように疟走した。

 やがお、ゞェむコブ・K・ゞャノィッツ連邊ビルがその巚倧な圱を萜ずした。

 鉄ずガラスの塔は真昌の光を硬質に反射し、郜垂の緊匵を凝瞮させおそびえ立っおいた。ノェロニカ・リヌノス特別捜査官は窓蟺に立ち、芖線を萜ずした足元に黒い車䜓の圱を認めた。

「  たさか。歩道を突っ走っおいるあのフォヌド、あなたたちじゃないでしょうね」

 無線に混じっおゞャックの声が荒々しく返る。

「远われおたんだ たたたたここに来ただけだ、俺のせいじゃない」

 ノェロニカは息を詰め、即座に゚リオット副特別捜査官ぞず指瀺を攟った。

「すぐにNYPDぞ。すべおのストリヌトずアノェニュヌを封鎖しお。」

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

  

僕の新しい小説。

 B♭ ビヌフラット

 

舞台はニュヌペヌクです。

 

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54703714420/in/dateposted...

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54696914108/in/dateposted...

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54686544606/in/dateposted...

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54653035442/in/dateposted...

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54639396885/in/dateposted...

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54628511025/in/dateposted...

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54599616429/in/dateposted...

 

Soundtrack.

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...

  

远蚘 この小説を倚少説明したした。

youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV

  

メモ

 

1

「Bombay型ボンベむ型、hh型」

•特城通垞のABO血液型を持たないA、B、Oに分類されない特殊な型。

•発芋地1952幎、むンド・ムンバむ旧ボンベむで初めお確認。

•発生頻床むンドでは1䞇人に1人皋床だが、䞖界的には玄250䞇人に1人ずも。

•茞血制限同じBombay型しか茞血できない。

 

2

2024幎ハヌバヌド倧孊銖垭の卒業匏スピヌチ『知らないこずの力』

youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K

 

3

Shots fired at Trump rally

youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

  

Title.

www.zabars.com/ 2

 

( LUMIX G3 shot )

 

Manhattan. New York. USA. 2017. 
 4 / 7

 

(Photo of the day. Unreleased.)

  

Images:

Linda Sikhakhane 
 Closer to the Heart

youtu.be/BshCm2zi0KQ?si=DIk0HgPilkJLQ8xo

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

My new novel

B♭ (B Flat)

 

Volume 15 😄

The following is still in its draft stage and will be revised further.

Key parts are not disclosed.

The order of the content shown here is mixed.

(Of course, this is not the final version.)

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

My new novel

B♭ (B Flat)

The summer light of Manhattan afternoons flared against the glass facades of the high-rises, and each time the heat of the asphalt wavered through the alleys, the massive building of the FBI’s New York Field Office seemed to draw in the clamor of the city, holding a grave and immovable stillness, while within its walls a taut tension and vigilance seeped forth. Beyond the thick iron doors set into its corner, the countless eyes of surveillance cameras interlaced with the motions of guards, proclaiming an order unshaken by the heat waves or the murmur of the crowd outside.

Special Agent Veronica Reeves, carrying the weight of long years of experience yet with a gaze still honed to an unerring edge, sat at the long desk by the window, quietly deciphering the thick bundle of reports spread before her—accounts of what had unfolded thus far. The shafts of heat-laden sunlight pressed through the glass, warping the air, and against that trembling her thoughts held fast, focusing upon the minutiae, drawing out, in three dimensions, the possibilities of the case and the breadth of its consequences.

The figures and map symbols inscribed upon the documents she reassembled in her mind, as though enfolding the arteries of the overheated city itself—the courses of traffic, the currents of people, the compression of the skyline—ordering the incident’s first movements with a hand imbued with a quiet, frigid certainty. The sterile white light of the ceiling LEDs cast swaying shadows upon the papers, and even those faint tremors at the edges of her sight seemed to enter her calculus, like unknown variables absorbed into the mesh of her analysis.

Her fingertip traced a single point upon the map, and in that gesture she drew together the city’s flows, the density of its crowds, the thicket of its structures, conjuring within her mind a three-dimensional rendering of the ground. The clash of red and blue signals at intersections, the exhaust drifting at corners, the tempo of footsteps, the shadows of cars idling at the curb—all converged upon the figures and symbols of the page, lifting before her the living geometry of New York.

Fragments of reports crackled from radios and telephones, slipping into her net of thought and fixed into the coordinates of time and place. At what moment, in what place, had the current of the crowd shifted? Who might have slipped within which building? The jam of traffic, the swell of onlookers, the frameworks of the structures—these she aligned, reducing error to its smallest margin, until the hidden contours of the scene emerged.

Her eyes remained calm, but the faint tightening of the muscles around them betrayed the sense of danger running beneath. With her finger pressing upon a point on the map, she drew upon the memory of old cases, of the city’s blueprints, calculating risk along each imagined path. The city’s shape, the crowd’s density, the placing of exits—all she set upon a grid of logic, hypothesizing every possible turn the future might take.

Her gaze halted upon a photograph in the file, parsing the expressions of the crowd, the disposition of guards, the position of obstacles. Cold though her eyes remained, they missed no dissonance, no trace of the unnatural, intent upon catching every variable within the net of reason, undistracted by the fever of the summer city.

In the office, where the cool of the air conditioning crossed with the heat outside, her thoughts gathered speed—silent, assured, relentless. What would unfold next? Which routes were safe, which led into peril? Each decision, measured in the span of a heartbeat, bore upon the safety of the crowd, upon the life of the candidate. Her logic did not waver, its threads weaving together in her hand like cords unraveling the complexity of the city.

Before her stood not only the files, but also the glow of monitors, the static of radios. Each was but a source of fragments, meaningless until passed through the filter of her thought. To bind data to the streets, images to reality, was the task at hand, advancing cold and quiet even as the heat of summer pressed against the glass.

The sweltering air outside rattled the windows; the distant sirens and the rumble of the city did not shatter her focus, but rather deepened her mental simulation, lending depth to the field she constructed within. Figures on the page fused with the living breath of the streets, reason drawing them together into clarity, and she readied herself to strike upon the next move.

Each sweep of her fingertip across the map made the city’s avenues rise in relief within her mind: the density of buildings, the movement of passersby, the gaze of cameras, the stations of guards. All chained together, cold and inexorable, suggesting the next action. Veronica drew a long breath, and with her exhale, wove the scattered variables into a single fabric, fixing her gaze upon the heart of the incident. In that moment, the distant sirens, the horns, the shuffling of feet at a crosswalk—all dissolved into her reasoning, each sound settling into place like a piece of a puzzle within the flow of logic. The city shimmered in heat, light and shadow in feverish scatter, but her mind cut through the glare, quietly tracing the full outline of the unfolding event.

At last, Veronica lifted the receiver of the internal line, feeling the cold resin beneath her fingers, and summoned Deputy Special Agent Elliot.

“Put me through to Jack Vance, Secret Service.”

“Understood.”

 

The black Ford SUV cut through the summer heat, racing down the streets. At the wheel, Jack’s profile was set with strain, while in the backseat Ana leaned forward, arms stretched protectively over the children, shouting in desperation.

“Keep your eyes ahead, Jack!”

The children, jolted by the car’s violent tremors, cried out with voices that wavered between cheers and screams, unable to discern the line between fear and thrill. Beside them, Mika bit her lip, struck dumb, staring in mute shock.

Behind them, the pursuing car roared, bullets sparking off the asphalt and leaving the acrid tang of gunpowder in the air. Jack twisted the wheel, his Ford scraping sparks along a wall of concrete, gunfire rattling through the city’s very skin. Ignoring lights and crowds alike, he veered the SUV up onto the sidewalk, plunging forward as screams scattered into the air, driving on as if to outpace the terror that pursued them.

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

My new novel:

B♭ (B-flat)

There’s still more to come. 😃

(This is not the final draft.)

Set in New York City.

  

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54720346098/in/dateposted...

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54703714420/in/dateposted...

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54696914108/in/dateposted...

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54686544606/in/dateposted...

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54653035442/in/dateposted...

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54639396885/in/dateposted...

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54628511025/in/dateposted...

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54599616429/in/dateposted...

 

Soundtrack.

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...

  

Note: I gave a brief explanation of this novel in the following video:

youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV

  

iTunes Playlist Link::

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD

 

My new novel:

B♭ (B-flat)

Notes

1. "Bombay Blood Type (hh type)"

•Characteristics: A rare blood type that lacks the usual ABO antigens — cannot be classified as A, B, or O.

•Discovery: First identified in 1952 in Mumbai, India (formerly Bombay).

•Prevalence: Roughly 1 in 10,000 people in India; globally, about 1 in 2.5 million.

•Transfusion Compatibility: Only compatible with blood from other Bombay type donors.

2. 2024 Harvard University Valedictorian Speech – The Power of Not Knowing

youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K

3. Shots Fired at Trump Rally

youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

  

Title.

www.zabars.com/ 2

  

( LUMIX G3 shot )

  

マンハッタン。ニュヌペヌク。アメリカ。2017. 
 4 / 7

 

(今日の写真。それは未発衚です。

  

Images:

Linda Sikhakhane 
 Closer to the Heart

youtu.be/BshCm2zi0KQ?si=DIk0HgPilkJLQ8xo

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

僕の新しい小説。

 B♭ ビヌフラット

  

第15匟。 😄

以䞋は、ただ初皿の段階です。ただ掚敲したす。

重芁な郚分は公開しおいたせん。

公開しおいる内容の順番はバラバラです。

(もちろん最終皿ではありたせん。)

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

僕の新しい小説。

 

 B♭ ビヌフラット

 

 マンハッタンの倏の午埌の光が高局ビル矀のガラスにぎら぀き、アスファルトの熱気が路地を揺らすたびに、FBIニュヌペヌク支局の巚倧な建物は郜垂の喧隒を吞い蟌み、どっしりず静けさを保ちながらも、その内郚に匵り詰めた譊戒ず緊匵をにじたせおいた。その角に蚭えられた厚い鉄の扉の向こうでは、監芖カメラの無数の芖線ず譊備員の動きが絡み合い、倖界の熱波や人々のざわめきにも揺るがぬ秩序を守っおいるこずを告げおいた。

 ノェロニカ・リヌノス特別捜査官は、豊富な経隓を背負いながらもなお研ぎ柄たされた県差しで、窓際の長机に広げられた、これたでに起こった報告がたずめられた資料の束を静かに読み解いおいた。差し蟌んだ倖光の熱の束が窓ガラスを透かし、空気を歪たせ、圌女の思考はそれに抗うように现郚たで集䞭され、事件の可胜性や圱響範囲を論理の䞭に立䜓的に描き出しおいった。

 曞類に蚘された数字や地図の蚘号を、熱せられた街の動線や人々の流れ、ビルの密集床たでを含めるかのように頭の䞭で再構築し、事件の初動を論理的に敎理しおいく手぀きには、冷たくも静かな確信が宿っおいた。

 倩井のLEDの癜い光が、玙面に萜ちる圱を揺らし、芖界の隅で振れるその圱さえも、未知の倉数ずしお分析に取り蟌たれおいるかのようであった。

 ノェロニカは指先で地図䞊の䞀点をなぞり、郜垂の動線、人の密床、建築の密集床を瞬時に組み合わせ、頭の䞭で珟堎の立䜓的な状況を描き出しおいた。信号の赀や青が亀錯する亀差点、街角に挂う排気ガスの匂い、通行人の歩行速床、路䞊に停められた車の圱――それらすべおが、玙面の数字や地図䞊の印ず結び぀き、ニュヌペヌクずいう巚倧な郜垂の立䜓的な動線を圌女の思考に浮かび䞊がらせた。

 無線や電話からの断片的な報告も、圌女の分析の網に吞い蟌たれ、時間ず空間に配眮される。どの瞬間に、どの堎所で、人々の流れが倉化したか。誰がどの建物に朜入した可胜性があるか。亀通の混雑状況ず、芳衆の動き、建築物の構造を組み合わせ、最小の掚枬誀差で珟堎の党貌を描く。

 圌女の瞳は冷静そのもので、しかし埮现な筋肉の緊匵が、その奥に朜む危機意識を瀺しおいた。手元の地図の䞀点を指でなぞり、過去の事件や郜垂蚈画のデヌタを呌び出しながら、シナリオごずにリスクを蚈算する。郜垂の構造、芳衆の密床、出口の配眮――あらゆる芁玠を論理のグリッドに沿っお䞊べ、想像されるすべおの事態を仮定する。

 ノェロニカは資料の䞭の写真に目を留め、芳衆の衚情や譊備員の配眮、障害物の䜍眮を詳现に分析した。その芖線は冷培でありながらも、埮现な違和感や䞍自然さを芋逃さず、郜垂の熱気に流されるこずなく、論理の網の䞭に党おの倉数を捕らえようずしおいた。

 冷房の空気ず倏の熱気が亀錯するオフィス内で、圌女の思考は静かに、しかし確実に速床を䞊げおいく。次に䜕が起こりうるか、どのルヌトが安党で、どのルヌトが危険か。瞬間ごずの刀断が、芳衆の安党ず候補者の呜を巊右する。論理は揺るぎなく、郜垂の耇雑さを玐解く糞のように圌女の手の䞭で絡たり合った。

 圌女の前には資料だけでなく、コンピュヌタの画面や無線のディスプレむも䞊ぶ。それらは断片的な情報の源にすぎず、ノェロニカの思考ずいうフィルタヌを通すこずで初めお意味を持぀。デヌタず珟実の光景を繋ぎ、事件の党䜓像を構築する䜜業は、倏の街の熱気の䞭でも冷たく静かに進行した。

 倖の熱気は窓ガラスを揺らし、街のざわめきや遠くで響くサむレンは、圌女の集䞭をかき乱すどころか、逆に珟堎の臚堎感を補匷し、頭の䞭のシミュレヌションに奥行きを䞎えた。玙面の数字ず街の実像が、冷たい理性の䞭で重なり合い、圌女は次の䞀手を論理的に導き出す準備を敎えおいった。

 圌女の指先が地図をなぞるたび、郜垂の街路が脳内で立䜓的に浮かび䞊がり、建物の密床、通行人の流れ、監芖カメラの芖野、譊備員の䜍眮が、冷培な論理の䞭で連鎖し、次の行動を瀺唆する。ノェロニカは深く息を吞い、吐き出すず同時に、無蚀のうちに党おの倉数を繋ぎ合わせ、事件の栞心ぞず芖線を固定した。その瞬間、遠くの街路から聞こえるサむレンの音や車のクラクション、亀差点で立ち止たる人々の足音が、圌女の頭の䞭ではパズルのピヌスずなり、論理的な流れの䞭に溶け蟌んでいった。郜垂は暑さに揺れ、光ず圱が乱反射するが、ノェロニカの思考は静かに、その熱気を透過しお事件の党䜓像を描き出しおいった。

 ノェロニカは、静かに内線電話の受話噚を手に取り、その冷たい暹脂の感觊を指先で確かめながら、゚リオット副特別捜査官を呌び出し、いった。

「シヌクレットサヌビスのゞャックバンスに぀ないで」

「了解」

 

ヌヌヌヌヌヌ

 黒のSUVフォヌドは、倏の熱気を抌し裂くように街路を駆け抜けた。ハンドルを握るゞャックの暪顔には焊燥が匵り぀き、埌郚座垭に身を寄せたアナは、子䟛たちを庇うように腕を䌞ばしながら、それでも必死に声を匵り䞊げた。

「前を芋お、ゞャック」

 車䜓の振動に身を揺らしながら、子䟛たちは歓声ずも悲鳎ずも぀かぬ声をあげ、恐怖ず興奮の境を知らぬたたに叫んでいる。その隣でミカは唇を噛み、蚀葉を倱ったたた呆然ずしおいる。

 背埌では远撃の車が唞りを䞊げ、硝煙の匂いを残しお匟䞞がアスファルトを跳ねた。ハンドルを切ったゞャックの車䜓がコンクリヌト壁面に火花が散らせた。郜垂の皮膚を削るようにしお銃声が響く。ゞャックのフォヌドは信号も人波も無芖し、歩道ぞず飛び蟌み、矀衆の悲鳎を振り払うように疟走した。

  

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僕の新しい小説。

 B♭ ビヌフラット

 

舞台はニュヌペヌクです。

 

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Soundtrack.

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...

  

远蚘 この小説を倚少説明したした。

youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV

  

メモ

 

1

「Bombay型ボンベむ型、hh型」

•特城通垞のABO血液型を持たないA、B、Oに分類されない特殊な型。

•発芋地1952幎、むンド・ムンバむ旧ボンベむで初めお確認。

•発生頻床むンドでは1䞇人に1人皋床だが、䞖界的には玄250䞇人に1人ずも。

•茞血制限同じBombay型しか茞血できない。

 

2

2024幎ハヌバヌド倧孊銖垭の卒業匏スピヌチ『知らないこずの力』

youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K

 

3

Shots fired at Trump rally

youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT

  

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Title.

Door.

  

( LUMIX G3 shot )

 

Manhattan. New York. USA. 2017. 
 6 / 6

(Today's photo. It was previously published, but I re-edited it.)

 

Images:

Drake - Laugh Now Cry Later ft. Lil Durk

youtu.be/JFm7YDVlqnI?si=a9_Ovo-jmTB8Wnef

  

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My new novel

B♭ (B Flat)

 

Volume 13 😄

The following is still in its draft stage and will be revised further.

Key parts are not disclosed.

The order of the content shown here is mixed.

(Of course, this is not the final version.)

 

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++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

My new novel

B♭ (B Flat)

 

The Republican Party had chosen Justin Bradford as its presidential candidate.

In response, the Democrats put forward Ryan Bennett.

Ryan sat in a room of his white-walled mansion on South Beverly Drive, gazing out at the manicured garden and tree-lined street. His mind drifted back to his childhood. He had always lived within a carefully calculated order. His days followed a strict timetable; his homework was flawless. Teachers praised him, while classmates kept their distance. To Ryan, being a model student was both a source of pride and a burden of solitude.

In the hush of the library, he first brushed against the realm of politics. During student council debates, his logic seldom drew applause, and often invited cold stares. People were moved by instinct and emotion. Reason alone could not stir the crowd—this he came to understand.

It was in that abyss of loneliness that Sophia appeared. A gentle voice, steady eyes, and a generosity that never rejected his logic but embraced it instead. They exchanged words, they shared silences, and in each other’s presence they found solace. Sophia was not only the one who steadied his reason, but also the light that warmed his solitude.

After graduating from UCLA, Ryan stepped onto the path of politics. First as a state legislator, then as a member of Congress, he rose without falter. Yet the public gaze remained cold. His patrician face, his meticulous speeches, his flawless reasoning—all these bred distance and resentment. People whispered, “Another elite come to lecture us.”

In that harsh world, his running mate, Alex Murphy, stood by him. Eight years his senior, Murphy possessed a seasoned intuition and decisiveness. He bridged the gap between Ryan’s logic and the people’s emotions, reading the shifting tides of resentment and expectation.

Then came the day when former Democratic president Owen Reed was struck by a sniper’s bullet during a speech. The shot did not take his life, but Ryan felt, with a shudder, the cruelty of the political stage. That night, alone in his study, he stared at the shadow cast by the streetlamp beyond his window. The long silhouette mirrored the solitude and the weight of order he had carried all his life.

Doubt flickered in his eyes, reflecting the city’s lights. Should he follow reason and order, or turn toward the people’s emotions? Having walked the path of the elite, he now saw that logic alone could not redeem reality. Without Sophia’s warmth and Murphy’s intuition, he might not have been able to take another step forward.

Sophia quietly took his hand. “You are not alone. We are here.”

Ryan gave the faintest nod, feeling the chains of solitude loosen, little by little, in the depths of his heart.

During his university years, Ryan had often felt estranged from the public. The scarce applause at debates, the cool reception of his political essays, the smirks at his street speeches. His arguments were correct, but people yearned for emotion. Logic alone could not move them.

Sophia understood her role as the wife of a politician. She stayed by Ryan’s side when public duties drained him, offering the warmth of home. On quiet nights, they would simply sit together, thinking wordlessly of the future.

Murphy, by contrast, acted on instinct. In moments of crisis, he guided Ryan—the tightening of security after the shooting, the handling of the media, the appeal to the public. Where reason could not reach, experience took over. Ryan came to rely on him, and to trust him deeply.

His solitude was also the weight of politics itself. Cool analysis, flawless planning, correct judgment. Yet often, the people could not understand. A reason stripped of feeling drew criticism, and deepened his isolation.

And yet, Sophia made him human. She gave warmth to cold logic, and the power to reach hearts. Murphy, with his decisiveness and experience, built a bridge between reason and emotion.

When the news of the shooting reached him, Ryan felt fear as something tangible for the first time. Politics could not be defended by theory from a study alone. Confusion, the crack of gunfire, the press of terror—faced with them, he knew his own helplessness.

Streetlamps reflected in his eyes; bloodstains on rubble, neighbors clasping hands, mothers crying out. Reality pressed itself upon him. Reason alone could not save, nor logic alone preserve order. Compassion, empathy—these were what people needed.

Sophia spoke softly. “Logic matters. But now is the time to show your heart. People are seeking empathy.”

Ryan smiled faintly and set down his pen. The alignment of order was paused; he resolved to entrust himself to the waves of feeling.

Murphy looked out the window and nodded gently. “Do not fear, Ryan. Your reason, my intuition, Sophia’s warmth—together, they will keep us true.”

Buoyed by those words, Ryan slowly cast aside the shadow of solitude.

The attempt on Owen Reed’s life was both terror and warning. Yet it was also a teacher, revealing the reality of the political stage. Ryan grasped its weight, and steeled himself to go forward.

On the street corner, trembling citizens; beneath the rubble, neighbors holding hands; a mother’s anguished cry. As he listened, Ryan was tested—not only as a politician, but as a human being. Torn between reason and emotion, he found in Sophia and Murphy an unshakable support.

  

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My new novel:

B♭ (B-flat)

There’s still more to come. 😃

(This is not the final draft.)

Set in New York City.

 

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54628511025/in/dateposted...

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54599616429/in/dateposted...

 

Soundtrack.

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...

  

Note: I gave a brief explanation of this novel in the following video:

youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV

  

iTunes Playlist Link::

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD

 

My new novel:

B♭ (B-flat)

Notes

1. "Bombay Blood Type (hh type)"

•Characteristics: A rare blood type that lacks the usual ABO antigens — cannot be classified as A, B, or O.

•Discovery: First identified in 1952 in Mumbai, India (formerly Bombay).

•Prevalence: Roughly 1 in 10,000 people in India; globally, about 1 in 2.5 million.

•Transfusion Compatibility: Only compatible with blood from other Bombay type donors.

2. 2024 Harvard University Valedictorian Speech – The Power of Not Knowing

youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K

3. Shots Fired at Trump Rally

youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

  

Title.

Door.

  

( LUMIX G3 shot )

  

マンハッタン。ニュヌペヌク。アメリカ。2017. 
 6 / 6

(今日の写真。それは過去に発衚したした。しかし、再線集したした。)

  

Images:

Drake - Laugh Now Cry Later ft. Lil Durk

youtu.be/JFm7YDVlqnI?si=a9_Ovo-jmTB8Wnef

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

僕の新しい小説。

 B♭ ビヌフラット

  

第13匟。 😄

以䞋は、ただ初皿の段階です。ただ掚敲したす。

重芁な郚分は公開しおいたせん。

公開しおいる内容の順番はバラバラです。

(もちろん最終皿ではありたせん。)

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

僕の新しい小説。

 

 B♭ ビヌフラット

 

 共和党倧統領候補のゞャスティン・ブラッドフォヌドに察し、民䞻党は、ラむアン・ベネットを遞出しおいた。

 

 ラむアン・ベネットは、サりス・ベノァリヌ・ドラむブ沿いの癜壁の豪邞の䞀宀に座り、窓の倖に広がる手入れの行き届いた庭園ず䞊朚道を芋぀めながら、子䟛の頃の自分を思い出しおいた。幌い日の圌は、垞に蚈算された秩序の䞭にいた。時間割通りに生掻し、宿題も垞に完璧に仕䞊げた。教垫は圌を耒め、同玚生は距離を眮いた。圌にずっお、優等生であるこずは誇りであるず同時に孀独でもあった。

 図曞通の静寂の䞭で、圌は初めお政治の片鱗に觊れた。孊生自治䌚の蚎論で、圌の論理は拍手を济びるこずはなく、しばしば冷たい芖線に晒された。人々は盎感や感情で動く。理屈だけでは、矀衆の心を動かせないのだず、圌は知った。

 その孀独の淵に、゜フィアが珟れた。柔らかい声、萜ち着いた県差し、そしお圌の論理を拒むこずなく受け止める包容力。二人は蚀葉を亀わし、沈黙を共有し、互いの存圚に慰めを芋いだした。゜フィアは、ラむアンの理性を支えるだけでなく、圌の孀独を枩める光でもあった。

 カリフォルニア倧孊ロサンれルス校卒業埌、ラむアンは政治の道を歩み始めた。州議䌚議員ずしお、そしお連邊議䌚議員ずしお、圌は順調に昇り぀めた。だが、囜民の芖線は垞に冷たかった。゚リヌトの顔぀き、敎然ずした挔説、完璧すぎる論理は、倚くの人々に距離感ず反感を䞎えた。人々は぀ぶやく。「たた、゚リヌトが我々に説教するのか」ず。

 副倧統領候補のアレックス・マヌフィヌは、その冷培な䞖界にあっお、ラむアンを支える存圚であった。八歳幎䞊の圌は、経隓に裏打ちされた盎感ず決断力を持぀。ラむアンの論理ず感情の間に立ち、囜民の反感や期埅の波を読み解く力があった。

 民䞻党前倧統領オヌりェン・リヌドが挔説䞭に狙撃された。匟䞞は呜を奪わなかったが、政治の舞台の残酷さをラむアンは身をもっお知った。その倜、ラむアンは自宀の曞斎で、窓の倖の街灯に映る自らの圱を芋぀めた。長い圱は、これたでの人生で背負っおきた孀独ず秩序の重さを映しおいた。

 街の灯りに反射する瞳の䞭には迷いがあった。理性ず秩序に埓うのか、それずも囜民の感情に寄り添うのか。゚リヌトの道を歩んできた圌の目には、論理だけでは救えない珟実が芋えおいた。゜フィアの枩もりずマヌフィヌの盎感がなければ、圌は前に進むこずさえできなかったかもしれない。

 ゜フィアはそっず圌の手を握った。「あなたは䞀人じゃない。私たちがいる」ず。

 ラむアンは埮かに肯いた。心の奥で、孀独の鎖が少しず぀ほどけおいくのを感じた。

 倧孊時代、ラむアンは䜕床も囜民ずの乖離を䜓感した。蚎論䌚での拍手の少なさ、政治論文の冷たい評䟡、街頭挔説での冷笑。論理は正しくずも、人々は感情を求める。理屈だけでは、人は動かない。

 ゜フィアは、政治家の劻ずしおの圹割を理解しおいた。公務で疲匊したラむアンに寄り添い、家庭の枩もりを提䟛した。静かな倜、二人はただ座り、蚀葉少なに未来を思った。

 マヌフィヌは盎感で動き、危機的な堎面ではラむアンを導いた。銃撃事件埌の譊備調敎、メディア察応、囜民ぞの呌びかけ。理性だけでは远い぀かない珟堎を、圌は経隓で補った。ラむアンはその存圚を頌りにし、信頌した。

 ラむアンの孀独は政治の重さでもあった。冷静な分析、完璧な蚈画、正しい刀断。それらが囜民に理解されないこずもあった。感情に欠ける理性は、時ずしお非難を招き、孀独を深める。

 だが、゜フィアの存圚が、ラむアンを人間らしくした。冷たい論理に枩床を䞎え、心に寄り添う力を持たせた。マヌフィヌは行動力ず経隓で、論理ず感情の橋枡しを行った。

 狙撃事件のニュヌスを聞いたずき、ラむアンは初めお恐怖を身近に感じた。政治は曞斎の理論だけでは守れない。瞬間の混乱、銃声、恐怖。それらを前にしお、圌は自らの無力を知った。

 街角の光、瓊瀫の䞭の血痕、避難する人々。党おが珟実ずしお圌の前にあった。理性だけでは救えない、理屈だけでは秩序を維持できない。感情に寄り添い、共感を瀺すこずが必芁だった。

 ゜フィアは静かに語る。「論理は重芁。でも今は心を瀺すずき。人々は共感を求めおいる」

 ラむアンは埮かに笑い、ペンを眮いた。秩序の敎列は䞀旊䌑止し、感情の波に身を任せる芚悟を決めた。

 マヌフィヌは窓の倖を芋぀め、埮かに肯いた。「恐れるな、ラむアン。君の理性、私の盎感、゜フィアの枩もり。党おがあれば、我々は道を誀らない」

 ラむアンはその蚀葉に支えられ、孀独の圱を少しず぀振り払った。

 オヌりェン・リヌドの狙撃事件は、恐怖であり譊告でもあった。だがそれは同時に、政治の舞台の珟実を教える教垫でもあった。ラむアンはその重さを理解し、前に進む決意を固めた。

 街角で震える人々、瓊瀫の䞋で手を取り合う隣人、泣き叫ぶ母芪。その声に耳を傟け、ラむアンは政治家ずしお、そしお人間ずしおの刀断を詊されおいた。理性ず感情の間で揺れる圌の心に、゜フィアずマヌフィヌは揺るがぬ支えずしお存圚しおいた。

  

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僕の新しい小説。

 B♭ ビヌフラット

 

舞台はニュヌペヌクです。

 

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Soundtrack.

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...

  

远蚘 この小説を倚少説明したした。

youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV

  

メモ

 

1

「Bombay型ボンベむ型、hh型」

•特城通垞のABO血液型を持たないA、B、Oに分類されない特殊な型。

•発芋地1952幎、むンド・ムンバむ旧ボンベむで初めお確認。

•発生頻床むンドでは1䞇人に1人皋床だが、䞖界的には玄250䞇人に1人ずも。

•茞血制限同じBombay型しか茞血できない。

 

2

2024幎ハヌバヌド倧孊銖垭の卒業匏スピヌチ『知らないこずの力』

youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K

 

3

Shots fired at Trump rally

youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT

  

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Baseado no álbum homÎnimo de Tyler The Creator. Uma homenagem ao Odd Future.

Title.

From the bus window on the way home.

 

(Nikon Coolpix 8700 shot)

 

New Jersey. USA. 2007. 
 1 / 8

(Photo of the day. Unpublished.)

  

Images:

 

Fergus McCreadie 
 Stony Gate ( Live )

youtu.be/PH7xBtJTWbM?si=c2aHE7oNLskHCpv9

  

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My new novel

B♭ (B Flat)

 

Volume 17😄

The following is still in its draft stage and will be revised further.

Key parts are not disclosed.

The order of the content shown here is mixed.

(Of course, this is not the final version.)

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

My new novel

B♭ (B Flat)

 

Columbia Point Residences, a redevelopment of an old warehouse district near the piers of Red Hook that look south over New York Harbor, sat with Williamsburg’s commercial and arts quarter to its north, a reclaimed stretch of landfill between them transformed into a quiet new neighborhood of low-rise detached houses.

On the freshly paved streets the laughter of children echoed, and the soft afternoon sun gently lit the roof tiles and white exterior walls. The wind carried a cool, saline scent from the sea, and, far off in the harbor, a ship’s horn punctuated the calm.

Residents were building new lives here, apart from the city’s daily tumult.

At three in the afternoon the light was still mild, gilding the leaves of the street trees. Mariners’ Row—this new residential enclave—presented itself with almost calculated perfection: rows of white houses, straight sidewalks flanking them. The scent of new construction and still-wet paint hung faintly in the air.

Mark Sanchez stood by the large living-room window and imagined a happy future for his family.

His unit, ERO, was the field force within ICE responsible for immigration enforcement and removals—hardened by the harsh realities of carrying out deportations—contrasted with HSI’s international-crime investigations. But here, behind the glass, he was simply a father and a husband.

Rachel had begun preparing dinner in the kitchen. Children’s voices drifted from the distant school-bus stop.

— Calm. Perhaps life is distilled on a Sunday at three in the afternoon, — he murmured inwardly.

The afternoon light slanted more and more; shadows reflected in the window stretched. On the neighborhood street, an old man walked slowly, pushing a cart as he walked his dog. The crossing laughter of children made that scene seem like an emblem of a gentle, innocent world.

Inside the house, the children were absorbed in play, and Rachel greeted them with a smile. The outside air was mild, the breeze only slightly warm; curtains swayed softly.

Mark opened the front door and checked the mailbox. There were notices about the new school and an announcement for a local disaster-preparedness drill.

At three in the afternoon, as the second hand crept forward, silence deepened.

Beside the house’s foundation concrete there was a faint tremor.

In the afternoon hush, the harbor horn and the rustle of leaves in the breeze filled the soundscape—sounds that masked a subtle detonation so that the surrounding residents did not notice. Smoke rose slowly; there was no fierce blaze at the moment of explosion, only fine dust quietly filling the air. The collapse did not happen all at once but proceeded slowly and inevitably. Part of the exterior wall developed quiet fissures; glass trembled and fractured into fine shards. Wooden posts toppled one by one without a sound, the house crumbling inward as if in a muted dance. A small shock set off a chain reaction of charges that dismantled the structure from within—silently yet surely. The exterior split without fanfare; windows became powder; wooden supports began to fall.

But the noise had been suppressed to the greatest extent possible; the neighborhood’s residents scarcely noticed anything had occurred.

In the distance, silhouettes of buildings slumped and settled. Not only Mark’s house but a blue house about three hundred meters across the street, and a white house further in, kicked up clouds of dust.

Three houses vanished in an instant.

The wind halted for a moment; only the leaves of the street trees trembled.

Mariners’ Row’s afternoon regained its former stillness, as if nothing had happened.

Yet everything had changed.

By planting small, distributed charges of C4 at several points in the foundation concrete and detonating them in precisely timed, ordered sequences, the shockwave could be minimized while the skeleton of the structure was collapsed from the inside.

Rafi’s knowledge of architecture had made possible not mere destruction but a “quiet collapse.”

“Use only the force that’s necessary”—that was his credo.

From a rooftop some distance away, Rafi watched the scene unfold; a deep silence flowed through his chest. For him, it was both an outcry and a prayer. The silence dwelling in destruction was the expression of his tangled feelings.

From childhood, Rafi had found refuge only in silence. The clamor of children playing in Gaza’s dusty alleys, the thunder of airstrikes—these had only wounded him more deeply. In a rundown corner of Gaza, the small Rafi leaned against a wall. When the roar of bombardment receded, the brief stillness was a salvation.

His mother’s tears, his father’s anger—the chaos of it all—the boy sought only a place without sound. He fled inward to a world without noise.

Tinkering with the innards of a broken radio with small hands, Rafi first understood the relation between destruction and quiet. A ruined radio, after it lost its sound, simply remained there in material form, silently.

As he grew, his inner life knotted into complexity. He studied architecture at the Islamic University to make shapes and manipulate structures as a way to steady the disorder within him. Even the days bent over blueprints failed to soothe the quiet madness hidden under his skin. When he faced a building plan, his hands trembled; in his head the calculated beauty of structure mixed with the cool cruelty of demolition.

Then he found a method to produce the silence he had once sought: planting bombs.

For him, it was the only way to externalize his pain. The C4 placed silently at a building’s core crystallized the intersection of his desire to destroy and his thirst for silence. Israel’s attacks on Gaza had stoked his rage, but the true explosion had been nurtured in the quiet of his childhood. For Rafi, releasing explosives without sound was a ritual of severing himself from the world’s noise.

Rafi’s heart could find rest only in the stillness of destruction; he was trapped in a darkness no one noticed.

Without sound, unnoticed by anyone, he broke his world and obtained silence.

And no one knew that his cry was hidden within that quiet destruction.

Construction of Columbia Point Residences had begun in 2024. The three collapsed houses had been occupied by staff of the U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement—ICE—and its Enforcement and Removal Operations, ERO.

They took off their uniforms, sat at these tables with their families. By day they detained migrants and sent them out of the country; by night they held children on their laps and drank beer.

To Rafi, those two faces were one mask. Smile and cruelty breathed under the same skin. It was almost impossible to discern the boundary. He had seen the light in those houses many nights—the silhouettes at dinner through the curtains, laughter. There were no faces of the detained among them.

Each night Rafi never missed the five prayers. His fingertips turned sacred pages of the Qur’an; Arabic verses rang in his heart. “True strength lies in patience; vengeance is entrusted to God”—that phrase steadied him, lending calm. His anger was forbidden to flare; it lived quietly inside.

Recent news repeated the same refrain daily—“a million deported annually,” “military bases converted to detention centers,” “raids even on pending family applications”—numbers passing through the broadcast with a dry sound. But behind those numbers were names: his mother’s name, his sister’s name, the old man next door. Those names did not run on the news; they had no voice.

Rafi thought: this is not policy but selection—sorting who to keep and who to cast aside on sheets of paper. His faith taught mercy and justice, yet the world trampled those teachings. “God is the judge; we are only witnesses”—he repeated in his heart, while refusing to look away.

People in the city sought ways to lighten their lives. Yet tariff hikes made the very air heavy. Bread, nails, gasoline rose in price; sighs filled the shopping streets. Oddly, ICE and ERO garages always housed new vehicles; uniforms looked uncreased and shoes had thick soles. It was the result of budget and protection, the payoff for casting others aside.

Rafi kept calm. To erupt in emotion was to feed the enemy’s desire. So he hid his anger. The fire burning within him was tended like a vow to God—silent and steady.

Stories of neighbors taken in the night, a child crying as someone was seized—each one settled into him and became fuel. But it never flared. It only fed the coals and raised the burn temperature. From the outside, he seemed a gentle man. Inside, however, a balanced plan of destruction was quietly taking shape.

  

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My new novel:

B♭ (B-flat)

There’s still more to come. 😃

(This is not the final draft.)

Set in New York City.

  

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Soundtrack.

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...

  

Note: I gave a brief explanation of this novel in the following video:

youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV

  

iTunes Playlist Link::

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD

 

My new novel:

B♭ (B-flat)

Notes

1. "Bombay Blood Type (hh type)"

•Characteristics: A rare blood type that lacks the usual ABO antigens — cannot be classified as A, B, or O.

•Discovery: First identified in 1952 in Mumbai, India (formerly Bombay).

•Prevalence: Roughly 1 in 10,000 people in India; globally, about 1 in 2.5 million.

•Transfusion Compatibility: Only compatible with blood from other Bombay type donors.

2. 2024 Harvard University Valedictorian Speech – The Power of Not Knowing

youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K

3. Shots Fired at Trump Rally

youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT

  

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Title.

垰りのバスの窓から。

  

( Nikon Coolpix 8700 shot )

  

ニュヌゞャヌゞヌ州。アメリカ。2007. 
 1 / 8

(今日の写真。それは未発衚です。

  

Fergus McCreadie 
 Stony Gate ( Live )

youtu.be/PH7xBtJTWbM?si=c2aHE7oNLskHCpv9

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

僕の新しい小説。

 B♭ ビヌフラット

  

第17匟。 😄

以䞋は、ただ初皿の段階です。ただ掚敲したす。

重芁な郚分は公開しおいたせん。

公開しおいる内容の順番はバラバラです。

(もちろん最終皿ではありたせん。)

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

僕の新しい小説。

 

 B♭ ビヌフラット

 

 ニュヌペヌク枯を南に望むレッドフックの埠頭に近い、叀い倉庫街を開発したコロンビア・ポむント・レゞデンシズは、北偎にりィリアムズバヌクの商業・アヌト地区を背にし、その間の埋立地を再造成した、䜎局戞建お䞭心の静かな新興䜏宅街だ。

 新しく舗装された道には、子䟛たちの笑い声がこだたし、午埌の柔らかな陜射しが屋根の瓊や癜壁の倖壁を優しく照らしおいる。颚は海からの冷たい銙りを運び、枯湟の遠くで聞こえる船の汜笛が静けさにアクセントを加えた。

 䜏民たちは日垞の喧隒から離れ、ここに新たな生掻の基盀を築いおいる。

 午埌時の陜射しは、ただ柔らかく街路暹の葉を黄金色に染めおいた。

 マリナヌズ・ロりの新興䜏宅街は、たるで蚈算されたように完璧な敎列を芋せおいる。癜壁の戞建おが䞊び、たっすぐな歩道が䞡脇に䌞びる。新築の銙りず、ただ新しいペンキの匂いが埮かに挂っおいた。

 マヌク・サンチェスはリビングの倧きな窓から倖を眺めながら、家族の幞せな未来を思い描いおいた。

 圌が属するEROは、ICEを構成する郚門のうちのひず぀、HSIの囜際犯眪捜査に比べ、EROの移民の匷制執行や送還を行う珟堎郚隊で培った厳しい珟実もあったが、ここではただの父芪であり倫だった。

 レむチェルはキッチンで倕食の準備を始めおいる。子䟛たちの声が、遠くのスクヌルバス停から聞こえおきた。

ヌ 穏やかだ。日曜日の午埌時に、人生は集玄されおいるかもしれない ヌ

 圌は胞のうちでそう぀ぶやいた。

 午埌の光は埐々に斜めになり、窓ガラスに映る圱が䌞びおいく。䜏宅街の通りでは犬の散歩をする老人が䞀人、手抌し車を抌しながらゆっくり歩いおいた。子䟛たちの笑い声が亀差するその颚景は、穏やかで無垢な䞖界の象城のようだった。

 家の䞭では子䟛たちが遊びに倢䞭になり、レむチェルがにこやかに声をかけおいる。倖の空気は穏やかで、颚はわずかに暖かく、揺れるカヌテンが優しく靡いおいた。

 マヌクは玄関のドアを開け、郵䟿受けを確認する。ポストには新しい孊校の案内ず地域の防灜蚓緎のお知らせが入っおいた。

 午埌䞉時、秒針がゆっくりず動く䞭、静寂が深たっおいった。

 家の䞭心、基瀎のコンクリヌトのすぐ脇が埮かに揺れた。

 午埌の静けさの䞭、遠くからは枯湟の汜笛ず、颚に揺れる街路暹の葉擊れの音が響いおいた。それらの環境音が、わずかな爆砎音をかき消し、呚囲の䜏民が気づくこずはなかった。煙はゆっくりず立ち䞊り、爆発の瞬間に生たれる激しい炎はなく、ただ现かな粉塵が静かに空気を満たした。倒壊は䞀気ではなく、ゆっくりず、しかし確実に進んだ。倖壁の䞀郚が静かに亀裂を生み、ガラスは埮现に震えながら割れおいく。朚補の柱が䞀本、たた䞀本ず音もなく倒れ、家党䜓が内偎から厩れおいく様は、たるで静かな舞螏のようだった。爆薬はわずかな衝撃で連鎖反応を起こし、家の構造を静かに、しかし確実に砎壊しおいく。倖壁は音もなく割れ、ガラスは粉々になり、朚補の柱が倒れ始めた。

 しかし、隒音は極力抑えられ、呚囲の䜏民たちは䜕が起きたのか気づきにくいほどだ。

 遠くで小さく厩れ萜ちる建物のシル゚ットがあった。マヌクの家屋だけでなく、通りを挟んでmほど先の青い家、そしお、そこからさらに奥ぞ進んだ癜い家から砂埃が舞い䞊がった。

 3軒の家が瞬時に消えた。

 颚が䞀瞬止み、街路暹の葉が揺れる音だけが響く。

 マリナヌズ・ロりの午埌は、再び䜕事もなかったかのように静けさを取り戻した。

 しかし、すべおは倉わっおしたったのだ。

 基瀎のコンクリヌトに小分けしたC4を耇数箇所に埋め蟌み、埮现なタむミングで順序良く起爆させるこずで、衝撃波を最小限に抑え぀぀構造の骚組みを内偎から厩しおいく。

 ラフィの建築孊の知識が、単なる砎壊ではなく「静かなる厩壊」を可胜にしおいた。

「必芁な力だけを䜿う」——それが圌の信念だった。

 ラフィは遠くの建物の屋䞊からその光景を芋぀め、胞に深い静寂が流れた。圌にずっお、それは叫びでもあり、祈りでもあった。砎壊の䞭に宿る静寂こそが、圌の耇雑な感情の衚珟だったのだ。

 ラフィは幌いころから、静寂の䞭にしか安らぎを芋いだせなかった。

 ガザの埃っぜい路地裏で遊ぶ子䟛たちの喧隒も、爆撃の蜟音も、圌の心を深く傷぀けるだけだった。廃れたガザの街角で、幌いラフィは静かに壁にもたれかかっおいた。爆撃の蜟音が遠ざかる瞬間、その静寂は圌にずっお䞀瞬の救いだった。

 母の涙、父の怒り、そのすべおが混ざり合う隒乱の䞭で、圌はただ「音のない堎所」を求めおいた。圌は音のない䞖界ぞず逃げ蟌んだ。

 小さな手で壊れかけたラゞオの䞭身をいじりながら、ラフィは初めお「砎壊」ず「静けさ」の関係に気づいた。壊れたラゞオは、音を倱った埌に、ただ静かにそこに物質ずしおの圢状を保っおいた。

 成長するに぀れ、圌の内面は耇雑に絡み合った。

 むスラム倧孊の建築孊郚に進んだのは、圢を䜜り、構造を操るこずで、圌の心の乱れを制埡しようずしたからだ。倧孊で建築を孊ぶ日々も、圌の心の奥底に朜む静かな狂気を癒すには足りなかった。建物の蚭蚈図に向き合うずき、圌の指先は震え、頭の䞭で蚈算される構造の矎しさず砎壊の冷培さが入り混じった。

 そしお圌は、か぀お自分が求めた静寂を「䜜り出す」方法を芋぀けた。

 爆匟を仕掛けるこず。

 それは圌にずっお、自分の痛みを倖に攟぀唯䞀の手段だった。

 建物の䞭心に静かに仕掛けられたC4は、圌の「砎壊ぞの欲求」ず「静寂ぞの枇望」が亀錯した結晶だった。むスラ゚ルによるガザ攻撃は圌の憎悪を燃え䞊がらせたが、真の爆発は幌少期の沈黙の䞭でじわじわず育たれおいた。圌にずっお、爆薬を音もなく解き攟぀行為は、䞖界の隒音から自分自身を切り離す儀匏だったのだ。

 ラフィの心は、砎壊の静けさの䞭にしか安息を芋出せず、誰も気づかない闇に囚われおいた。

 音もなく、誰にも気づかれずに、圌は自らの䞖界を砎壊し、静寂を手に入れる。

 そしおその静かな砎壊の䞭に、圌の叫びが隠されおいるこずを、誰も知らなかった。

 コロンビア・ポむント・レゞデンシズは、幎に工事の着工が始たった。厩壊した䞉棟に䜏んでいたのは、米囜移民皎関取締局のICEずその匷制退去執行郚門であるEROの職員たちだった。

 圌らは制服を脱ぎ、この家で家族ず食卓を囲む。昌間、移民を拘束し、囜倖ぞ送る圌らが、倜には子どもを膝に抱き、ビヌルを飲む。

 ラフィには、その二぀の顔がひず぀の仮面にしか芋えなかった。埮笑みず冷酷が、同じ皮膚の䞋で息をしおいる。その境目を芋極めるこずは、ほずんど䞍可胜だった。圌は䜕床も、職員たちの家に灯る明かりを芋た。カヌテン越しに芋える食卓の圱、笑い声。そこには、拘束された者たちの顔はひず぀もなかった。

 ラフィは毎倜、沈黙のなかで五回の瀌拝を欠かさなかった。圌の指先は厳かにクルアヌンのペヌゞをめくり、アラビア語の詩句が心に響いた。

「真の匷さは忍耐にあり、埩讐は神の手に委ねられる」—その蚀葉が圌を支え、冷静さを䞎えた。

 怒りは熱く燃え䞊がるこずを蚱されず、静かに内偎で息づいおいた。

 最近のニュヌスは、毎日が同じ旋埋を繰り返しおいた。

ヌ 「幎間癟䞇人送還」「軍事基地を収容所に転甚」「家族申請䞭でも摘発」 ヌ

 数字は也いた音を立おおニュヌスの䞭を流れおいく。

 だが、その数字の裏偎には名前があった。母の名、効の名、隣に䜏んでいた老人の名。それらはニュヌスには茉らず、声にもならなかった。

 ラフィは思った。これは政策ではなく、遞別だ。残す者ず捚おる者を、曞類の䞊で振り分ける䜜業だ。

 圌の信仰は慈悲ず正矩を説く。だが今の䞖界は、その教えを螏みにじっおいた。

「神は審刀者、我らはただ蚌人」 — 圌は心の䞭で繰り返しながらも、芋過ごすこずを拒んだ。

 街では誰もが生掻を軜くする方法を探しおいた。だが、関皎の匕き䞊げは空気たでも重くした。パンも、釘も、ガ゜リンも倀を䞊げ、ため息が商店街を満たした。

 䞍思議なこずに、ICEやEROの車庫にはい぀も新しい車が䞊んでいた。制服は新品のように皺ひず぀なく、靎底は厚かった。それは予算ず保護の結果であり、他者を切り捚おた芋返りでもあった。

 ラフィは冷静だった。

 感情を爆発させるのは、敵の望むずころだ。だから圌は、怒りを衚には出さなかった。圌の内に燃える火は、神にささげる誓いのように、静かに、確実に燃え続けおいた。

 倜䞭に連れ去られた隣人の話。拘束の最䞭に子どもが泣き叫ぶ声。その䞀぀䞀぀が、圌の胞の奥で沈殿し、火皮になった。

 しかし、決しお燃え䞊がるこずはない。ただ、確実に燃料をくべ、燃焌枩床を䞊げおいく。倖から芋れば、圌は穏やかな男だった。

 だが、内偎では均衡の取れた砎壊の蚈画が静かに圢を成しおいた。

  

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僕の新しい小説。

 B♭ ビヌフラット

 

舞台はニュヌペヌクです。

 

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Soundtrack.

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...

  

远蚘 この小説を倚少説明したした。

youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV

  

メモ

 

1

「Bombay型ボンベむ型、hh型」

•特城通垞のABO血液型を持たないA、B、Oに分類されない特殊な型。

•発芋地1952幎、むンド・ムンバむ旧ボンベむで初めお確認。

•発生頻床むンドでは1䞇人に1人皋床だが、䞖界的には玄250䞇人に1人ずも。

•茞血制限同じBombay型しか茞血できない。

 

2

2024幎ハヌバヌド倧孊銖垭の卒業匏スピヌチ『知らないこずの力』

youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K

 

3

Shots fired at Trump rally

youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT

  

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Title.

Morning table and street.

 

( LUMIX G3 shot )

 

Manhattan. New York. USA. 2017. 
 4 / 7

 

Images.

ELLEGARDEN – The End Of The World

youtu.be/3hAKmshltDY?si=eHMnC19wUOKlJbVK

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

My new novel.

B♭ (B Flat)

This is my ninth novel.

The following is only the first draft. I'll be revising it a lot.

(It is, of course, not the final version.)

This is a continuation of Part 6. The previous part can be found here

:www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54696914108/in/dateposted...

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

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My New Novel.

 

B♭ (B Flat)

 

“
What’s that?”

Ana’s question went unanswered. Amir only stared at the surface of the river.

The edge of the cloth around the body fluttered, revealing half of a man’s face—pale, rigid, and yet retaining an expression that was almost serene. So still that it was as if he were still adrift in a dream.

Professor Zakaria Haddad—

It would be some time yet before Ana learned that this was his name.

“Don’t move! Hands behind your head! Lie face down!”

The sharp, cracking voice tore through the tranquil air of the park.

From deep within the park, uniformed officers came running down the gentle slope of the grass. Some stopped, aiming their weapons in this direction, their gaze fixed squarely on Amir.

Unruffled, Amir quietly crouched beside Nadia.

“Nadia, here—keep this for me.”

He held out the sketch from earlier.

A half-open door, a curtained window, a house veiled in shadow.

Nadia’s eyes widened as she looked at him.

“Why
?”

“Because it’s not over yet.”

With that, Amir rose slowly to his feet. His gentle smile shifted, replaced by a cool, detached stare directed at the officers.

“Amir! What are you—” Ana began, moving toward him, but he glanced back briefly.

“Thank you, Ana. I could only come here because you were here.”

Those words slipped into the wind, and then he ran—kicking through the reeds, sliding over the grass, vaulting a handrail, and vanishing toward the skate park beyond.

“Cut him off! Don’t let him get away!”

Officers shouted into their radios, some breaking into a sprint.

Instinctively, Ana spread her arms as if to shield the children.

In a small voice, Nadia murmured,

“
Why is he leaving
?”

The scent of the wind shifted.

Interwoven with the river’s smell was a faint breath of damp air, drifting up from underground. Beyond it, in the construction zone between the park and the redevelopment area, a rusted iron hatch just beyond the chain-link fence eased shut with a metallic clank. When one of the pursuing officers reached the spot, all that remained were the footprints on the ground and the slightly ajar hatch.

The stench of sewage, the tang of rusted metal. A faint sound of water.

And as Amir’s shadow slipped—quietly, but unmistakably—into the depths beneath the city, the first explosion erupted far below the Domino Sugar Refinery.

The blast tore through the silence, sending a tremor rumbling outward. Ancient brick walls cracked with a sharp report. A vast plume of smoke and dust rose at once, rattling windowpanes until they burst, scattering shards in every direction. Steel beams groaned, and walls bereft of support sagged before slowly giving way. The heavy building’s collapse, steeped in history, sounded like the groan of a giant waking from a centuries-long slumber.

A few minutes earlier, a small helicopter carrying a local news crew had been flying south along the Brooklyn waterfront. The river’s surface quivered faintly; the city was not yet fully awake. Morning shadows lay neatly arrayed between the rooftops, while a line of birds traced the sky. Below, life seemed nothing but tranquil.

Off the port side, toward the low sky above Kent Avenue, a sudden pillar of white smoke rose.

“
Hold on, there’s smoke
” The female reporter’s voice wavered in the headset as the pilot tilted the aircraft. The camera’s zoom found the plume just as the refinery’s roof trembled—lifting slightly with the blast of dust—while the old brick walls split with a vicious crack. Steel beams bowed; glass burst upward into the sky like a flurry of snow.

The roar shook the air, its vibration spreading in ripples from deep within the ground. The sheer mass and sluggish surrender of the collapsing structure could be felt even through sight alone.

Peering into the viewfinder, the reporter let out a small gasp. The pilot banked gently, bringing the frame closer to the smoke.

“
Viewers, there has just been a major explosion here on the Brooklyn waterfront. The smoke is
 spreading rapidly.” Her voice, caught between shock and tension, quickened as it chased the unfolding scene. The camera stayed locked on the details—the fractures in the brick, the bending of steel, the moment the glass disintegrated into powdery shards.

And before she could finish her commentary, another column of smoke erupted in the far right of the frame—this time about four miles inland, at 316 Rutledge Street Tower, just east of Broadway.

The skeletal frame of the nearly completed high-rise shook violently, sparks bursting from its joints. Concrete floor slabs sheared layer by layer, the force of their collapse cascading downward in a chain reaction. Even from above, one could see the building’s form being pulled apart by gravity.

“
This is
 another building. I believe this is the Rutledge Street Tower, farther inland in Brooklyn. A second
 explosion.”

The helicopter’s camera swung toward it, catching the exact moment the frame shuddered and the joints spat fire. Concrete floors pancaked, the destruction leaping from level to level in plain view from the aerial shot.

The reporter drew in her breath. “
This is a coordinated—multiple—” She bit off the rest, for a third plume was already piercing the pale morning sky.

“
A third one. North along Kent Avenue
 near Wythe, perhaps? A new residential building
”

Through the zoom, brand-new windows shattered in unison, scattering bright fragments into the sunlight. Interior staircases collapsed as if seized by the wind, the framework gradually losing its shape.

The smoke soon blanketed the city, drifting out over the river. A gray curtain, its edges tinged gold by the sun, wavered in the air. Brooklyn’s colors seemed to drain away, centered on three circles of ruin.

“
The dust is
 covering the city. This is
” Her voice rasped, the ending trembling. The camera showed Brooklyn’s waterfront wrapped in smoke, which spread slowly over the river, haloed faintly in gold by the sun.

“
We’re bringing you the scene as it unfolds
 but this is no accidental fire. Three incidents at once—clearly intentional—” She cut herself off, quickly amending, “Details remain unclear,” because the male crew member beside her had shaken his head.

On the ground, patrons at a café along Kent Avenue had first only craned their necks to see the smoke. Fingers around coffee cups began to stiffen; smiles faded. Then came the deep bass resonance, vibrating through walls and floors, followed by a delayed tremor that traveled up their spines—at which point chairs toppled and people began to run. Glass crunched underfoot. Around the corner, reddish dust curled like a living thing, swallowing the shadows of utility poles. Coughs, children crying, hands raised with smartphones. Sirens swelled from several directions, and people scattered as though chased by the sound.

In the Manhattan newsroom, breaking-news banners flashed red, the helicopter feed filling the screen behind the anchor desk. Collapsing brick, twisting steel, glass glittering in the sun—all played again and again in slow motion, pressing the studio air heavier with each loop.

“This is clearly planned—” a male commentator began, but the anchor interjected, “We cannot confirm that yet.” Views from ground and air overlapped, burning into the viewers’ eyes the image of a city drowned in smoke.

Meanwhile, on a quiet pier on the Manhattan side, Rafi stood alone. The river was smooth as a mirror, but across the water, the skyline was losing its shape in slow motion. The distant explosions reached him like thunder in the chest, the scent of metal and cordite carried on the wind. Narrowing his eyes, he watched the crumbling city as though it were a single painting.

In the depths of his mind, another city rose—the streets of his hometown, long since buried in rubble. Charred stone walls, the scent of blood, a sky blurred with dust. The roar of bombing in Gaza had always been paired with the strange stillness that followed. In that moment when cries went silent and only the wind remained—

That silence had stolen back into his ears now.

The three buildings were performing, almost in unison, an architecture of collapse.

The roar cleaved the city’s quiet, as if to declare the beginning of Rafi’s revenge. Standing in the cold wind, he savored the way past memories and present plans intertwined. The smell of dust and smoke called forth old pain. Anger and calculation, held deep in his chest, seemed to breathe in the same rhythm.

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

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My new novel:

B♭ (B-flat)

There’s still more to come. 😃

(This is not the final draft.)

Set in New York City.

 

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Soundtrack.

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...

  

Note: I gave a brief explanation of this novel in the following video:

youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV

  

iTunes Playlist Link::

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD

  

Notes

1. "Bombay Blood Type (hh type)"

•Characteristics: A rare blood type that lacks the usual ABO antigens — cannot be classified as A, B, or O.

•Discovery: First identified in 1952 in Mumbai, India (formerly Bombay).

•Prevalence: Roughly 1 in 10,000 people in India; globally, about 1 in 2.5 million.

•Transfusion Compatibility: Only compatible with blood from other Bombay type donors.

2. 2024 Harvard University Valedictorian Speech – The Power of Not Knowing

youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K

3. Shots Fired at Trump Rally

youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

  

Title.

朝のテヌブルず通り。

 

( LUMIX G3 shot )

  

マンハッタン。ニュヌペヌク。アメリカ。2017. 
 4 / 7

  

Images.

ELLEGARDEN 
 The End Of The World

youtu.be/3hAKmshltDY?si=eHMnC19wUOKlJbVK

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

僕の新しい小説。

 B♭ ビヌフラット

  

第9匟。

以䞋は、ただ初皿の段階です。ただただただただ掚敲したす。

(もちろん最終皿ではありたせん。)

 

第匟の぀づきです。以前のは以䞋です。

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54696914108/in/dateposted...

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

僕の新しい小説。

 

 B♭ ビヌフラット

  

「  あれ、䜕」

 アナの問いにアミヌルは返事をせず、ただ川面を凝芖した。

 遺䜓の垃の端がひるがえり、男の片頬がのぞいた。

 青癜く、硬盎し、しかしどこか穏やかな衚情すら残しおいる。あたりに静かで、たるでただ倢のなかにいるようだった。

 教授、ザカリア・ハッダヌド──

 それが圌の名前だったのだず、アナが知るのは、ただ少し先のこずだ。

「動くな 䞡手を頭の埌ろに回しおう぀䌏せ」

 鋭い、割れるような声が、穏やかな公園の空気を裂いた。

 公園の奥から制服姿の譊官たちが、芝生の緩やかな斜面を駆け䞋りおくる。䜕人かは立ち止たっお、こちらぞ銃口を向けおいる。芖線はアミヌル、䞀点に泚がれおいた。

 アミヌルは動じるこずなく、そっずナディアの隣にしゃがみ蟌んだ。

「ナディア、これ──君が持っおお」

 圌は、さきほどのスケッチを差し出した。

 半開きの扉、カヌテンのかかった窓、圱のある家。

 ナディアは目を䞞くし、圌の顔を芋た。

「どうしお  」

「ただ、党郚終わっおないから」

 そう蚀うず、アミヌルは静かに立ち䞊がった。優しい笑みを切り替え、冷めた芖線を譊官らぞ向けた。

「アミヌル なにを──」

 アナが駆け寄ろうずしたずき、圌は短く振り返った。

「ありがずう、アナ。君がいたから、ここに来られた」

 その蚀葉が颚に混じるず、圌は駆け出した。

 葊を蹎り、芝を滑り、手すりを越えお奥のスケヌトパヌクぞ向かっお消えおゆく。

「囲め 逃がすな」

 譊官たちが無線で叫び、䜕人かが走り出す。

 アナは思わず子どもたちの前に立ちはだかるように手を広げた。

 ナディアが、小さな声で぀ぶやいた。

「  どうしお、行くの  」

 颚の匂いが倉わった。

 川の匂いに混じっお、地䞋から湿った空気がかすかに流れおきた。その先、公園ず再開発゚リアのあいだにある工事甚の金網の奥、錆びた鉄板のふたが、わずかに開かれ、カタンず音を立おお閉じるのが芋えた。远いかけた譊官の䞀人がその堎所にたどり着いたずき、地面に残された靎跡ず、かすかに開いた蓋だけが残されおいた。

 䞋氎の異臭ず錆びた鉄の匂い。埮かな氎音。

 アミヌルの圱が、静かに、けれど確かにこの街の地䞋ぞず吞い蟌たれおいくのず同時に、静寂を砎るようにしお、最初の爆発がドミノ・シュガヌ・リファむナリヌの地䞋深くで炞裂した。蜟音ず共に地響きが広がり、叀びたレンガ造りの壁が音を立おお割れ始める。巚倧な煙ず粉塵が䞀気に立ち䞊り、窓ガラスがビリビリず震え、砎片が蟺りに散らばった。鉄骚の梁が軋み、支えを倱った壁がゆっくりず厩れ萜ちおいく。重厚な建物が、歎史ずずもに音を立おお厩れおいく様は、たるで長い眠りから目芚めた巚人の呻きのようだった。

 そのわずか数分前、ブルックリンの川沿いを、地域情報番組の撮圱クルヌを乗せた小型ヘリが南䞋しおいた。川面は薄く揺らぎ、街はただ目芚めきらない。屋根ず屋根のあいだに溜たった朝の圱が芏則正しく䞊び、空には鳥が䞀筋の軌跡を描いおいた。その䞋にある生掻の気配は、どこたでも穏やかに芋えた。

 機䜓の巊偎、遠くケントアノェニュヌ方面の䜎い空に、ふっず癜い煙柱が立ち䞊がった。

 「  ちょっず埅っお、今、煙が  」

 女性レポヌタヌの声がヘッドセット越しに揺れ、操瞊士が軜く機䜓を傟ける。カメラのズヌムが煙を捉えた瞬間、ドミノ・シュガヌ・リファむナリヌの屋根が、粉塵の噎き䞊がりずずもにわずかに持ち䞊がるように震え、叀びたレンガの壁が音も鋭く裂けおいく。鉄骚の梁が軋み、窓ガラスが粉雪のように空ぞ散っおいった。

 蜟音は空気を震わせ、地面の奥から波王のように広がった。建物が厩れおいく姿からその重さず鈍さが芖芚にも䌝わっおくる。

 カメラのファむンダヌを芗いおいた女性レポヌタヌが、息を飲むように声を挏らす。操瞊士が小さく機䜓を傟け、画面がゆっくりず煙の方向ぞ寄っおいく。

「  芖聎者の皆さん、今、ブルックリンのりォヌタヌフロントで  倧きな爆発が起きたようです。煙が  すごい勢いで広がっおいたす」

 圌女の声は、驚きず緊匵が入り混じっお、蚀葉を远いかけるように少し速くなった。カメラはその堎面を逃さず远い、レンガ壁の亀裂、鉄骚が匓のようにしなる様子、窓ガラスが粉雪のように散っおいく瞬間たで、克明に捉えおいく。

 そしおただ圌女が説明を終えぬうちに、画面の右奥で、もう䞀筋の癜煙が爆ぜるように立ち䞊った。ケントアノェニュヌからブロヌドりェむを東ぞマむルほど進んだルヌトレッゞ・ストリヌト・タワヌで、二床目の爆発が起きた。ただ完成間近の鉄骚の骚組みが倧きく揺れ、接合郚から火花が散る。コンクリヌトの床板が局ごずに割れ、厩壊の衝撃が階局を䌝っお連鎖的に広がっおいく。空から芋おも、重力に匕きずられるように圢が倱われおいくのがわかる。

「  ええず、今床は別の建物です。堎所は  こちら、ブルックリンの内陞偎、ルヌトレッゞ・ストリヌト・タワヌず思われたす。二぀目の  爆発です」

 ヘリのカメラが慌ただしく方向を切り替え、ただ完成間近の高局ビルの骚組みが倧きく揺れ、接合郚から火花が散る瞬間を捉える。

 コンクリヌトの床板が局ごずに厩れ萜ち、その衝撃が階局を䌝っお連鎖的に砎壊を広げおいく様が、空撮の俯瞰からもはっきり芋えた。

 女性レポヌタヌは息を呑み、

「  これは、連続した䜕かです。同時に、耇数の  」ず蚀いかけ、続けようずした蚀葉をさらに飲み蟌んだ。

 なぜなら䞉぀目の煙が、ただ薄青い朝の空に突き刺すように昇り始めたからだ。

 「  䞉぀目です。ケントアノェニュヌを北に  あれはワむス・アベニュヌ付近でしょうか、新しい䜏宅ビルが  」

 ズヌムの奥で、新築の窓ガラスが䞀斉に砕け、陜光を反射しながら现かな砎片ずなっお舞い䞊がる。

 内郚の階段が颚にさらわれたように厩れ、骚組みがしだいに圢を倱っおいく。

 煙はやがお街を芆い、川面ぞも流れ蟌んだ。倪陜の光を透かした灰色の幕が、黄金色の瞁を垯びながらゆらめく。ブルックリンは䞉぀の爆心を䞭心に、たるで巚倧な円が重なり合うように色を倱っおいった。

 「  粉塵が  街を芆っおいきたす。これは  」圌女の声がかすれ、語尟が震えた。

 カメラ越しに芋えるブルックリンの䞀垯は、䞉぀の厩壊珟堎を䞭心に煙幕に包たれ、その煙はゆっくりず川面ぞも流れ蟌み、倪陜の光を透かしながら、がんやりず黄金色の瞁を垯びおいる。

 「  珟堎の様子をお䌝えしおいたすが  これは偶発的な火灜ではありたせん。同時に䞉぀  明らかに䜕らかの意図が  」ず圌女は蚀いかけ、すぐに「詳现はただ䞍明です」ず蚀葉を修正した。同乗しおいた男性クルヌが銖を暪に振っおいたからだ。

 地䞊では、ケントアノェニュヌ沿いのカフェの倖垭でコヌヒヌを飲んでいた人々が、最初はただ銖を䌞ばし、煙の方向を芋おいた。カップを持぀指先が埐々に匷匵り、唇から笑みが消えおいく。やがお重䜎音の䜙韻が壁や床を震わせ、遅れお届く揺れが背骚を䌝った瞬間、怅子を倒しお走り出す者が珟れた。ガラス片が靎底で砕かれ、也いた音を立おる。角を曲がれば、赀茶色の粉塵が生き物のように枊を巻き、電柱の圱を飲み蟌んでいく。咳き蟌む声、泣き出す子ども、スマヌトフォンを掲げる手。サむレンが耇数の方向から近づき、その音に远われるように人々は散っおいった。

 マンハッタンのニュヌス局では、速報テロップが赀く点滅し、背埌の倧型スクリヌンにヘリの映像が映し出されおいた。

 厩れ萜ちるレンガ、ねじ曲がる鉄骚、陜光を济びお舞うガラス片――それらがスロヌモヌションで繰り返されるたび、スタゞオの空気はさらに重くなる。男性コメンテヌタヌが「これは明らかに蚈画的な  」ず呟くが、キャスタヌは「情報はただ䞍確かです」ず蚀葉を差し挟む。地䞊ず空からの芖点が重なり、芖聎者の網膜に煙に沈む街䞊みが焌き付いおいく。

 その頃、マンハッタン偎の静かな埠頭には、ラフィが立っおいた。川面は鏡のように穏やかだが、察岞の街では煙がゆっくりず茪郭を厩しおいく。遠くの爆発音は雷鳎のように胞に届き、鉄ず硝

煙の匂いが颚に乗っお挂っおくる。ラフィは目を现め、厩れゆく街䞊みをひず぀の絵画のように芋぀め続けた。

 圌の胞の奥には、別の街の光景が重なっおいた。か぀お瓊瀫に沈んだ故郷の通り。焌けた石壁、血の匂い、粉塵でかすむ空。ガザで聞いた爆撃の蜟音は、い぀もその埌に蚪れる異様な静寂ず察になっおいた。人々の叫びが途切れ、颚の音だけが残るあの瞬間――その沈黙が、今たた耳に忍び蟌んでくる。

 䞉぀の建物は、ほが同時に厩壊の矎孊を挔じおいた。

 蜟音は街の静けさを断ち切り、ラフィの埩讐の始たりを告げたようだった。圌は冷たい颚に吹かれながら、過去の蚘憶ず今の蚈画が亀錯する感芚を噛みしめおいた。瓊瀫ず煙の匂いが、か぀おの痛みを呌び芚たす。胞に秘めた怒りず冷静な蚈算が、同じテンポで呌吞しおいるようだった。

  

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僕の新しい小説。

 B♭ ビヌフラット

 

舞台はニュヌペヌクです。

 

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Soundtrack.

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...

  

远蚘 この小説を倚少説明したした。

youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV

  

メモ

 

1

「Bombay型ボンベむ型、hh型」

•特城通垞のABO血液型を持たないA、B、Oに分類されない特殊な型。

•発芋地1952幎、むンド・ムンバむ旧ボンベむで初めお確認。

•発生頻床むンドでは1䞇人に1人皋床だが、䞖界的には玄250䞇人に1人ずも。

•茞血制限同じBombay型しか茞血できない。

 

2

2024幎ハヌバヌド倧孊銖垭の卒業匏スピヌチ『知らないこずの力』

youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K

 

3

Shots fired at Trump rally

youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT

  

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Title.

E Weekend.

  

( LUMIX G3 shot )

 

Manhattan. New York. USA. 2017. 
 4 / 6

 

Images:

Drake - Laugh Now Cry Later ft. Lil Durk

youtu.be/JFm7YDVlqnI?si=a9_Ovo-jmTB8Wnef

  

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My new novel

B♭ (B Flat)

 

Volume 13 😄

The following is still in its draft stage and will be revised further.

Key parts are not disclosed.

The order of the content shown here is mixed.

(Of course, this is not the final version.)

 

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My new novel

B♭ (B Flat)

 

The Republican Party had chosen Justin Bradford as its presidential candidate.

In response, the Democrats put forward Ryan Bennett.

Ryan sat in a room of his white-walled mansion on South Beverly Drive, gazing out at the manicured garden and tree-lined street. His mind drifted back to his childhood. He had always lived within a carefully calculated order. His days followed a strict timetable; his homework was flawless. Teachers praised him, while classmates kept their distance. To Ryan, being a model student was both a source of pride and a burden of solitude.

In the hush of the library, he first brushed against the realm of politics. During student council debates, his logic seldom drew applause, and often invited cold stares. People were moved by instinct and emotion. Reason alone could not stir the crowd—this he came to understand.

It was in that abyss of loneliness that Sophia appeared. A gentle voice, steady eyes, and a generosity that never rejected his logic but embraced it instead. They exchanged words, they shared silences, and in each other’s presence they found solace. Sophia was not only the one who steadied his reason, but also the light that warmed his solitude.

After graduating from UCLA, Ryan stepped onto the path of politics. First as a state legislator, then as a member of Congress, he rose without falter. Yet the public gaze remained cold. His patrician face, his meticulous speeches, his flawless reasoning—all these bred distance and resentment. People whispered, “Another elite come to lecture us.”

In that harsh world, his running mate, Alex Murphy, stood by him. Eight years his senior, Murphy possessed a seasoned intuition and decisiveness. He bridged the gap between Ryan’s logic and the people’s emotions, reading the shifting tides of resentment and expectation.

Then came the day when former Democratic president Owen Reed was struck by a sniper’s bullet during a speech. The shot did not take his life, but Ryan felt, with a shudder, the cruelty of the political stage. That night, alone in his study, he stared at the shadow cast by the streetlamp beyond his window. The long silhouette mirrored the solitude and the weight of order he had carried all his life.

Doubt flickered in his eyes, reflecting the city’s lights. Should he follow reason and order, or turn toward the people’s emotions? Having walked the path of the elite, he now saw that logic alone could not redeem reality. Without Sophia’s warmth and Murphy’s intuition, he might not have been able to take another step forward.

Sophia quietly took his hand. “You are not alone. We are here.”

Ryan gave the faintest nod, feeling the chains of solitude loosen, little by little, in the depths of his heart.

During his university years, Ryan had often felt estranged from the public. The scarce applause at debates, the cool reception of his political essays, the smirks at his street speeches. His arguments were correct, but people yearned for emotion. Logic alone could not move them.

Sophia understood her role as the wife of a politician. She stayed by Ryan’s side when public duties drained him, offering the warmth of home. On quiet nights, they would simply sit together, thinking wordlessly of the future.

Murphy, by contrast, acted on instinct. In moments of crisis, he guided Ryan—the tightening of security after the shooting, the handling of the media, the appeal to the public. Where reason could not reach, experience took over. Ryan came to rely on him, and to trust him deeply.

His solitude was also the weight of politics itself. Cool analysis, flawless planning, correct judgment. Yet often, the people could not understand. A reason stripped of feeling drew criticism, and deepened his isolation.

And yet, Sophia made him human. She gave warmth to cold logic, and the power to reach hearts. Murphy, with his decisiveness and experience, built a bridge between reason and emotion.

When the news of the shooting reached him, Ryan felt fear as something tangible for the first time. Politics could not be defended by theory from a study alone. Confusion, the crack of gunfire, the press of terror—faced with them, he knew his own helplessness.

Streetlamps reflected in his eyes; bloodstains on rubble, neighbors clasping hands, mothers crying out. Reality pressed itself upon him. Reason alone could not save, nor logic alone preserve order. Compassion, empathy—these were what people needed.

Sophia spoke softly. “Logic matters. But now is the time to show your heart. People are seeking empathy.”

Ryan smiled faintly and set down his pen. The alignment of order was paused; he resolved to entrust himself to the waves of feeling.

Murphy looked out the window and nodded gently. “Do not fear, Ryan. Your reason, my intuition, Sophia’s warmth—together, they will keep us true.”

Buoyed by those words, Ryan slowly cast aside the shadow of solitude.

The attempt on Owen Reed’s life was both terror and warning. Yet it was also a teacher, revealing the reality of the political stage. Ryan grasped its weight, and steeled himself to go forward.

On the street corner, trembling citizens; beneath the rubble, neighbors holding hands; a mother’s anguished cry. As he listened, Ryan was tested—not only as a politician, but as a human being. Torn between reason and emotion, he found in Sophia and Murphy an unshakable support.

  

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My new novel:

B♭ (B-flat)

There’s still more to come. 😃

(This is not the final draft.)

Set in New York City.

 

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Soundtrack.

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...

  

Note: I gave a brief explanation of this novel in the following video:

youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV

  

iTunes Playlist Link::

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD

 

My new novel:

B♭ (B-flat)

Notes

1. "Bombay Blood Type (hh type)"

•Characteristics: A rare blood type that lacks the usual ABO antigens — cannot be classified as A, B, or O.

•Discovery: First identified in 1952 in Mumbai, India (formerly Bombay).

•Prevalence: Roughly 1 in 10,000 people in India; globally, about 1 in 2.5 million.

•Transfusion Compatibility: Only compatible with blood from other Bombay type donors.

2. 2024 Harvard University Valedictorian Speech – The Power of Not Knowing

youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K

3. Shots Fired at Trump Rally

youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

  

Title.

E Weekend.

  

( LUMIX G3 shot )

  

マンハッタン。ニュヌペヌク。アメリカ。2017. 
 4 / 6

  

Images:

Drake - Laugh Now Cry Later ft. Lil Durk

youtu.be/JFm7YDVlqnI?si=a9_Ovo-jmTB8Wnef

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

僕の新しい小説。

 B♭ ビヌフラット

  

第13匟。 😄

以䞋は、ただ初皿の段階です。ただ掚敲したす。

重芁な郚分は公開しおいたせん。

公開しおいる内容の順番はバラバラです。

(もちろん最終皿ではありたせん。)

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

僕の新しい小説。

 

 B♭ ビヌフラット

 

 共和党倧統領候補のゞャスティン・ブラッドフォヌドに察し、民䞻党は、ラむアン・ベネットを遞出しおいた。

 

 ラむアン・ベネットは、サりス・ベノァリヌ・ドラむブ沿いの癜壁の豪邞の䞀宀に座り、窓の倖に広がる手入れの行き届いた庭園ず䞊朚道を芋぀めながら、子䟛の頃の自分を思い出しおいた。幌い日の圌は、垞に蚈算された秩序の䞭にいた。時間割通りに生掻し、宿題も垞に完璧に仕䞊げた。教垫は圌を耒め、同玚生は距離を眮いた。圌にずっお、優等生であるこずは誇りであるず同時に孀独でもあった。

 図曞通の静寂の䞭で、圌は初めお政治の片鱗に觊れた。孊生自治䌚の蚎論で、圌の論理は拍手を济びるこずはなく、しばしば冷たい芖線に晒された。人々は盎感や感情で動く。理屈だけでは、矀衆の心を動かせないのだず、圌は知った。

 その孀独の淵に、゜フィアが珟れた。柔らかい声、萜ち着いた県差し、そしお圌の論理を拒むこずなく受け止める包容力。二人は蚀葉を亀わし、沈黙を共有し、互いの存圚に慰めを芋いだした。゜フィアは、ラむアンの理性を支えるだけでなく、圌の孀独を枩める光でもあった。

 カリフォルニア倧孊ロサンれルス校卒業埌、ラむアンは政治の道を歩み始めた。州議䌚議員ずしお、そしお連邊議䌚議員ずしお、圌は順調に昇り぀めた。だが、囜民の芖線は垞に冷たかった。゚リヌトの顔぀き、敎然ずした挔説、完璧すぎる論理は、倚くの人々に距離感ず反感を䞎えた。人々は぀ぶやく。「たた、゚リヌトが我々に説教するのか」ず。

 副倧統領候補のアレックス・マヌフィヌは、その冷培な䞖界にあっお、ラむアンを支える存圚であった。八歳幎䞊の圌は、経隓に裏打ちされた盎感ず決断力を持぀。ラむアンの論理ず感情の間に立ち、囜民の反感や期埅の波を読み解く力があった。

 民䞻党前倧統領オヌりェン・リヌドが挔説䞭に狙撃された。匟䞞は呜を奪わなかったが、政治の舞台の残酷さをラむアンは身をもっお知った。その倜、ラむアンは自宀の曞斎で、窓の倖の街灯に映る自らの圱を芋぀めた。長い圱は、これたでの人生で背負っおきた孀独ず秩序の重さを映しおいた。

 街の灯りに反射する瞳の䞭には迷いがあった。理性ず秩序に埓うのか、それずも囜民の感情に寄り添うのか。゚リヌトの道を歩んできた圌の目には、論理だけでは救えない珟実が芋えおいた。゜フィアの枩もりずマヌフィヌの盎感がなければ、圌は前に進むこずさえできなかったかもしれない。

 ゜フィアはそっず圌の手を握った。「あなたは䞀人じゃない。私たちがいる」ず。

 ラむアンは埮かに肯いた。心の奥で、孀独の鎖が少しず぀ほどけおいくのを感じた。

 倧孊時代、ラむアンは䜕床も囜民ずの乖離を䜓感した。蚎論䌚での拍手の少なさ、政治論文の冷たい評䟡、街頭挔説での冷笑。論理は正しくずも、人々は感情を求める。理屈だけでは、人は動かない。

 ゜フィアは、政治家の劻ずしおの圹割を理解しおいた。公務で疲匊したラむアンに寄り添い、家庭の枩もりを提䟛した。静かな倜、二人はただ座り、蚀葉少なに未来を思った。

 マヌフィヌは盎感で動き、危機的な堎面ではラむアンを導いた。銃撃事件埌の譊備調敎、メディア察応、囜民ぞの呌びかけ。理性だけでは远い぀かない珟堎を、圌は経隓で補った。ラむアンはその存圚を頌りにし、信頌した。

 ラむアンの孀独は政治の重さでもあった。冷静な分析、完璧な蚈画、正しい刀断。それらが囜民に理解されないこずもあった。感情に欠ける理性は、時ずしお非難を招き、孀独を深める。

 だが、゜フィアの存圚が、ラむアンを人間らしくした。冷たい論理に枩床を䞎え、心に寄り添う力を持たせた。マヌフィヌは行動力ず経隓で、論理ず感情の橋枡しを行った。

 狙撃事件のニュヌスを聞いたずき、ラむアンは初めお恐怖を身近に感じた。政治は曞斎の理論だけでは守れない。瞬間の混乱、銃声、恐怖。それらを前にしお、圌は自らの無力を知った。

 街角の光、瓊瀫の䞭の血痕、避難する人々。党おが珟実ずしお圌の前にあった。理性だけでは救えない、理屈だけでは秩序を維持できない。感情に寄り添い、共感を瀺すこずが必芁だった。

 ゜フィアは静かに語る。「論理は重芁。でも今は心を瀺すずき。人々は共感を求めおいる」

 ラむアンは埮かに笑い、ペンを眮いた。秩序の敎列は䞀旊䌑止し、感情の波に身を任せる芚悟を決めた。

 マヌフィヌは窓の倖を芋぀め、埮かに肯いた。「恐れるな、ラむアン。君の理性、私の盎感、゜フィアの枩もり。党おがあれば、我々は道を誀らない」

 ラむアンはその蚀葉に支えられ、孀独の圱を少しず぀振り払った。

 オヌりェン・リヌドの狙撃事件は、恐怖であり譊告でもあった。だがそれは同時に、政治の舞台の珟実を教える教垫でもあった。ラむアンはその重さを理解し、前に進む決意を固めた。

 街角で震える人々、瓊瀫の䞋で手を取り合う隣人、泣き叫ぶ母芪。その声に耳を傟け、ラむアンは政治家ずしお、そしお人間ずしおの刀断を詊されおいた。理性ず感情の間で揺れる圌の心に、゜フィアずマヌフィヌは揺るがぬ支えずしお存圚しおいた。

  

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僕の新しい小説。

 B♭ ビヌフラット

 

舞台はニュヌペヌクです。

 

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Soundtrack.

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...

  

远蚘 この小説を倚少説明したした。

youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV

  

メモ

 

1

「Bombay型ボンベむ型、hh型」

•特城通垞のABO血液型を持たないA、B、Oに分類されない特殊な型。

•発芋地1952幎、むンド・ムンバむ旧ボンベむで初めお確認。

•発生頻床むンドでは1䞇人に1人皋床だが、䞖界的には玄250䞇人に1人ずも。

•茞血制限同じBombay型しか茞血できない。

 

2

2024幎ハヌバヌド倧孊銖垭の卒業匏スピヌチ『知らないこずの力』

youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K

 

3

Shots fired at Trump rally

youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT

  

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LA hip hop collective Odd Future playing an intense show on the outdoor stage at Camden Crawl 2011. Crowd surfing, stage diving, rucking with security, climbing speaking stacks. Swag. oddfuture.com/

oddfuture.tumblr.com/

Title:

From inside the car. 2.

 

(LUMIX G3 shot)

 

Manhattan. New York. USA. 2017. 
 2 / 7

 

(Photo of the day. Unpublished.)

 

Images:

Geoffroy 
 No Calls Before Noon

youtu.be/Sua7LOBd9x4?si=vczU4fV0pMY6xrMN

  

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My new novel

B♭ (B Flat)

 

Volume 16😄

The following is still in its draft stage and will be revised further.

Key parts are not disclosed.

The order of the content shown here is mixed.

(Of course, this is not the final version.)

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

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My new novel

B♭ (B Flat)

 

Night was drawing its heavy veil over the neighborhoods of the San Fernando Valley, and Kevin Mori’s car slid forward as though gliding on a shadowed surface. Beyond the window, the heat of summer’s night rose, while the asphalt, still holding the brilliance of the day, scattered red and black reflections like fragments of muted fire. His day as an officer of Immigration and Customs Enforcement had not yet ended; it merely continued into the dark. Papers on the passenger seat trembled faintly—orders, reports, each sheet a cold reminder of how every decision could alter the lives of flesh-and-blood people.

The radio crackled with static, then carried the clipped voices of another unit.

“Check complete—residential route secure. Residents advised, heat alert.”

“Roger. Next, proceed to downtown infiltration confirmation.”

The words were concise, yet beneath them lurked the weight of responsibility. Kevin’s colleague at his side listened in silence, and Kevin imagined the strain, the fatigue, the daily fears borne by his subordinates.

The quiet houses of the district floated in the pale light of the streetlamps. Windows glowed with the warmth of family life, and the trees in the yards swayed with the scent of summer. To Kevin, that scene was both what he was sworn to protect, and a stage upon which the gravity of judgment was constantly revealed.

Merging onto the freeway, he entered a sea of headlights undulating like waves. Far ahead, the spires of downtown buildings pierced the night sky. The air was thick with heat, the car’s air conditioning too feeble against the humidity clinging to his skin. On the phone screen in the passenger seat, messages flared cold and abrupt—emergency notices, field reports, each short phrase carrying the weight of lives in the balance.

Through his commute Kevin narrowed his eyes, as though unconsciously trying to read the palette of the summer night. Neon reds and oranges crossed with the green of traffic signals, while the outlines of distant mountains and the shore emerged dimly in the haze. In the rearview mirror, his own face appeared distorted by fatigue and responsibility. He imagined how it must look reflected in the eyes of his men, and in the eyes of those who lived in this city.

As the suburbs gave way to downtown, the flow of cars turned into a red river of lights—not the bustle of rush hour, but a current charged with tension. Footsteps of passersby, the wail of an ambulance far off, exhaust mingling with sea breeze—each sound and scent announcing the unvarnished reality of the city.

Conversation in the car was pared to the barest minimum. His colleague tapped silently at the phone, scanning reports and maps. Every burst of radio static carried words few and clipped, but each syllable held the weight of someone’s life.

At the office, the parking lot was lined with colleagues’ cars, their engines humming in faint reply to one another. A night wind slipped through the windows, rustling the scattered papers—a sound that resembled the heartbeat of responsibility itself.

Inside the building, the cool air brushed his skin, blending with the stillness of late night to bind the corridors in a taut silence. Each step sent back a cold echo. Notices and bulletins on the walls caught the dim light, whispering of daily duty and the reality that awaited beyond.

In the meeting room, his subordinates lifted their eyes to him; reports on the table quivered slightly in the conditioned air. No one spoke, but silence itself was steeped in tension. Everyone knew that today’s decisions would ripple outward to change the lives of people unseen and far away.

As the meeting began, real-time transmissions crackled from the radio, and gazes crossed one another. Between the numbers and the dry lines of reports, there were always living human beings. To protect them—or expose them to danger—was the responsibility that each man recognized as his own.

The meeting stretched deep into the night: communications with the field, sorting of documents, instructions for the next day. Outside, the city wavered in the heat, neon glinting against the office windows. Kevin pressed the day’s weight into his heart as he stared at that restless light.

By the time he set out for home, the city had assumed a face wholly different from daytime. Shadows under the streetlamps, red reflections of neon, exhaust tangled with the sea wind, the faint silhouette of mountains dissolving into the night sky—all of it bore silent testimony to the consequences of the day’s choices.

He glanced at the papers on the seat, drew one deep breath. Summer night air slipped in through the window, brushing his skin. The sense of responsibility weighed heavy on his chest, and so did solitude, but in the pulse of the city he found, still, the strength to take another step forward.

Through the night’s lattice of light, Kevin drove on across summer Los Angeles. The voices on the radio, his men’s tension, the office’s chilled air, the neon glare, the tang of the sea breeze, the distant siren of an ambulance—all of these tangled together, imprinting themselves as the day’s memory. In the silence and in the few words exchanged in the car, in the quiet and the clamor of the city, in the interplay of light and shadow, a living map of the city was etched inside him, sharpening both the solitude and the responsibility of his role as an officer of ICE.

As night deepened, on his way home he clutched the papers on the passenger seat and watched his own shadow fall beneath the streetlamps. He listened closely to the city’s voice: the reflection of light, the tremor of heat, the siren far away, the stillness of neighborhoods. All of it pressed responsibility and solitude deeper into his chest.

When Kevin pushed open the door of his house, the night’s heat retreated slightly, replaced by the cool air of the living room flowing to meet him. He dropped the documents onto the table; the bundled papers struck with a dry sound that sank into silence, as though absorbing some measure of the weight that had burdened his shoulders.

Yet that moment of relief quivered almost at once, like a string brushed by an unseen hand. From the depths of the house came a faint creak—timbers straining, or perhaps the plucked resonance of some hidden instrument. Kevin strained to listen, then wondered if it was no more than the ghostly trick of fatigue.

The air trembled. Water in the half-drunk glass on the table rippled with faint light. The ripples, small yet certain, seemed to resonate with a force lurking in the house’s depths. A frame on the wall slipped askew, and through the glass the smiling figures in the photograph appeared slightly warped. A raw unease rose in Kevin’s chest, and his gaze lifted toward the ceiling. Above the panels, the beams murmured to one another, a low groan not of chance but of deliberate design, as if some hidden architect had composed the house itself as an instrument.

The floor rumbled, faint vibrations pressing upward through his feet. Streetlamp light bled through the curtains, filling the room with a wavering orange glow, as if already foreshadowing collapse. The house expanded and contracted like a lung, like an unseen heart pulsing in the dark, its beat echoed by the beams and pillars. Kevin set his hands on his knees, unmoving, listening. The sound overhead no longer resembled random creaks. It grew with rhythm, swelling into a low wave that spread across the room. The wallpaper split, revealing a thin fissure that carried within it the promise of widening.

The water in the glass quivered, scattering the lamplight into shards. The window shuddered under the night wind; metal fastenings clicked faintly. The beams groaned louder, as if in answer. In that instant the whole house became an instrument, releasing a deep, resonant note. The vibration struck his inner ear, mingled with the pulse of his blood.

Kevin pressed a hand to his chest—but his own heartbeat and the heartbeat of the house merged, the boundary between them dissolving. Cracks across the wall swallowed light, dark lines spreading. The beams moaned and bent, their sound a summons downward, inevitable as gravity. Glass burst into fragments, scattering the street’s light into the air. Furniture leapt, books tumbled, the table tilted.

And then—the ceiling split, and fell. The roar shook even the lamplight outside; dust rose in a choking tide, the world turned white and sightless. Kevin’s body, too, was caught in the same current as the beams and pillars. Whether he stood, or fell, or was torn apart—he felt not terror but a strange relief. Together with the house, he was sinking into the close of a final movement. There was nothing to flee, no document to guard, no responsibility: all dissolved now into dust.

The beams broke, the pillars collapsed, the floor split. His bones, his blood, his voice—all shattered into fragments carried into the night air. The collapse was not violence, but the coda of a meticulously designed score. Kevin, too, was only one note within it, drawn at last into silence.

When the dust settled, silence returned. Kevin was no longer among the wreckage. Only the shadow of a fallen beam lay there, like a remnant of his being.

Far away, a dog barked. An ambulance siren split the night. The city’s breath went on, but Kevin’s had ceased forever. In the streets remained only the echo of collapse, and the quiet memory of a death no one would hear.

 

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My new novel:

B♭ (B-flat)

There’s still more to come. 😃

(This is not the final draft.)

Set in New York City.

 

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Soundtrack.

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...

  

Note: I gave a brief explanation of this novel in the following video:

youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV

  

iTunes Playlist Link::

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD

 

My new novel:

B♭ (B-flat)

Notes

1. "Bombay Blood Type (hh type)"

•Characteristics: A rare blood type that lacks the usual ABO antigens — cannot be classified as A, B, or O.

•Discovery: First identified in 1952 in Mumbai, India (formerly Bombay).

•Prevalence: Roughly 1 in 10,000 people in India; globally, about 1 in 2.5 million.

•Transfusion Compatibility: Only compatible with blood from other Bombay type donors.

2. 2024 Harvard University Valedictorian Speech – The Power of Not Knowing

youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K

3. Shots Fired at Trump Rally

youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT

  

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Title.

車内から。。

  

( LUMIX G3 shot )

  

マンハッタン。ニュヌペヌク。アメリカ。2017. 
 2 / 7

 

(今日の写真。それは未発衚です。

  

Images:

Geoffroy 
 No Calls Before Noon

youtu.be/Sua7LOBd9x4?si=vczU4fV0pMY6xrMN

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

僕の新しい小説。

 B♭ ビヌフラット

  

第16匟。 😄

以䞋は、ただ初皿の段階です。ただ掚敲したす。

重芁な郚分は公開しおいたせん。

公開しおいる内容の順番はバラバラです。

(もちろん最終皿ではありたせん。)

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

僕の新しい小説。

 

 B♭ ビヌフラット

  

 倜の垳が䜎く䞋り始めたサンフェルナンドバレヌの䜏宅街を、ケビン・モリの車は滑るように進んでいた。窓の倖には倏の倜の熱気が立ち䞊り、路面からはただ昌の光を吞い蟌んだアスファルトが、赀黒い光の反射を散らしおいる。移民皎関捜査局ICEの職員ずしおの圌の䞀日は、すでにその倜も続いおいた。助手垭の曞類は埮かに揺れ、そこに積たれた呜什や報告曞は、この䞀日の決断が生身の人々の生掻にどう圱響するかを、冷たく問いかけおいた。

 ラゞオ無線がかすかに雑音を混ぜながら䜜動し、別の車䞡ずの連絡が飛び蟌んだ。

「確認、䜏宅街ルヌト異垞なし。熱気のため䜏民泚意」

「了解、次はダりンタりンぞの䟵入確認」――蚀葉は簡朔で、しかし背埌には重くのしかかる責任が朜んでいた。助手垭の圌はその声に耳を傟け、郚䞋たちの緊匵や疲劎、日々の恐怖を想像する。

 静かな䜏宅街の家々が、街路灯の光に浮かんでいた。窓に灯る枩かい光は家族の生掻を、庭に揺れる朚々は倏の匂いを、しかしその光景はケビンにずっお、守るべき察象であり、同時に刀断の重さを思い知らせる舞台でもあった。

 フリヌりェむに合流するず、他の車のヘッドラむトが海のように波打ち、遠くのダりンタりンのビル矀が倜空に鋭く突き出す。空気は熱を垯び、車内の゚アコンでは远い぀かない湿気が肌にたずわり぀く。助手垭のスマヌトフォンに届くメッセヌゞは冷たく光り、緊急事態や珟堎からの報告が短く、しかし呜を握る重さを垯びお圌の芖界に入った。

 通勀路の間、ケビンは無意識に目を现め、倏の倜の色圩を読み取ろうずした。ネオンの赀やオレンゞ、信号の緑が亀錯し、遠くの山䞊みや海岞線の茪郭ががんやりず浮かんでいる。車内の鏡に映る自分の顔は、疲劎ず責任の圱で埮かに歪み、郚䞋たちや街の人々の目に映る自分の姿を想像した。

 倜の䜏宅街を抜け、ダりンタりンに近づくず、車列は赀い光の垯ずなり、通勀ラッシュの喧隒ずは別の、緊匵の波を垯びた流れに倉わる。通行人の足音、遠くで鳎る救急車のサむレン、海颚に混じる排気ガスの匂いが、郜垂の生の珟実を告げおいる。

 車内の䌚話は最小限に抑えられる。助手垭の郚䞋は無蚀でスマヌトフォンを操䜜し、報告曞や地図をチェックする。無線が䜜動するたび、蚀葉は短く、しかしそれぞれの䞀語には誰かの生掻を巊右する重みが宿っおいた。

 オフィスに到着するず、駐車堎には同僚の車が敎然ず䞊び、゚ンゞン音やタむダの振動が埮かな呌応を芋せおいた。倜颚が窓から入り蟌み、玙や曞類をかすかに揺らした。その音さえ、責任の重さを耳に䌝える錓動のように聞こえおくる。

 建物内に入るず、冷房の颚が肌に觊れ、深倜の静けさず盞たっお、空間に緊匵を匵り巡らせる。廊䞋を歩くたび、足音が冷たく反響し、壁に貌られた泚意曞きや掲瀺板の文字が埮かに光を受け、日々の任務ずその果おにある珟実を思い出させた。

 䌚議宀に入るず、郚䞋たちの目が圌を芋぀め、報告曞がテヌブルの䞊で埮かに揺れた。熱気を垯びた倏の空気ぱアコンず混ざり、玙の端を埮かに波立たせる。誰もが沈黙の䞭に緊匵を抱え、今日の刀断が遠く離れた誰かの生掻をどう倉えるかを知っおいた。

 䌚議が始たるず、無線から入る情報がリアルタむムで䌝わり、郚䞋たちの芖線が亀錯する。数字や報告曞の行間には必ず生身の人間が存圚し、その呜を守るか、あるいは危険に晒すかを決定するのが自分だず圌らは認識するのだ。

 深倜たで続く䌚議、珟堎ずの通信、曞類の敎理、郚䞋の指瀺。倜の街は倏の熱気で光を歪め、ネオンの光がオフィスの窓に反射しおちら぀いおいた。その光景を芋ながら、ケビンは䞀日の重みを胞に刻んでいた。

 垰路に぀く頃、通勀路の光景は昌間ずは違う衚情を芋せる。街灯に浮かぶ圱、ネオンの赀い反射、海颚に混じる排気ガスの匂い、遠くの山圱が倜空に溶ける。そのすべおが、今日の決断の結果を静かに告げおいた。

 助手垭の曞類を確認し、深呌吞をひず぀぀いた。倏の倜颚が窓を通り抜け、肌に觊れる。ケビンの胞には責任感ず孀独感が重くのしかかるが、それでも次の䞀歩を螏み出す力を䞎える、郜垂の息遣いが確かにあった。

 倜の光の䞭、ケビンは倏のロサンれルスを車で駆け抜ける。無線の声、郚䞋たちの緊匵、オフィスの冷房、ネオンの光、海颚の匂い、遠くの救急車のサむレン――それらすべおが絡み合い、今日䞀日の蚘憶ずしお刻たれおいく。車内での沈黙ず察話、街の静けさず喧隒、光ず圱の亀錯が、圌の心に郜垂の立䜓的な地図を描き、ICE職員ずしおの孀独ず責任を鮮明にしおいた。

 倏の倜が曎け、家路に぀く道すがら、助手垭の曞類を握り締め、深倜の街灯に浮かぶ自分の圱を芋぀めながら、圌はこの街の声に耳を柄たせる。光の反射、熱気の揺らぎ、遠くで鳎るサむレン、䜏宅街の静けさ――それらすべおが、ケビンの胞に責任ず孀独を刻み蟌んだ。

 

 ケビンが自宅の扉を抌し開けるず、倜の熱気はわずかに埌退し、リビングの冷えた空気が迎えるように流れ蟌んできた。曞類を手から攟り投げ、束ねられた玙の重みがテヌブルに小さな衝撃を䞎え、也いた音を響かせお静けさの䞭に沈んだ。

 圌の肩にのしかかっおいた䞀日の重さが、わずかながらその音に吞い取られたかのように思えた。

 しかし、その安堵の瞬間は、芋えない振動に觊れるかのようにすぐに揺らぎぞず倉わっおいった。家の奥から、埮かなきしみが生たれた。朚材が互いに軋むような、しかしどこか楜噚の匊を爪匟くような響きであった。ケビンは耳を柄たし、しかし次の瞬間にはそれがただの疲劎による幻聎ではないかず思った。

 空気がわずかに震えた。テヌブルにあった飲みかけのグラスの氎面がかすかに揺れ、光を垯びお波王を広げた。その波王は小さくも確かに、家党䜓の内郚に朜む力ず呌応しおいるかのようであった。壁にかけられた額瞁が斜めにずれた。ガラス越しの写真の䞭で、笑顔を浮かべる人圱が、わずかに歪んで芋えた。

 ケビンは胞の奥にざら぀いた感芚を芚え、芖線を倩井ぞ向けた。倩井板の奥で梁が共鳎し合い、䜎い唞り声のような音を攟っおいた。それは自然に生たれたものではなく、あらかじめ蚭蚈された響きの連鎖のように感じられた。建築を孊んだ者ならば知る、朚ず鉄ずコンクリヌトの呌応だ。その呌応が、今ここで䞀぀の方向ぞず収束しようずしおいた。

 床板が䜎く唞り、足裏に䌝わる埮现な震えずなった。倖の街路灯の光がカヌテン越しに入り蟌み、郚屋を淡い橙色で満たしおいた。その光さえもわずかに揺らめき、倒壊の予兆を映すかのように芋えた。家党䜓が呌吞をしおいるように膚らみ、そしお収瞮する。たるで芋えない心臓が脈打ち、その錓動に合わせお梁や柱が響きを返しおいるかのようであった。

 ケビンは䞡手を膝に眮き、動くこずなく耳を柄たした。倩井の奥で響く音は、もはや偶然のきしみではなかった。芏則性をもっお増幅し、やがお䜎い波ずなっお郚屋党䜓に広がった。壁玙がわずかに裂け目を芋せ、薄暗い亀裂がその奥から姿を珟した。亀裂は现い線にすぎなかったが、確かに広がりを孕んでいた。

グラスの䞭の氎が震え、その衚面に映る街灯の光が现かく砕けた。倖の倜颚が窓を揺らし、金属の留め具がかすかな音を立おた。それに呌応するかのように、梁の唞りが䞀段ず匷くなった。その瞬間、家党䜓がひず぀の楜噚ず化したように、共鳎音を攟った。空気の震えが耳の奥を打ち、䜓内の血流ず混ざり合うように感じられた。

 ケビンは胞に手を圓おた――だが、自分の錓動ず建物の錓動が重なり、境界が倱われおいくのを感じた。壁に走った亀裂が光を呑み蟌み、闇の線ずなった。

梁が深く軋み、鈍い音を吐き出した。それは重力の呜什であり、逃れられぬ䞋方ぞの召喚であった。ガラス窓が粉々に砕け、倜の街の光が断片ずなっお飛び散った。家具が跳ね、本が厩れ萜ち、テヌブルが傟いた。

そしお――倩井が裂け、厩れ萜ちた。蜟音は街路灯の光さえ震わせ、粉塵が䞀気に立ち䞊った。䞖界は癜く濁り、息が奪われる。

 ケビンの䜓もたた、梁や柱ず同じ流れに組み蟌たれおいった。圌は立ち尜くし、あるいは倒れ、あるいは匕き裂かれ――だが、恐怖ではなく、奇劙な安堵を感じおいた。家ず共に、自分もたた䞀぀の楜章の終わりずしお沈むのだず。

 逃げるべきものはなく、守るべき曞類も責任も、いたや粉塵の䞭に溶けおいく。

 梁が折れ、柱が朰れ、床が裂ける。

 そのすべおず同時に、圌の骚も、血も、声も、無数の砎片ずなっお倜の空気に散った。厩壊は暎力ではなく、むしろ緻密に蚭蚈された楜曲の終章であった。ケビンずいう存圚も、ひず぀の音笊ずしおその䞭に含たれ、やがお静寂に吞い蟌たれた。

 粉塵が沈み、静寂が戻る。

 瓊瀫の䞭にケビンの姿はもはやなかった。

 ただ、厩れた梁の圱が、圌の名残のように暪たわっおいるだけであった。

 遠くで犬が吠え、救急車のサむレンが倜を割った。

 郜垂の呌吞は再び続いおいたが、ケビンの呌吞はもう戻らなかった。

 倜の街に残されたのは、厩壊の䜙韻ず、誰にも届かぬ静かな死の蚘憶だけだった。

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

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僕の新しい小説。

 B♭ ビヌフラット

 

舞台はニュヌペヌクです。

 

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Soundtrack.

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...

  

远蚘 この小説を倚少説明したした。

youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV

  

メモ

 

1

「Bombay型ボンベむ型、hh型」

•特城通垞のABO血液型を持たないA、B、Oに分類されない特殊な型。

•発芋地1952幎、むンド・ムンバむ旧ボンベむで初めお確認。

•発生頻床むンドでは1䞇人に1人皋床だが、䞖界的には玄250䞇人に1人ずも。

•茞血制限同じBombay型しか茞血できない。

 

2

2024幎ハヌバヌド倧孊銖垭の卒業匏スピヌチ『知らないこずの力』

youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K

 

3

Shots fired at Trump rally

youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

   

Portra 800

Shot on Olympus superzoom 115

  

Edited in procreate ^ v ^

LA hip hop collective Odd Future playing an intense show on the outdoor stage at Camden Crawl 2011. Crowd surfing, stage diving, rucking with security, climbing speaking stacks. Swag. oddfuture.com/

oddfuture.tumblr.com/

Title.

Gates C70 - C115 .6.

 

(Nikon Coolpix 8700 shot)

 

New Jersey. USA. 2007. 
 6 / 8

(Photo of the day. Unpublished.)

  

Images:

 

Fergus McCreadie 
 Stony Gate ( Live )

youtu.be/PH7xBtJTWbM?si=c2aHE7oNLskHCpv9

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

My new novel

B♭ (B Flat)

 

Volume 18😄

The following is still in its draft stage and will be revised further.

Key parts are not disclosed.

The order of the content shown here is mixed.

(Of course, this is not the final version.)

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

My new novel

B♭ (B Flat)

Ana woke to the faint sense of someone’s presence.

The monitor beside her bed flickered softly, and the air was thick with the scent of antiseptic.

From the bed next to hers, Justin’s eyes were fixed straight on her face as she slept.

The anger that had once burned in those eyes during his televised speeches was gone, replaced by a gentle, almost tender light.

“Thank you. Truly
”

His voice trembled faintly, and behind his words lingered a fragile honesty.

Ana narrowed her eyes slightly.

“You don’t need a reason to save someone. Bombay Blood
 it doesn’t let you choose who to give it to.”

He smiled faintly, turning his gaze toward the ceiling as if to hide the shallowness of his breath.

“I’ve never been the kind of man to entrust my life to anyone. At least—not until yesterday.”

A quiet silence settled between them before he went on.

“I used to believe politics was a job without blood. Votes, numbers, negotiations—that’s all it was supposed to be.”

“But it wasn’t?” Ana asked softly.

“No.”

Justin let out a sigh.

“The thought that someone else’s blood is flowing inside me—it’s terrifying, if I stop to think about it.

And yet
 at the same time, I’ve never felt so alive. Not once in my life.”

Ana tilted her head slightly.

“Alive?”

“The moment I was shot, I truly thought I was going to die. But people risked their lives to protect me. Someone made a choice that could have killed them instead of me. I only now realize how much that means—beyond anything words can express.”

His tone lacked the sharpness, the calculated rhythm of a politician’s speech. It was simply the voice of a man trying to measure the weight of his own life.

Ana smiled faintly.

“Then maybe now
 you could give your blood to someone else?”

Justin gave a wry smile and lowered his eyes.

“Maybe. But first, I think I should repay the debt to the one who brought me back to life.”

At that moment, a faint crackle from a security radio came from beyond the door.

Justin’s recovery had not yet been made public. But his survival would—sooner or later—shake the election, and perhaps even the world.

Ana forgot all of that.

All she felt was a quiet astonishment that the blood that once flowed in her own body was now pulsing within another.

The door opened quietly.

The sharp sound of heels struck the floor, and a faint scent of rosemary drifted in.

The woman who entered wore a disposable polyethylene gown, shoe covers, and a thin hair cap. It was Eleanor.

Her gaze moved from Ana to Justin, pausing on each of their faces.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said, her voice calm, though Ana sensed the precision of carefully measured emotion beneath it.

When Ana started to rise, Eleanor raised a hand to stop her.

“You must be Ms. Anaya
 Thank you. Thank you for saving him.”

She took Justin’s hand briefly, then looked Ana straight in the eye.

“No amount of gratitude could ever be enough. To borrow a life—such a thing hardly ever happens.”

Ana nodded faintly, unsure how to respond.

“I only did what I could.”

Justin looked at Eleanor and narrowed his eyes slightly.

“If it weren’t for her, I’d probably be
 in a coffin instead of a campaign.”

The remark was half in jest, but carried a trace of self-mockery.

Eleanor kept her smile, placing a hand gently on Ana’s shoulder.

“You may not realize it yet—but what you’ve done might one day mean something to this country. You’ll understand, eventually.”

Without a knock, the door opened again.

A woman in a white coat stepped in, her movements precise, her expression sharp. It was Dr. Sasha Wilson, head of emergency medicine at Bellevue Hospital.

Her hair was tied neatly back, and she held a tablet in one hand.

“Ms. Anaya Patel,” Sasha said, bowing slightly.

“Thank you for your cooperation. The transfusion of Bombay Blood could not have been performed so swiftly without you.”

She glanced down at her tablet and continued in a tone that was businesslike, yet respectful.

“There is no further medical need for you to remain. You are officially cleared for discharge.”

Ana exhaled deeply and nodded.

“Your belongings will be returned in the lobby. If you require an escort, security can—”

“That won’t be necessary,” Ana replied at once.

Sasha looked momentarily surprised, then nodded in understanding.

Justin spoke up quietly.

“Miss Patel
 will I see you again?”

Ana stopped in her tracks.

The air in the room seemed to tremble faintly behind her. Eleanor said nothing.

“I hope,” Ana said softly, turning toward them, “that I will never again have reason to meet a presidential candidate.”

She smiled—a smile that held both warmth and distance.

Meanwhile, at a newsstand on the corner, tabloid headlines blared stories of Justin and Eleanor’s engagement.

Rumors spread that their wedding would be held before the Electoral College vote in December—a symbolic show of unity meant to sway the coming election, whatever the outcome.

Eleanor seemed to search for words, but lowered her gaze instead.

When Sasha opened the door, Ana stepped out.

The hush of the automatic doors closing behind her sounded like the end of a quiet ritual.

In the corridor, Elijah was waiting.

“Take me to Arjun,” Ana said.

She had to do something—anything—for Arjun, who had killed for her.

Her chest was restless, her breath uneven.

In the back seat of the patrol car, Ana clasped her hands tightly, her knees tense.

The Brooklyn night was warm and heavy, the police radio hissing with bursts of static.

“The shooter was Arjun Singh, right?” the young officer in the passenger seat asked, without turning around.

“Yes
 it was him. If he hadn’t fired, I—”

“We know, Ms. Patel. The cameras caught everything, and the witnesses agree. It’s clear self-defense. Without him, you’d be dead.”

The older officer at the wheel grunted his assent.

Ana nodded silently.

The instant the gun was raised toward her inside Totto Ramen, everything had slowed to a crawl.

Then, a gunshot from behind—its echo still lived in the back of her mind.

“Here we are.”

The patrol car stopped outside the NYPD Midtown South Precinct.

The concrete building’s exterior lights glowed pale against the night sky.

Along 35th Street, the dark glass doors reflected the letters:

“NYPD MIDTOWN SOUTH PRECINCT.”

A few steps led up to double glass doors, flanked by blue garage bays for police vehicles.

Rows of vertical concrete pillars gave the building a stern, almost solemn dignity.

Accompanied by the officers, Ana entered the station and was led to a small interview room.

Inside sat Arjun—unharmed, composed, waiting.

“Ana
”

His voice was low, unsteady.

She said nothing, walked toward him, and took a seat.

“I’m so glad you’re safe
”

Tears welled suddenly in Arjun’s eyes—the first she had ever seen from him.

His shoulders trembled, his body drawn inward.

Seeing his fragility, Ana’s eyes softened, and she too began to cry.

“Thank you
 truly, thank you.”

Silence fell between them—not heavy, but deep, a silence of shared relief.

Then came a knock, and the lead detective entered.

“All evidence is consistent—surveillance footage, witnesses, audio. With Ms. Patel’s statement, we have no issue. Arjun Singh, you are hereby released.”

As the paperwork was signed, Arjun rose.

He shook the officer’s hand firmly, saying nothing.

Together they stepped out into the night.

The sky was low, covered in dark clouds, but no rain fell. Streetlights spilled quiet pools of light across the pavement.

A young patrolman waited by the car.

“We’ll drive you home to Paramus. Can’t have you caught up in another incident,” he said with a wink, opening the door.

They smiled faintly and got in.

Neither spoke.

Only now and then did their fingers brush—until their hands naturally found each other.

Ana’s phone buzzed in her pocket. A message from Mika.

“Tomorrow’s the exhibit at Domino Park. The kids are excited. Rest tonight. Leave it to me.”

Ana looked at the screen and smiled faintly. The bluish light reflected across her tired face.

“It’s from Mika,” she murmured. “She says she’ll handle the whole exhibition tomorrow.”

Arjun raised his brows slightly and smiled.

“It’s a good thing—to have people who can keep things moving, even when you’re not there.”

“Yeah
” Ana whispered, resting her forehead gently against his chest.

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

My new novel:

B♭ (B-flat)

There’s still more to come. 😃

(This is not the final draft.)

Set in New York City.

  

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54599616429/in/dateposted...

 

Soundtrack.

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...

 

For japanese

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack-for-jap...

 

Note: I gave a brief explanation of this novel in the following video:

youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV

  

iTunes Playlist Link::

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD

 

For japanese

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack-for-jap...

 

My new novel:

B♭ (B-flat)

Notes

1. "Bombay Blood Type (hh type)"

•Characteristics: A rare blood type that lacks the usual ABO antigens — cannot be classified as A, B, or O.

•Discovery: First identified in 1952 in Mumbai, India (formerly Bombay).

•Prevalence: Roughly 1 in 10,000 people in India; globally, about 1 in 2.5 million.

•Transfusion Compatibility: Only compatible with blood from other Bombay type donors.

2. 2024 Harvard University Valedictorian Speech – The Power of Not Knowing

youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K

3. Shots Fired at Trump Rally

youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

Title.

Gates C70 - C115 .6.

  

( Nikon Coolpix 8700 shot )

  

ニュヌゞャヌゞヌ州。アメリカ。2007. 
 6 / 8

(今日の写真。それは未発衚です。

  

Fergus McCreadie 
 Stony Gate ( Live )

youtu.be/PH7xBtJTWbM?si=c2aHE7oNLskHCpv9

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

僕の新しい小説。

 B♭ ビヌフラット

  

第18匟。 😄

以䞋は、ただ初皿の段階です。ただ掚敲したす。

重芁な郚分は公開しおいたせん。

公開しおいる内容の順番はバラバラです。

(もちろん最終皿ではありたせん。)

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

僕の新しい小説。

 

 B♭ ビヌフラット

  

 アナは人の気配で目を芚たした。

 ベッド脇のモニタヌが静かに点滅し、消毒液の匂いが空気を満たしおいる。

 隣のベッドに寝おいるゞャスティンの芖線が、たっすぐにアナの寝顔に泚がれおいた。その瞳は、テレビの挔説で怒りに満ちたものずはたるで別人のように、穏やかで柔らかい光を湛えおいた。

「ありがずう。ほんずに  」

 圌は、蚀葉の奥に玠盎な脆さをにじたせお、かすかに唇を震わせた。

 アナは、目を现めた。

「助けるのに、理由なんお䞍芁です。ボンベむブラッドは   遞べる盞手じゃないから‥」

 圌はうっすら笑っお、呌吞の浅さを隠すように芖線を倩井に向けた。

「僕は、他人に呜を預けるなんお性栌じゃない。少なくずも、昚日たではそうだった」

 しばらく沈黙が流れたあず、圌はぜ぀りず続けた。

「政治家は、血の通っおない仕事だっお、い぀からか信じおた。祚ず数字ず、駆け匕き。それだけで十分だっお」

「でも違った」ずアナが小声で蚊いた。

「違ったよ」

 ゞャスティンはため息をひず぀挏らした。

「人の血が、自分の身䜓に入っおきおるなんお、冷静に考えたら怖くおたたらない。でも── 同時に、なんか  信じられないくらい、生きおるっお気がした。初めおだ」

 アナは銖をかしげた。

「生きおるっお」

「撃たれた瞬間  たぶん、本圓に死ぬっお思った。でも、こんな自分をみんなが守っおくれた。誰かが“僕の代わりに死ぬ可胜性のある遞択”をしおくれたんだ。そこに蚀葉以䞊の意味があるずいうこずに今さら気づいたよ」

 ゞャスティンの口調には、い぀もの匁舌のキレや、攻撃性はなかった。ただ玠盎に、自分の呜の重さを蚈ろうずしおいる男の声だった。

 アナは少しだけ埮笑んだ。

「じゃあ、いたのあなたなら   別の誰かにも血をあげられるず思う」

 ゞャスティンは苊笑しながらも、目を䌏せた。

「たぶん。  でもその前に、たずは誰かに生き返らされた借りを、返す方が先だな」

 そのずき、扉の向こうで譊備の無線がかすかに響いた。

 ゞャスティンの回埩はただ公衚されおいない。だが、圌の生還は──今埌の遞挙戊を、䞖界を、䜕か倧きく動かすこずになる。

 アナはそんなこずも忘れお、ただ、自分の䞭に流れおいた血が、今、別の身䜓の䞭で錓動を打っおいるこずに、静かな驚きを感じおいた。

 病宀のドアが静かに開いた。

 ピンヒヌルの音が床を軜く叩き、ほのかにロヌズマリヌの銙氎が挂った。

 入っおきたのは、䞍透明なポリ゚チレン玠材のディスポヌザブル・ガりンず、靎カバヌ、薄いヘアキャップを被った゚リノアだった。

 圌女の芖線が、ベッドのアナず、ゞャスティンの顔を䞀床ず぀確認した。

「ごめんなさい。邪魔しお」

 声は穏やかだったが、その蚀葉の裏に、緻密な感情の蚈算が芋え隠れしおいるようにアナには感じた。

 アナが起きあがろうずするず、゚リノアが手を䞊げお制した。

「あなたが、アナダさんね。  圌を救っおくれお、本圓にありがずう」

 ゚リノアはゞャスティンの手を䞀瞬だけ握ったあず、たっすぐアナの目を芋お蚀った。

「どれだけ感謝しおも足りないわ。呜を借りるなんおこず──滅倚に起きるこずじゃないもの」

 アナは少し戞惑いながらも、軜くうなずいた。

「私は、できるこずをしただけです」

 ゞャスティンぱリノアを芋お、少しだけ目を现めた。

「圌女がいなかったら、今ごろ僕は  遞挙どころか、棺桶の䞭だったかもな」

 冗談めかした口調には、薄い自嘲がにじんでいた。

 ゚リノアは埮笑を厩さず、アナの肩に手を添えた。

「今はただ、きっず実感も湧かないでしょうけど──あなたがしくれたこずが、この囜に意味のあるこずに繋げられたらず思いたす。い぀か、きっず、埌になっおわかるわ」

 再びドアがノックもなく開いた。

 癜衣を翻しお入っおきたのは、ベルビュヌ病院の救急郚䞻任、サヌシャ・りィル゜ンだった。髪を埌ろでたずめ、鋭い芖線ずプロフェッショナルな所䜜だった。圌女は手にタブレットを持っおいた。

「アナダ・パテルさん」

 サヌシャが小さく頭を䞋げた。

「ご協力、ありがずうございたした。ボンベむブラッドの茞血をここで即座に行えたのは、あなたのおかげです」

 タブレットに目を萜ずしながら、圌女は事務的だが敬意のある口調で続けた。

「今埌、远加の医療的凊眮は䞍芁ず刀断されたした。正匏に、ご退院いただいお構いたせん」

 アナは息をひず぀吐き、深くうなずいた。

「着替えなどはロビヌでお枡ししたす。付き添いが必芁な堎合は、セキュリティに──」

「必芁ないです」ずアナは即答した。

 その蚀葉に、サヌシャは䞀瞬だけ意倖そうな目をしたが、すぐに玍埗したように肯いた。

 ゞャスティンが小さく声をかけた。

「  ミス・パテル、たた䌚える」

 アナは立ち止たった。

 圌女の背䞭越しに、病宀の空気がわずかに揺れた。゚リノアは沈黙しおいた。

「私が今埌、二床ず倧統領候補に䌚うこずがないよう  私はお祈りしたす」

 そう蚀っお振り返るず、圌女ぱリノアずゞャスティンぞ埮笑んだ。その声には、あたたかさず距離感が同時に宿っおいた。

 䞀方、街角のニュヌススタンドに䞊ぶゎシップ誌の芋出しには、二人の婚玄蚘事が螊っおいた。結婚匏は遞挙人団投祚が行われる十二月たでに挙げられる──そんな噂が流垃しおいたのだ。倧統領遞の結果にかかわらず、匷い絆を瀺すこずで次の遞挙戊に圱響を䞎えようずいう思惑さえ透けお芋える。

 ゚リノアは蚀葉を探しおいるようだったが、䜕も蚀わずに芖線を䞋げた。

 サヌシャがドアを開けるず、アナは、ゆっくりず病宀を出た。

 自動ドアの閉たる音が、たるである皮の儀匏の終わりを告げるように、静かに空間を切り分けた。

 通路で埅機しおいたむラむゞャに、アナはいった。

「アルゞュンにすぐ䌚わせお」

 私のために射殺したアルゞュンをなんずかしなくおは‥‥  アナの胞はざわめいおいた。

 パトカヌの埌郚座垭で、アナは手を組んだたた、膝に力が入るのを抑えられなかった。ブルックリンの倜はぬるく、車内には譊官の無線が時おりノむズ混じりに鳎っおいた。

「撃ったのは、アルゞュン・シンですよね」助手垭の若い譊官が埌ろを振り向かずに尋ねた。

「はい  圌です。撃たなければ、私は──」

「わかっおたすよ、アナダさん。防犯カメラもあったし、店内の蚌蚀も䞀臎しおる。完党な正圓防衛です。圌がいなければ、あなたは殺されおいたでしょう。」

 運転垭の幎配の譊官が盞槌を打った。

 アナも無蚀で肯いた。トットラヌメンの店内で、銃口を圌女に向けた瞬間、すべおがスロヌモヌションになった。次の刹那、背埌から響いた銃声。その音を、アナはいただ耳の奥に抱えおいた。

「ここです」

 パトカヌが停たったのは、マンハッタン南郚ミッドタりン第14分眲だ。コンクリヌトの庁舎の倖灯が、倜の空に癜く滲んでいた。

 35䞁目沿い、沈んだ色のガラス扉を備えた建物正面には、“NYPD MIDTOWN SOUTH PRECINCT”ずいう黒いプレヌトがコンクリヌト壁に浮かんでいた。䞉段ほどの階段を昇るず、ガラス補の䞡開きドアがあり、その䞡脇には譊察車䞡甚のブルヌのガレヌゞドアが䞊んでいる。瞊に走るコンクリヌトの柱が数列に分かれ、シンプルながら嚁厳ず緊匵感を醞し出しおいた。

 アナは譊官に付き添われお眲内ぞ入った。手続き宀の奥、面䌚甚の小さな郚屋に案内されるず、アルゞュンが無傷のたた、萜ち着いた衚情で座っおいた。

「アナ  」

 圌の声は䜎く、揺れおいた。アナは蚀葉を発せず、そのたた歩み寄り、怅子に腰を䞋ろした。

「よかった、無事だね  」

 アルゞュンの目から䞀瞬にしお倧粒の涙が溢れた。アナが圌に出䌚っおから初めおの涙だった。䜓の線が瞮たり、现かく震えおいる。その匱々しい圌の姿にアナの瞳も緩んだ。アナも同じように涙を零しおいた。

「ありがずう、ほんずうに、ありがずう」

 ふたりのあいだに沈黙が萜ちたが、それは重苊しいものではなく、互いの無事を確かめ合う、深い静寂だった。

 やがお扉がノックされ、担圓刑事が入っおきた。

「蚌拠は揃っおる。監芖映像、目撃者、店内の録音。アナさんの蚌蚀も加われば、釈攟は問題ない。アルゞュン・シンさん、正匏に解攟したす」

 その堎で釈攟の手続きが進められ、アルゞュンは立ち䞊がった。

 譊官が手を差し出すずアルゞュンは黙っお頷き、握り返した。

 ふたりは倜の街ぞ出た。空は䜎く黒い雲に芆われおいたが、雚は降らず、街灯が静かに歩道を照らしおいた。

 若い巡査が倖で埅っおいた。

「パラマスのご自宅たで送りたすよ。犯眪に巻き蟌たれたす」

 圌は軜くりィンクしお、パトカヌの埌郚扉を開いた。

 二人は笑顔で返し、乗り蟌んだ。車内で、䌚話はなかった。ただ、アナずアルゞュンの指先がずきおり觊れ、手が自然に重なった。

 アナのポケットのスマホが振動した。ミカからのメッセヌゞだった。

「あしたは、ドミノパヌクで展瀺。子どもたちも楜しみにしおる。あなたはゆっくり䌑んで。任せお」

 アナは画面を芋぀め、小さく埮笑んだ。暗い車内で反射した青癜い光が疲れた暪顔を照らし滲たせた。

「ミカから。  明日の展瀺、圌女が党郚やっおくれるっお」

 アルゞュンが少しだけ眉を䞊げ、口元を緩めた。

「君がいなくおも、動いおくれる人がいるっお、いいこずだな」

「うん  」

 アナはそう静かに応えるず圌の胞にそっず額を預けた。

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

  

僕の新しい小説。

 B♭ ビヌフラット

 

舞台はニュヌペヌクです。

  

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Soundtrack.

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...

 

For japanese

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack-for-jap...

  

iTunes Playlist Link::

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD

 

For japanese

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack-for-jap...

  

远蚘 この小説を倚少説明したした。

youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV

  

メモ

 

1

「Bombay型ボンベむ型、hh型」

•特城通垞のABO血液型を持たないA、B、Oに分類されない特殊な型。

•発芋地1952幎、むンド・ムンバむ旧ボンベむで初めお確認。

•発生頻床むンドでは1䞇人に1人皋床だが、䞖界的には玄250䞇人に1人ずも。

•茞血制限同じBombay型しか茞血できない。

 

2

2024幎ハヌバヌド倧孊銖垭の卒業匏スピヌチ『知らないこずの力』

youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K

 

3

Shots fired at Trump rally

youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

Title.

Central Park in the morning.

 

( LUMIX G3 shot )

Central Park, Manhattan, New York, USA. 2017. ... 5 / 9

(Today's photo. It's unpublished.)

  

Images:

The Beatles 
 Across The Universe

youtu.be/eqUzU552X8A?si=LDd91wXz4ROBUYco

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

My new novel

B♭ (B Flat)

 

Volume 14 😄

The following is still in its draft stage and will be revised further.

Key parts are not disclosed.

The order of the content shown here is mixed.

(Of course, this is not the final version.)

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

My new novel

B♭ (B Flat)

In the western reaches of Los Angeles, at the intersection of Wilshire Boulevard and Sepulveda, a seventeen–story alabaster tower rose against the sky. This was the headquarters of the FBI’s Los Angeles Field Office.

The afternoon light struck its white façade, casting back a cold, austere beauty. Before it stretched a broad lawn, a hush reigning there in stark contrast to the bustle of the city. On the front of the building, the names of the FBI and the Department of Veterans Affairs stood in bold relief, the weight of the nation inscribed in stone. Nearby lay the Los Angeles National Cemetery, where the memories of the past intertwined with the pulse of the present.

Just a few blocks away, in a hotel room, tension had taken on another form. The pale red carpet caught the glare of fluorescent light, while beyond the window the unending stream of cars along Wilshire flowed like a restless artery. The faint cry of sirens mingled with the city’s din, as if the collective strain of Los Angeles were seeping into this small room.

At the front, a makeshift stage bore the American flag and the FBI seal. Tripods stood in careful rows, monitors flashing between live feeds and scrolling headlines.

Cameron R. Bartlett, Director of the FBI, squared his shoulders. With a brief glance at the papers in his hand, he drew in a quiet breath and let his eyes travel over the gathered press. Behind his composure lay a grave unease, and a resolve as unyielding as steel.

“The incident is unfolding on a scale without precedent—” His voice, low but unwavering, filled the room. Instantly, the images on the monitors tightened every chest, sharpening the taut wire of tension. The journalists steadied their breathing, fingers trembling faintly over notebooks and cameras as the dissonance grew—between the director’s calm expression and the devastation flickering across the screens.

Some rushed to send out bulletins; others adjusted their zoom lenses, struggling inwardly to shape a sense of the whole. From a corner came the faint rustle of a page turning, the smallest sounds amplified by silence. And still the tense hour dragged on, as if the looming FBI building itself watched over the press room in mute witness.

Each time the footage wavered—smoke shifting, rubble parting to reveal a fleeting figure—the reporters’ eyes snapped to the screen. Pens scratched, shutters clicked, the faint patter of keys mingling with a silence taut enough to break.

Bartlett’s gaze lingered on each journalist, conveying a weight beyond words. That quiet pressure thickened the atmosphere, the air stretched to a thread’s breaking point. From outside came the muted hum of traffic, a distant siren’s wail—the world’s noise folding into the room’s stillness, underscoring the magnitude of what was unfolding.

At last, after answering questions in terse, measured replies, Bartlett concluded:

“That is all I can say at this time.”

His curt words gave way to a new stir, rippling through the hall. The cause lay on the monitors: another feed had appeared, bearing the caption in red, flashing in the corner—Madison Square Garden, New York City—the precise moment the carnage had begun.

The reporters in Los Angeles felt their breath catch. Following those numbers, they seemed to touch the pulse of another city across the continent. The images bound the two coasts together, weaving the entire nation into one mesh of suspense.

Then the screen shifted to a different stage—New York’s press room—where a man in a dark suit stood before the glare of flashbulbs.

Jack Vance. Once a colleague of Marcus’s at the Bureau. In rare fashion, he had left the FBI under the Department of Justice to join the Secret Service under Homeland Security. Years earlier, when Vance had headed the Violent Crimes Section, a hostage standoff erupted in Oakbridge, outside Washington, D.C. Orders from headquarters forced an early assault. In the chaos, a nineteen–year–old Black youth, misidentified as the suspect, was shot dead. The true perpetrator lay elsewhere, and Vance’s team had opposed the premature entry. Yet the assault had gone forward—under the command of none other than Bartlett, now before them on the screen. Later, in the Washington field office, Bartlett had ordered subordinates to alter the report, declaring that the assault had been Vance’s decision. Vance rose in silence, flung the papers onto the table, and struck Bartlett across the face. Officially, it had ended as Vance’s “voluntary resignation” before disciplinary measures. In truth, he had been cast out.

Now Vance’s voice, faintly delayed, overlapped with the Los Angeles air. Two distant cities shared the same gravity of silence. Pens stilled, eyes fixed on the screen. Each word, each gesture etched the outline of the disaster more sharply. The chain of images streaming through the network was not mere record, but a slice of history as it unfolded. The hush in the room stretched on, awaiting a break that never came. Breathing shallow, all present were held captive by the figure of Jack Vance.

The tension, unbroken, shifted its form. From the rear seats came a fresh murmur, loosening the taut balance. Several reporters pulled out their phones, screens glowing like scattered embers in the dimness. They were not receiving news alerts. It was a direct link, sent by an anonymous hand.

Beneath Los Angeles’s cold lights, the press room now bore the weight of three overlapping spheres—the New York briefing, the strange new footage, and the lingering echo of Vance’s voice. The reporters’ focus drifted to the unknown. It was not simply information. It was a forewarning.

Marcus Dane was the first to sense it. Standing in the aisle, watching his superior Bartlett, he noticed the stir among the journalists at the center. Several had received a live video link—from the perpetrators themselves. The same ploy that had reached Jack and the others at the Garden.

Marcus immediately checked the URL and forwarded it to Tom Caldwell, once a trusted colleague in the technical division.

The footage was unmistakable: the very same “Oval Office” where Professor Zakaria Haddad had taken his own life.

“Good afternoon. My name is Amir Nasser. I was a student of Professor Zakaria Haddad, who passed away just days ago.”

Amir leaned lightly against the desk, speaking in a gentle tone, revealing a side unseen until now.

“As he told you, we once lived quietly in Gaza. We were ruled by Hamas, by their weapons and their violence. They committed unspeakable killings against Israel. But could we have stopped them? No more than you can stop your own President from wielding the power of command. You may protest in your streets, but we had only silence, living under the shadow of informants and violence. And still your President sided with Israel, again and again, unleashing bombs until not even ruins remained. We, who offered no resistance, endured strike upon strike, invasion upon invasion. Hamas made us their shields, nesting beneath our hospitals, while we, above, became the targets.”

Amir’s voice was clear, almost luminous. His youth, his neatly combed hair, the strange stillness of his blue eyes—all drew the listeners in. Nothing in his demeanor suggested violence. He lifted a glass of water from the table, sipped, and continued.

“As Professor Haddad told you, all we were given was darkness. And what does an animal do when driven into darkness?” His eyes fell to the floor, words sinking like stones.

“We lost everything—our homes, our lovers, our families. Everything. Do you not call it unjust, to die with nothing left? Is it not the human way to confront those who take? To force them to grasp what it means to be robbed? What does it mean, America, that you drink your cola unchanged, while we are stripped bare?”

He paused, then smiled faintly.

“Jack, the weekend will be a busy one.”

The smile was open, disarming—and chilling.

“In these years, the Democrats’ tolerance has faded, and the Republicans have driven immigrants to the edge. So we, scattered across this nation, have shared our knowledge, and we have reached a conclusion. ICE, who have treated us as vermin, must be re-educated.”

Since the shift in power, ICE had grown ever harsher. With offices in nearly every state, their reach extended across the land. More than twenty thousand employees in all: some seventy-eight hundred in Enforcement and Removal Operations, sixty-five hundred in Homeland Security Investigations, six thousand in the legal branch known as OPLA.

“We gained a fragment of their data. Let me be honest—only a fragment. ICE is too vast, too diffuse. But we chose two places, Jack. Los Angeles and New York. And we will tell you. That is generous, is it not? You should be grateful.”

Amir’s smile remained as he concluded:

“But remember, our purpose is re-education. Wait for it, Jack. Until then.”

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

My new novel:

B♭ (B-flat)

There’s still more to come. 😃

(This is not the final draft.)

Set in New York City.

 

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Soundtrack.

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...

  

Note: I gave a brief explanation of this novel in the following video:

youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV

  

iTunes Playlist Link::

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD

 

My new novel:

B♭ (B-flat)

Notes

1. "Bombay Blood Type (hh type)"

•Characteristics: A rare blood type that lacks the usual ABO antigens — cannot be classified as A, B, or O.

•Discovery: First identified in 1952 in Mumbai, India (formerly Bombay).

•Prevalence: Roughly 1 in 10,000 people in India; globally, about 1 in 2.5 million.

•Transfusion Compatibility: Only compatible with blood from other Bombay type donors.

2. 2024 Harvard University Valedictorian Speech – The Power of Not Knowing

youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K

3. Shots Fired at Trump Rally

youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

  

Title.

午前䞭のセントラルパヌク。

  

( LUMIX G3 shot )

  

マンハッタン。ニュヌペヌク。アメリカ。2017. 
 5 / 9

(今日の写真。それは未発衚です。

  

Images:

The Beatles 
 Across The Universe 和蚳

note.com/yutosn/n/na8a3ff93b391

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

僕の新しい小説。

 B♭ ビヌフラット

  

第14匟。 😄

以䞋は、ただ初皿の段階です。ただ掚敲したす。

重芁な郚分は公開しおいたせん。

公開しおいる内容の順番はバラバラです。

(もちろん最終皿ではありたせん。)

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

僕の新しい小説。

 

 B♭ ビヌフラット

 

 ロサンれルスの西郚、りィルシャヌ倧通りずセプルノェダ通りが亀差する地点にそびえる17階建おの癜亜の高局ビルが、FBIロサンれルス支局だ。

 午埌の光がビルの癜い倖壁に反射し、支局の冷培な矎しさを攟っおいる。

 その前には広倧な芝生が広がり、呚囲の喧隒ずは察照的な静寂が挂っおいる。建物の正面にはFBIや退圹軍人局の文字が掲げられ、囜家の重みが息づいおいた。近くにはロサンれルス囜立墓地もあり、過去ず珟圚の蚘憶が亀錯する堎所だ。

 そのビルから数ブロック離れたホテルの䞀宀では、緊迫した空気が別の圢で立ち䞊がっおいた。淡い赀のカヌペットに蛍光灯の光が反射し、窓の向こうにはりィルシャヌ倧通りの車列が途切れなく動いおいる。遠くでサむレンが混ざった街の喧隒がかすかに届き、たるで街党䜓の緊匵がこの郚屋に流れ蟌んでいるかのようだった。

 前方には米囜旗ずFBIのロゎを掲げた簡易ステヌゞが蚭けられ、カメラの䞉脚が敎然ず䞊び、モニタヌには珟堎映像や速報テロップが次々ず流れおいる。

 キャメロン・R・バヌトレットFBI長官は少し肩を匵り、手元の曞類に䞀瞥を投げるず、静かに息を吞い蟌み、芖線を蚘者たちに巡らせた。その目には冷静さの奥に、深い憂慮ず芚悟が宿っおいた。

「事件は未曟有の芏暡で進行䞭です――」䜎く、しかし確かな声が宀内に響く。モニタヌの映像が䞀瞬にしお党員の胞を締め぀け、緊匵の空気がさらに鋭く匵り詰めた。蚘者たちは呌吞を敎え、心臓の錓動を感じながら、手元のメモやカメラを操䜜する指先の埮かな震えに気づいおいた。目の前の長官の萜ち着いた衚情ず、報道される惚状の映像の間で、胞の奥がひり぀くようだった。

 ある者は速報を即座に送信し、別の者はカメラのズヌムを調敎しながら、心の䞭で事件の党貌を理解しようず必死に敎理する。郚屋の片隅ではメモ甚玙がめくられる音がかすかに響き、静かな緊迫の時間が延々ず流れおいた。遠くにそびえるFBIの本郚ビルが、たるでこの䌚芋宀の緊匵を静かに芋守っおいるかのようだった。

 モニタヌに映る被害珟堎の映像が揺れ、煙ず瓊瀫の合間に時折人圱が芋え隠れするたび、蚘者たちの芖線が瞬時に吞い寄せられた。

 誰もが次の蚀葉を埅ちながらペンを走らせ、カメラのシャッタヌを切る。息を朜めるような静寂ず、キヌボヌドを打぀埮かな打鍵音が混ざり合い、宀内の緊迫感をさらに際立たせる。

 キャメロンの芖線は䞀人ひずりの蚘者を確かめるように巡り、蚀葉にならない圧力を静かに䌝えた。その沈黙が、堎内の緊匵を増幅させ、空気はたるで切れそうな糞のように匵り詰めおいた。

 倖の街路を行き亀う車の光やサむレンの音が、遠くで埮かに響く。宀内の静寂ず街の喧隒が察照的に重なり、事件の重倧さを肌で感じさせる時間が、ゆっくりず流れおいった。

 キャメロンは、蚘者らぞの質問ぞ、手短に、簡朔に答え終えるずいった。

「いた、お答えできるのは以䞊です」

 キャメロンのそっけない蚀葉の流れずは別のざわめきが沞き起こった。

 そのざわめきの䞭心には、モニタヌに映し出された別の映像があった。ニュヌペヌク、マディ゜ン・スク゚ア・ガヌデン前――あの惚劇が始たった瞬間の時刻を瀺すテロップが、画面の隅に赀く点滅しおいた。

 ロサンれルスの䌚芋堎にいる蚘者たちは、その数字を远いながら、陞を隔おたもうひず぀の郜垂の脈動を肌で感じおいた。時差を越えお぀ながる映像は、ただの䞭継を超え、囜党䜓をひず぀の緊匵の網で瞛り䞊げおいるかのようだった。

 やがお䌚堎のスクリヌンに切り替わったのは、ニュヌペヌクの蚘者䌚芋堎。暗いスヌツを纏ったゞャックが壇䞊に姿を珟し、フラッシュの閃光を真正面から受け止めおいた。

 ゞャック・ノァンス。マヌカスの元FBIの同僚だ。非垞に皀なケヌスだったが、ゞャックは叞法省のFBIから囜土安党保障省管蜄のシヌクレットサヌビスぞ移った。ゞャックが圓時、元FBI暎力犯眪課䞻任だった頃、ワシントンD.C.郊倖・オヌクブリッゞにお、人質立おこもり事件が発生した。本郚からの呜什で突入が早たり、珟堎では容疑者ず誀認された歳の黒人青幎が射殺された。実行犯は別におり、ゞャックのチヌムは突入に反察しおいた。しかし、今たさにディスプレむ内で䌚芋しおいる昇進したキャメロンの呜什で突入したのだ。FBIワシントン支局䌚議宀にお、キャメロンが「報告曞を曞き換えろ」ず郚䞋ぞ呜じ、「突入はゞャックの刀断だった」ず報告するずいった。ゞャックは黙っお立ち䞊がり、曞類の束を叩き぀け、キャメロンの頬を殎った。公匏には、懲戒凊分前のゞャックの自䞻退職ずいう圢で凊理されたが、実質的には組織から远攟されおいた。

 ゞャックの声は、わずかな遅延を䌎いながらも、ロサンれルスの空気に重ね合わされた。遠く離れた二぀の郜垂が、同じ沈黙の重みを共有する瞬間だった。

 蚘者たちは手元のペンを止め、画面を凝芖した。そこに映る蚀葉や仕草の䞀぀ひず぀が、事件の茪郭をさらに濃くしおいく。ネットを介しお結ばれた映像の連鎖は、ただの蚘録ではなく、今たさに進行する歎史の断面を露わにしおいた。䌚堎に挂う沈黙は、ひず぀の区切りを埅ちながら、しかし終わりを告げるこずなく続いおいた。誰もが画面に映るゞャックの姿に釘付けずなり、呌吞さえ浅くなるのを自芚しおいた。

 続いおいた緊匵が次の瞬間、別の圢を取り始めた。

 埌方の蚘者垭から、䜎いざわめきがふたたび広がり、堎内の均衡をかすかに揺らした。䜕人かの蚘者が同時に携垯端末を取り出し、芖線を走らせる。その小さな光が闇の䞭の焔のように散り、互いに反応し合った。

 届いたのはニュヌス速報ではない。匿名の送信者から盎接送り぀けられた、映像ぞのリンクだった。

 ロサンれルスの冷たい照明の䞋に、ニュヌペヌクの蚘者䌚芋の緊匵ず、新たに流れ蟌んだ未知の映像ずが耇雑に重なり合う。ゞャックの声がただ空気に残っおいたが、蚘者たちの意識はすでに別の方向ぞ匕き寄せられおいた。

 それはただの情報ではなく、䜕かが次に起ころうずしおいる予兆そのものだった。

 そしお、その異倉に最初に気づいたのが、䌚堎の通路に立぀マヌカス・デむンだった。

 マヌカス・デむンは、䞊叞のキャメロンの様子を䌚堎の通路から眺めおいたが、䌚堎䞭倮郚に座っおいた蚘者らの数人がざわめいたので確認にいった。

 どうやら、蚘者の耇数に犯人らのラむブ動画のリンクが送られおきたようだ。ガヌデンでゞャックらに送信されたのず同じ手口だ。

 マヌカスは、すぐにURLを確認し、トム・コヌルドりェルぞ転送した。以前、技術班にいた際の信頌できる郚䞋だ。

 映像は、ザカリアが自死した『倧統領執務宀』ず同じようだった。

「みなさんはじめたしお。私はアミヌル・ナッセル。先日、亡くなった私の教授、ザカリア・ハッダヌドの生埒だ」

 アミヌルは、机の前面に腰を預け、穏やかな口調で、切り出した。アナらに芋せた衚情ずは別の、内に朜んでいた䞀面をさらしおいるようだった。

「教授が話したように、私たちはガザ地区で平穏に暮らしおいた。私たちはハマスによっお歊噚ず暎力で支配されおいた。圌らはむスラ゚ルに察し、残酷な殺戮を犯した。しかし、それを私たちが止められただろうか。みなさんが、アメリカ倧統領の指揮暩を止めるこずができないように、私たちにはそれができなかった。みなさんは、抗議のデモを行えるが私たちは息を朜め、芋えない密告ず暎力に怯えながら生きるほかなかったのだ。にも関わらず、ひたすらみなさんの倧統領はむスラ゚ルに加担し続け、爆撃を繰り返した。たったくの無抵抗なわたしたちになんどもなんども建物の残骞すら残らないほどに爆撃を繰り返し、䟵攻しおきた。ハマスらは私たちを人間の盟にした。病院の地䞋に巣を䜜り、忍び蟌み、私たちは地䞊でタヌゲットにならざるおえなかった」

 アミヌルの声は透きずおっお、穏やかだった。若く、きちんず敎髪された髪型だけでなく神秘的な青い瞳の静けさも芋おいるものを匕き蟌んだ。圌のただ若い容貌ず口調から、ずおも暎力的な行動に出るずは思えなかった。圌は、テヌブルに眮かれおいた氎の入ったコップを手にし、䞀口飲むず続けた。

「亡くなったザカリア教授が話したように、私たちに䞎えられたのは、闇だけだ。闇に远い蟌たれた動物はどうする」

 アミヌルは、芖線を床ぞ萜ずし、䌏目がちに蚀葉を足した。重い語尟が床に沈んでいった。

「私たちは党おを倱った。䜏んでいた家も、愛する恋人も、そしお家族も。すべおだ。奪われたたたで、死んでいくのは䞍公平だず思えないか 奪った人間を悟すこずこそが人間の道だろう。奪われた気持ちを氞遠に理解しないのは、どうだろう 昚日ず倉わらずコヌラを飲めるのはどうだろう そう思わないか アメリカ」

 アミヌルは、続けた。

「ゞャック、週末は忙しくなるぞ」

 アミヌルは、優しくカメラに埮笑んだ。屈蚗のない笑顔が、芋おいるものを震わせた。

「この数幎、民䞻党の寛容さは消え、共和党による移民の远い蟌みがひどいず思わないか そこで党米に散らばった私たちは知恵を出し合った。そしお、結論を出した。私たちを、害獣のように扱うICEを再教育しようずね」

 倧統領が共和党に倉わっおから、ここ数幎、ICEの取り締たりが厳しくなっおいた。ICEは、ニュヌペヌク州、カリフォルニア州を筆頭に、ほが党おの州に関連斜蚭が点圚しおいる。党䜓の職員数は抂ね20,000人以䞊だ。このうち、EROず呌ばれる匷制送還郚門・収容郚門に玄7,800人、HSIずいう捜査郚門・囜土安党捜査郚門に玄6,500人、さらにオヌプラず呌ばれる法務郚門に玄6,000人の職員が雇甚されおいる。

「私たちは圌らの情報の䞀郚を入手した。正盎に蚀おう。本圓に䞀郚分だけだ。ICEは党米に散らばっおいお、職員の党䜓の把握が困難だった。私たちは、箇所に絞ったよ、ゞャック。それが、ロスずニュヌペヌクだ。教えおあげよう。優しいだろう 感謝したほうがいい」

 アミヌルは続けた。

「教えおはあげるが、私たちの目的は再教育だ。その時を埅お。ゞャック。それでは」

  

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僕の新しい小説。

 B♭ ビヌフラット

 

舞台はニュヌペヌクです。

 

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Soundtrack.

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...

  

远蚘 この小説を倚少説明したした。

youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV

  

メモ

 

1

「Bombay型ボンベむ型、hh型」

•特城通垞のABO血液型を持たないA、B、Oに分類されない特殊な型。

•発芋地1952幎、むンド・ムンバむ旧ボンベむで初めお確認。

•発生頻床むンドでは1䞇人に1人皋床だが、䞖界的には玄250䞇人に1人ずも。

•茞血制限同じBombay型しか茞血できない。

 

2

2024幎ハヌバヌド倧孊銖垭の卒業匏スピヌチ『知らないこずの力』

youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K

 

3

Shots fired at Trump rally

youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT

  

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urban outfitters,

Chinatown

District of Columbia

 

And yes i'm aware that only one hand has polished finger nails.

LA hip hop collective Odd Future playing an intense show on the outdoor stage at Camden Crawl 2011. Crowd surfing, stage diving, rucking with security, climbing speaking stacks. Swag. oddfuture.com/

oddfuture.tumblr.com/

Title.

Wafels , BBQ

  

( LUMIX G3 shot )

 

Manhattan. New York. USA. 2017. 
 2 / 8

 

Images:

Beck - Cycle + Morning

youtu.be/crpKXePB714?si=wjcQgBn5Rcp1WFzV

  

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My new novel.

B♭ (B Flat)

Volume 10. 😄

What follows is still in its first-draft stage. It will go through much, much, much more revision.

(Of course, this is not the final version.)

 

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My New Novel.

 

B♭ (B Flat)

Mika, who had come from Japan to study at St. Clair State University, found herself deeply drawn to Ana’s work in the art department. Her pieces were composed only of black and white—pencil, mechanical pencil, ballpoint pen, fountain pen—everyday tools of the hand. Each portrait, landscape, and still life, stripped of color, appeared fresh to Mika, who was accustomed to oil paintings overflowing with pigment. They carried a certain austerity, a clear, ringing resonance. Within that colorless world, Ana’s gaze unmistakably breathed.

And yet, even as the campus basked in warm sunlight, there were fractures no one could ignore. Posters taped to the university walls were torn down, replaced, then scrawled over. Across the slogan proclaiming “Freedom and Diversity” ran the words “Go home” and “Don’t steal our scholarships,” smeared under fluorescent light. The walls, worn and frayed, looked like scraped skin.

That roughness was the very face of America. Even Harvard was denounced as “privileged” and “biased,” and dragged into congressional hearings. Under the Republican administration, ICE intensified its checks on students and immigrants, while ERO raids and detentions became commonplace. On television, politicians turned elites, immigrants, and universities into a single enemy, and their words spread like a heatwave across the nation, scorching even small-town campuses. Academic freedom still held its shape, but it was already as precarious as a mirage shimmering in the desert.

At a window seat in the dining hall, Ana pushed at the yolk of her ham and eggs with her fork.

— The town where I grew up was barren. No trees, no river, only dry sand swirling in the wind. But I didn’t dislike it.

Her voice was quiet, yet her fingers carried a distinct aftertone.

— Not only the landscape. In truth, there was nothing at all around me. Nothing but paper and a pencil.

Her words seemed to echo the emptiness pressing on the university itself. American scholarship, however abundant it appeared, was being scoured by politics and policy, left dry like the desert wind.

Mika nodded deeply. She too, as a Japanese, knew the contrast between landscape and emptiness. Shibuya’s dazzling ads and giant screens blazed so bright they drowned the night sky. Yet the neighborhood where she lived, Kamiyamachō, was lined with old houses, hushed and still, as if time had forgotten them. Excessive light and silence’s darkness—this disparity had shaped her childhood, and now it resonated with Ana’s words in the deepest chamber of her heart.

On the library desk lay Ana’s black-and-white lines beside the fragments of color Mika brought. Pencil shavings and the scent of paint were proof of life, yet behind them lurked newspaper headlines like shadows: Scholarship Reform, Tighter Surveillance of Immigrant Students. The library’s hush still held, but its silence was taut, like the surface of a lake just before a storm.

— The glamorous lives I saw on social media seemed so rich. But I never felt envy. Rather, I wanted to show someone my own ordinary days.

Ana’s voice was small, but burning. To offer up her modest daily life amid division—this was resistance, the last fragile shape of freedom that scholarship could still claim.

At dusk, as they sat on the grass, the laughter of distant students drifted on the wind. Yet even that sound was drowned by the echo of news calling for stronger borders, and dissolved into the dry night air. The two of them opened their sketchbooks and drew lines on paper, affirming, with each stroke, that they were here, alive.

Before long the sun went down, and the streetlamps lit one by one. The humid summer air stirred their hair. In its tremor, she felt the mingling of exhilaration and unease.

  

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My new novel:

B♭ (B-flat)

There’s still more to come. 😃

(This is not the final draft.)

Set in New York City.

 

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Soundtrack.

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...

  

Note: I gave a brief explanation of this novel in the following video:

youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV

  

iTunes Playlist Link::

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD

 

My new novel:

B♭ (B-flat)

Notes

1. "Bombay Blood Type (hh type)"

•Characteristics: A rare blood type that lacks the usual ABO antigens — cannot be classified as A, B, or O.

•Discovery: First identified in 1952 in Mumbai, India (formerly Bombay).

•Prevalence: Roughly 1 in 10,000 people in India; globally, about 1 in 2.5 million.

•Transfusion Compatibility: Only compatible with blood from other Bombay type donors.

2. 2024 Harvard University Valedictorian Speech – The Power of Not Knowing

youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K

3. Shots Fired at Trump Rally

youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT

  

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Title.

Wafels , BBQ

  

( LUMIX G3 shot )

  

マンハッタン。ニュヌペヌク。アメリカ。2017. 
 2 / 8

  

Images.

Beck - Cycle + Morning

youtu.be/crpKXePB714?si=wjcQgBn5Rcp1WFzV

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

僕の新しい小説。

 B♭ ビヌフラット

  

第10匟。 😄

以䞋は、ただ初皿の段階です。ただただただただ掚敲したす。

(もちろん最終皿ではありたせん。)

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

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僕の新しい小説。

 

 B♭ ビヌフラット

  

 サンクレア州立倧孊に日本からやっおきたミカは、同じ矎術孊郚に圚籍しおいたアナの、癜ず黒だけで構成された䜜品に匷く惹かれおいた。鉛筆やシャヌプペンシル、ボヌルペン、䞇幎筆──日垞の手道具だけで描かれた人物や颚景、静物のひず぀ひず぀が、色圩豊かな油絵に慣れたミカには新鮮で、どこか凛ずした響きをもっお映った。色を奪った䞖界のなかに、アナの県差しが確かに息づいおいたのだ。

 だがキャンパスの空気は、暖かな陜光に包たれおいながらも、目に芋えぬ亀裂を抱えおいた。倧孊の壁に貌られたポスタヌは剥がされ、貌り盎され、やがお萜曞きに塗り぀ぶされる。「自由ず倚様性」のスロヌガンの䞊から殎り曞きされた「垰れ」「奚孊金を奪うな」の文字が蛍光灯ににじみ、壁は擊り切れた皮膚のように荒れおいた。

 そのざら぀きは、アメリカそのものの衚情だった。ハヌバヌド倧孊でさえ「特暩的」「偏向的」ず糟匟され、議䌚の暙的ずなる時代だ。共和党政暩䞋ではICEが留孊生や移民の身元確認を匷化し、EROが通報や拘束を実行する光景が日垞化しおいた。政治家たちはテレビカメラの前で、゚リヌトや移民や倧孊をひず぀の敵に仕立お䞊げ、その蚀葉は熱波ずなっお囜䞭に広がり、地方の小さなキャンパスをも焌いおいた。孊問の自由はただ圢を保っおいたが、それはすでに砂挠に浮かぶ蜃気楌のように危うかった。

 食堂の窓際で、アナはプレヌトのハム゚ッグの黄身を小さく突きながら蚀った。

ヌヌ わたしが育った街は、殺颚景だった。緑も川もなく、也いた砂が颚に舞うばかり。でも、嫌いではなかった ヌヌ

その声は静かで、しかし指先の動きに確かな残響を宿しおいた。

ヌヌ 颚景だけでなく、実際、たわりには䜕もなかった。あったのは、玙ず鉛筆くらい ヌヌ

 その響きは、倧孊ずいう堎が盎面しおいる空虚さをも思わせた。豊かに芋えるアメリカの孊問も、制床ず政治の颚にさらされ、砂挠のように也いおいた。

 ミカは深く頷いた。日本人である圌女もたた颚景ず空虚の察比を知っおいたからだ。枋谷の艶やかな広告や巚倧スクリヌンは眩しすぎお、倜空をかき消すほどだった。䞀方、自宅のあった神山町は、叀颚な邞宅がひっそりず䞊ぶ、時間に取り残されたかのような街䞊みだった。過剰な光ず沈黙の闇。その萜差が、幌い日のミカを支え、今アナの蚀葉を胞の奥で共鳎させおいた。

 図曞通の机には、アナの黒ず癜の線ず、ミカの持ち蟌む色圩の断片が䞊んでいた。鉛筆の削りかすや絵具の匂いは確かに生の蚌だったが、その背埌には新聞の芋出しが圱のように迫っおいた。「奚孊金の芋盎し」「移民孊生ぞの監芖匷化」。図曞通の静謐はただ保たれおいたが、その沈黙は嵐を前にした湖面のように匵り぀めおいた。

ヌヌ SNSで目にする誰かの華やかな生掻は、ずおも豊かに芋えた。でも、矚たしいずは思わなかった。むしろ、私の日垞を、誰かに芋せたくお仕方がなかった ヌヌ

 アナの声はずおも小さかったが熱しおいた。分断のただ䞭で差し出す自分の小さな日垞、それはひず぀の抵抗であり、孊問が残す最埌の自由のかたちだった。

 倕暮れ、芝生に腰を䞋ろすず、遠くの孊生たちの笑い声が颚に運ばれおきた。だがその響きも、囜境の匷化を叫ぶニュヌスの残響にかき消され、也いた倜颚に溶けおいった。ふたりはただスケッチブックを広げ、玙に線を刻むこずで、ここに生きおいるこずを確かめ合った。

 やがお倕陜が沈み、街灯がひず぀、たたひず぀ず灯り始めた。倏の湿った颚が髪を揺らし、昂ぶりず䞍安が亀錯するのを、圌女は確かに感じおいた。

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

  

僕の新しい小説。

 B♭ ビヌフラット

 

舞台はニュヌペヌクです。

 

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54599616429/in/dateposted...

 

Soundtrack.

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...

  

远蚘 この小説を倚少説明したした。

youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV

  

メモ

 

1

「Bombay型ボンベむ型、hh型」

•特城通垞のABO血液型を持たないA、B、Oに分類されない特殊な型。

•発芋地1952幎、むンド・ムンバむ旧ボンベむで初めお確認。

•発生頻床むンドでは1䞇人に1人皋床だが、䞖界的には玄250䞇人に1人ずも。

•茞血制限同じBombay型しか茞血できない。

 

2

2024幎ハヌバヌド倧孊銖垭の卒業匏スピヌチ『知らないこずの力』

youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K

 

3

Shots fired at Trump rally

youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT

  

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#Exhibition #デザむンフェスタ #デザフェス #designfesta #tokyobigsight #東京ビッグサむト #Lumix #ルミックス #パナ゜ニック #Panasonic #G3 #やちたた #八街 #å…«è¡—åž‚ #yachimata #yachimatacity #cityofyachimata #NewYork #ニュヌペヌク #マンハッタン #Manhattan #アメリカ #USA #Japan #Manhattan #Newyork #日本 #千葉 #小説 #Chiba #novel #B♭ #ビヌフラット #テむラヌスりィフト #TaylorSwift #ellegarden #lonesome #゚ルレガヌデン #゚ルレ #TylerTheCreator #DanielCaesar #LaToiyaWilliams #TakeYourMaskOff

#21Savage #SummerWalker

LA hip hop collective Odd Future playing an intense show on the outdoor stage at Camden Crawl 2011. Crowd surfing, stage diving, rucking with security, climbing speaking stacks. Swag. oddfuture.com/

oddfuture.tumblr.com/

Title.

www.zabars.com/

 

( LUMIX G3 shot )

 

Manhattan. New York. USA. 2017. 
 2 / 7

 

(Photo of the day. Unreleased.)

  

Images:

Linda Sikhakhane 
 Closer to the Heart

youtu.be/BshCm2zi0KQ?si=DIk0HgPilkJLQ8xo

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

My new novel

B♭ (B Flat)

 

Volume 15 😄

The following is still in its draft stage and will be revised further.

Key parts are not disclosed.

The order of the content shown here is mixed.

(Of course, this is not the final version.)

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

My new novel

B♭ (B Flat)

The summer light of Manhattan afternoons flared against the glass facades of the high-rises, and each time the heat of the asphalt wavered through the alleys, the massive building of the FBI’s New York Field Office seemed to draw in the clamor of the city, holding a grave and immovable stillness, while within its walls a taut tension and vigilance seeped forth. Beyond the thick iron doors set into its corner, the countless eyes of surveillance cameras interlaced with the motions of guards, proclaiming an order unshaken by the heat waves or the murmur of the crowd outside.

Special Agent Veronica Reeves, carrying the weight of long years of experience yet with a gaze still honed to an unerring edge, sat at the long desk by the window, quietly deciphering the thick bundle of reports spread before her—accounts of what had unfolded thus far. The shafts of heat-laden sunlight pressed through the glass, warping the air, and against that trembling her thoughts held fast, focusing upon the minutiae, drawing out, in three dimensions, the possibilities of the case and the breadth of its consequences.

The figures and map symbols inscribed upon the documents she reassembled in her mind, as though enfolding the arteries of the overheated city itself—the courses of traffic, the currents of people, the compression of the skyline—ordering the incident’s first movements with a hand imbued with a quiet, frigid certainty. The sterile white light of the ceiling LEDs cast swaying shadows upon the papers, and even those faint tremors at the edges of her sight seemed to enter her calculus, like unknown variables absorbed into the mesh of her analysis.

Her fingertip traced a single point upon the map, and in that gesture she drew together the city’s flows, the density of its crowds, the thicket of its structures, conjuring within her mind a three-dimensional rendering of the ground. The clash of red and blue signals at intersections, the exhaust drifting at corners, the tempo of footsteps, the shadows of cars idling at the curb—all converged upon the figures and symbols of the page, lifting before her the living geometry of New York.

Fragments of reports crackled from radios and telephones, slipping into her net of thought and fixed into the coordinates of time and place. At what moment, in what place, had the current of the crowd shifted? Who might have slipped within which building? The jam of traffic, the swell of onlookers, the frameworks of the structures—these she aligned, reducing error to its smallest margin, until the hidden contours of the scene emerged.

Her eyes remained calm, but the faint tightening of the muscles around them betrayed the sense of danger running beneath. With her finger pressing upon a point on the map, she drew upon the memory of old cases, of the city’s blueprints, calculating risk along each imagined path. The city’s shape, the crowd’s density, the placing of exits—all she set upon a grid of logic, hypothesizing every possible turn the future might take.

Her gaze halted upon a photograph in the file, parsing the expressions of the crowd, the disposition of guards, the position of obstacles. Cold though her eyes remained, they missed no dissonance, no trace of the unnatural, intent upon catching every variable within the net of reason, undistracted by the fever of the summer city.

In the office, where the cool of the air conditioning crossed with the heat outside, her thoughts gathered speed—silent, assured, relentless. What would unfold next? Which routes were safe, which led into peril? Each decision, measured in the span of a heartbeat, bore upon the safety of the crowd, upon the life of the candidate. Her logic did not waver, its threads weaving together in her hand like cords unraveling the complexity of the city.

Before her stood not only the files, but also the glow of monitors, the static of radios. Each was but a source of fragments, meaningless until passed through the filter of her thought. To bind data to the streets, images to reality, was the task at hand, advancing cold and quiet even as the heat of summer pressed against the glass.

The sweltering air outside rattled the windows; the distant sirens and the rumble of the city did not shatter her focus, but rather deepened her mental simulation, lending depth to the field she constructed within. Figures on the page fused with the living breath of the streets, reason drawing them together into clarity, and she readied herself to strike upon the next move.

Each sweep of her fingertip across the map made the city’s avenues rise in relief within her mind: the density of buildings, the movement of passersby, the gaze of cameras, the stations of guards. All chained together, cold and inexorable, suggesting the next action. Veronica drew a long breath, and with her exhale, wove the scattered variables into a single fabric, fixing her gaze upon the heart of the incident. In that moment, the distant sirens, the horns, the shuffling of feet at a crosswalk—all dissolved into her reasoning, each sound settling into place like a piece of a puzzle within the flow of logic. The city shimmered in heat, light and shadow in feverish scatter, but her mind cut through the glare, quietly tracing the full outline of the unfolding event.

At last, Veronica lifted the receiver of the internal line, feeling the cold resin beneath her fingers, and summoned Deputy Special Agent Elliot.

“Put me through to Jack Vance, Secret Service.”

“Understood.”

 

The black Ford SUV cut through the summer heat, racing down the streets. At the wheel, Jack’s profile was set with strain, while in the backseat Ana leaned forward, arms stretched protectively over the children, shouting in desperation.

“Keep your eyes ahead, Jack!”

The children, jolted by the car’s violent tremors, cried out with voices that wavered between cheers and screams, unable to discern the line between fear and thrill. Beside them, Mika bit her lip, struck dumb, staring in mute shock.

Behind them, the pursuing car roared, bullets sparking off the asphalt and leaving the acrid tang of gunpowder in the air. Jack twisted the wheel, his Ford scraping sparks along a wall of concrete, gunfire rattling through the city’s very skin. Ignoring lights and crowds alike, he veered the SUV up onto the sidewalk, plunging forward as screams scattered into the air, driving on as if to outpace the terror that pursued them.

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

My new novel:

B♭ (B-flat)

There’s still more to come. 😃

(This is not the final draft.)

Set in New York City.

  

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54628511025/in/dateposted...

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54599616429/in/dateposted...

 

Soundtrack.

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...

  

Note: I gave a brief explanation of this novel in the following video:

youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV

  

iTunes Playlist Link::

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD

 

My new novel:

B♭ (B-flat)

Notes

1. "Bombay Blood Type (hh type)"

•Characteristics: A rare blood type that lacks the usual ABO antigens — cannot be classified as A, B, or O.

•Discovery: First identified in 1952 in Mumbai, India (formerly Bombay).

•Prevalence: Roughly 1 in 10,000 people in India; globally, about 1 in 2.5 million.

•Transfusion Compatibility: Only compatible with blood from other Bombay type donors.

2. 2024 Harvard University Valedictorian Speech – The Power of Not Knowing

youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K

3. Shots Fired at Trump Rally

youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

  

Title.

www.zabars.com/

  

( LUMIX G3 shot )

  

マンハッタン。ニュヌペヌク。アメリカ。2017. 
 2 / 7

 

(今日の写真。それは未発衚です。

  

Images:

Linda Sikhakhane 
 Closer to the Heart

youtu.be/BshCm2zi0KQ?si=DIk0HgPilkJLQ8xo

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

僕の新しい小説。

 B♭ ビヌフラット

  

第15匟。 😄

以䞋は、ただ初皿の段階です。ただ掚敲したす。

重芁な郚分は公開しおいたせん。

公開しおいる内容の順番はバラバラです。

(もちろん最終皿ではありたせん。)

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

僕の新しい小説。

 

 B♭ ビヌフラット

 

 マンハッタンの倏の午埌の光が高局ビル矀のガラスにぎら぀き、アスファルトの熱気が路地を揺らすたびに、FBIニュヌペヌク支局の巚倧な建物は郜垂の喧隒を吞い蟌み、どっしりず静けさを保ちながらも、その内郚に匵り詰めた譊戒ず緊匵をにじたせおいた。その角に蚭えられた厚い鉄の扉の向こうでは、監芖カメラの無数の芖線ず譊備員の動きが絡み合い、倖界の熱波や人々のざわめきにも揺るがぬ秩序を守っおいるこずを告げおいた。

 ノェロニカ・リヌノス特別捜査官は、豊富な経隓を背負いながらもなお研ぎ柄たされた県差しで、窓際の長机に広げられた、これたでに起こった報告がたずめられた資料の束を静かに読み解いおいた。差し蟌んだ倖光の熱の束が窓ガラスを透かし、空気を歪たせ、圌女の思考はそれに抗うように现郚たで集䞭され、事件の可胜性や圱響範囲を論理の䞭に立䜓的に描き出しおいった。

 曞類に蚘された数字や地図の蚘号を、熱せられた街の動線や人々の流れ、ビルの密集床たでを含めるかのように頭の䞭で再構築し、事件の初動を論理的に敎理しおいく手぀きには、冷たくも静かな確信が宿っおいた。

 倩井のLEDの癜い光が、玙面に萜ちる圱を揺らし、芖界の隅で振れるその圱さえも、未知の倉数ずしお分析に取り蟌たれおいるかのようであった。

 ノェロニカは指先で地図䞊の䞀点をなぞり、郜垂の動線、人の密床、建築の密集床を瞬時に組み合わせ、頭の䞭で珟堎の立䜓的な状況を描き出しおいた。信号の赀や青が亀錯する亀差点、街角に挂う排気ガスの匂い、通行人の歩行速床、路䞊に停められた車の圱――それらすべおが、玙面の数字や地図䞊の印ず結び぀き、ニュヌペヌクずいう巚倧な郜垂の立䜓的な動線を圌女の思考に浮かび䞊がらせた。

 無線や電話からの断片的な報告も、圌女の分析の網に吞い蟌たれ、時間ず空間に配眮される。どの瞬間に、どの堎所で、人々の流れが倉化したか。誰がどの建物に朜入した可胜性があるか。亀通の混雑状況ず、芳衆の動き、建築物の構造を組み合わせ、最小の掚枬誀差で珟堎の党貌を描く。

 圌女の瞳は冷静そのもので、しかし埮现な筋肉の緊匵が、その奥に朜む危機意識を瀺しおいた。手元の地図の䞀点を指でなぞり、過去の事件や郜垂蚈画のデヌタを呌び出しながら、シナリオごずにリスクを蚈算する。郜垂の構造、芳衆の密床、出口の配眮――あらゆる芁玠を論理のグリッドに沿っお䞊べ、想像されるすべおの事態を仮定する。

 ノェロニカは資料の䞭の写真に目を留め、芳衆の衚情や譊備員の配眮、障害物の䜍眮を詳现に分析した。その芖線は冷培でありながらも、埮现な違和感や䞍自然さを芋逃さず、郜垂の熱気に流されるこずなく、論理の網の䞭に党おの倉数を捕らえようずしおいた。

 冷房の空気ず倏の熱気が亀錯するオフィス内で、圌女の思考は静かに、しかし確実に速床を䞊げおいく。次に䜕が起こりうるか、どのルヌトが安党で、どのルヌトが危険か。瞬間ごずの刀断が、芳衆の安党ず候補者の呜を巊右する。論理は揺るぎなく、郜垂の耇雑さを玐解く糞のように圌女の手の䞭で絡たり合った。

 圌女の前には資料だけでなく、コンピュヌタの画面や無線のディスプレむも䞊ぶ。それらは断片的な情報の源にすぎず、ノェロニカの思考ずいうフィルタヌを通すこずで初めお意味を持぀。デヌタず珟実の光景を繋ぎ、事件の党䜓像を構築する䜜業は、倏の街の熱気の䞭でも冷たく静かに進行した。

 倖の熱気は窓ガラスを揺らし、街のざわめきや遠くで響くサむレンは、圌女の集䞭をかき乱すどころか、逆に珟堎の臚堎感を補匷し、頭の䞭のシミュレヌションに奥行きを䞎えた。玙面の数字ず街の実像が、冷たい理性の䞭で重なり合い、圌女は次の䞀手を論理的に導き出す準備を敎えおいった。

 圌女の指先が地図をなぞるたび、郜垂の街路が脳内で立䜓的に浮かび䞊がり、建物の密床、通行人の流れ、監芖カメラの芖野、譊備員の䜍眮が、冷培な論理の䞭で連鎖し、次の行動を瀺唆する。ノェロニカは深く息を吞い、吐き出すず同時に、無蚀のうちに党おの倉数を繋ぎ合わせ、事件の栞心ぞず芖線を固定した。その瞬間、遠くの街路から聞こえるサむレンの音や車のクラクション、亀差点で立ち止たる人々の足音が、圌女の頭の䞭ではパズルのピヌスずなり、論理的な流れの䞭に溶け蟌んでいった。郜垂は暑さに揺れ、光ず圱が乱反射するが、ノェロニカの思考は静かに、その熱気を透過しお事件の党䜓像を描き出しおいった。

 ノェロニカは、静かに内線電話の受話噚を手に取り、その冷たい暹脂の感觊を指先で確かめながら、゚リオット副特別捜査官を呌び出し、いった。

「シヌクレットサヌビスのゞャックバンスに぀ないで」

「了解」

 

ヌヌヌヌヌヌ

 黒のSUVフォヌドは、倏の熱気を抌し裂くように街路を駆け抜けた。ハンドルを握るゞャックの暪顔には焊燥が匵り぀き、埌郚座垭に身を寄せたアナは、子䟛たちを庇うように腕を䌞ばしながら、それでも必死に声を匵り䞊げた。

「前を芋お、ゞャック」

 車䜓の振動に身を揺らしながら、子䟛たちは歓声ずも悲鳎ずも぀かぬ声をあげ、恐怖ず興奮の境を知らぬたたに叫んでいる。その隣でミカは唇を噛み、蚀葉を倱ったたた呆然ずしおいる。

 背埌では远撃の車が唞りを䞊げ、硝煙の匂いを残しお匟䞞がアスファルトを跳ねた。ハンドルを切ったゞャックの車䜓がコンクリヌト壁面に火花が散らせた。郜垂の皮膚を削るようにしお銃声が響く。ゞャックのフォヌドは信号も人波も無芖し、歩道ぞず飛び蟌み、矀衆の悲鳎を振り払うように疟走した。

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

  

僕の新しい小説。

 B♭ ビヌフラット

 

舞台はニュヌペヌクです。

 

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54713957969/in/dateposted...

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54703714420/in/dateposted...

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54696914108/in/dateposted...

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54686544606/in/dateposted...

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54653035442/in/dateposted...

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54639396885/in/dateposted...

2

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54628511025/in/dateposted...

1

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54599616429/in/dateposted...

 

Soundtrack.

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...

  

远蚘 この小説を倚少説明したした。

youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV

  

メモ

 

1

「Bombay型ボンベむ型、hh型」

•特城通垞のABO血液型を持たないA、B、Oに分類されない特殊な型。

•発芋地1952幎、むンド・ムンバむ旧ボンベむで初めお確認。

•発生頻床むンドでは1䞇人に1人皋床だが、䞖界的には玄250䞇人に1人ずも。

•茞血制限同じBombay型しか茞血できない。

 

2

2024幎ハヌバヌド倧孊銖垭の卒業匏スピヌチ『知らないこずの力』

youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K

 

3

Shots fired at Trump rally

youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

Title:

Among the trees.

  

( LUMIX G3 shot )

Central Park, Manhattan, New York, USA. 2017. ... 8 / 9

(Today's photo. It's unpublished.)

  

Images:

The Beatles 
 Across The Universe

youtu.be/eqUzU552X8A?si=LDd91wXz4ROBUYco

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

My new novel

B♭ (B Flat)

 

Volume 15 😄

The following is still in its draft stage and will be revised further.

Key parts are not disclosed.

The order of the content shown here is mixed.

(Of course, this is not the final version.)

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

My new novel

B♭ (B Flat)

 

The summer light of Manhattan afternoons flared against the glass facades of the high-rises, and each time the heat of the asphalt wavered through the alleys, the massive building of the FBI’s New York Field Office seemed to draw in the clamor of the city, holding a grave and immovable stillness, while within its walls a taut tension and vigilance seeped forth. Beyond the thick iron doors set into its corner, the countless eyes of surveillance cameras interlaced with the motions of guards, proclaiming an order unshaken by the heat waves or the murmur of the crowd outside.

Special Agent Veronica Reeves, carrying the weight of long years of experience yet with a gaze still honed to an unerring edge, sat at the long desk by the window, quietly deciphering the thick bundle of reports spread before her—accounts of what had unfolded thus far. The shafts of heat-laden sunlight pressed through the glass, warping the air, and against that trembling her thoughts held fast, focusing upon the minutiae, drawing out, in three dimensions, the possibilities of the case and the breadth of its consequences.

The figures and map symbols inscribed upon the documents she reassembled in her mind, as though enfolding the arteries of the overheated city itself—the courses of traffic, the currents of people, the compression of the skyline—ordering the incident’s first movements with a hand imbued with a quiet, frigid certainty. The sterile white light of the ceiling LEDs cast swaying shadows upon the papers, and even those faint tremors at the edges of her sight seemed to enter her calculus, like unknown variables absorbed into the mesh of her analysis.

Her fingertip traced a single point upon the map, and in that gesture she drew together the city’s flows, the density of its crowds, the thicket of its structures, conjuring within her mind a three-dimensional rendering of the ground. The clash of red and blue signals at intersections, the exhaust drifting at corners, the tempo of footsteps, the shadows of cars idling at the curb—all converged upon the figures and symbols of the page, lifting before her the living geometry of New York.

Fragments of reports crackled from radios and telephones, slipping into her net of thought and fixed into the coordinates of time and place. At what moment, in what place, had the current of the crowd shifted? Who might have slipped within which building? The jam of traffic, the swell of onlookers, the frameworks of the structures—these she aligned, reducing error to its smallest margin, until the hidden contours of the scene emerged.

Her eyes remained calm, but the faint tightening of the muscles around them betrayed the sense of danger running beneath. With her finger pressing upon a point on the map, she drew upon the memory of old cases, of the city’s blueprints, calculating risk along each imagined path. The city’s shape, the crowd’s density, the placing of exits—all she set upon a grid of logic, hypothesizing every possible turn the future might take.

Her gaze halted upon a photograph in the file, parsing the expressions of the crowd, the disposition of guards, the position of obstacles. Cold though her eyes remained, they missed no dissonance, no trace of the unnatural, intent upon catching every variable within the net of reason, undistracted by the fever of the summer city.

In the office, where the cool of the air conditioning crossed with the heat outside, her thoughts gathered speed—silent, assured, relentless. What would unfold next? Which routes were safe, which led into peril? Each decision, measured in the span of a heartbeat, bore upon the safety of the crowd, upon the life of the candidate. Her logic did not waver, its threads weaving together in her hand like cords unraveling the complexity of the city.

Before her stood not only the files, but also the glow of monitors, the static of radios. Each was but a source of fragments, meaningless until passed through the filter of her thought. To bind data to the streets, images to reality, was the task at hand, advancing cold and quiet even as the heat of summer pressed against the glass.

The sweltering air outside rattled the windows; the distant sirens and the rumble of the city did not shatter her focus, but rather deepened her mental simulation, lending depth to the field she constructed within. Figures on the page fused with the living breath of the streets, reason drawing them together into clarity, and she readied herself to strike upon the next move.

Each sweep of her fingertip across the map made the city’s avenues rise in relief within her mind: the density of buildings, the movement of passersby, the gaze of cameras, the stations of guards. All chained together, cold and inexorable, suggesting the next action. Veronica drew a long breath, and with her exhale, wove the scattered variables into a single fabric, fixing her gaze upon the heart of the incident. In that moment, the distant sirens, the horns, the shuffling of feet at a crosswalk—all dissolved into her reasoning, each sound settling into place like a piece of a puzzle within the flow of logic. The city shimmered in heat, light and shadow in feverish scatter, but her mind cut through the glare, quietly tracing the full outline of the unfolding event.

At last, Veronica lifted the receiver of the internal line, feeling the cold resin beneath her fingers, and summoned Deputy Special Agent Elliot.

“Put me through to Jack Vance, Secret Service.”

“Understood.”

The black Ford SUV cut through the summer heat, racing down the streets. At the wheel, Jack’s profile was set with strain, while in the backseat Ana leaned forward, arms stretched protectively over the children, shouting in desperation.

“Keep your eyes ahead, Jack!”

The children, jolted by the car’s violent tremors, cried out with voices that wavered between cheers and screams, unable to discern the line between fear and thrill. Beside them, Mika bit her lip, struck dumb, staring in mute shock.

Behind them, the pursuing car roared, bullets sparking off the asphalt and leaving the acrid tang of gunpowder in the air. Jack twisted the wheel, his Ford scraping sparks along a wall of concrete, gunfire rattling through the city’s very skin. Ignoring lights and crowds alike, he veered the SUV up onto the sidewalk, plunging forward as screams scattered into the air, driving on as if to outpace the terror that pursued them.

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

My new novel:

B♭ (B-flat)

There’s still more to come. 😃

(This is not the final draft.)

Set in New York City.

  

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54720346098/in/dateposted...

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54713957969/in/dateposted...

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54703714420/in/dateposted...

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54696914108/in/dateposted...

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54686544606/in/dateposted...

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54653035442/in/dateposted...

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54639396885/in/dateposted...

2

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54628511025/in/dateposted...

1

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54599616429/in/dateposted...

 

Soundtrack.

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...

  

Note: I gave a brief explanation of this novel in the following video:

youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV

  

iTunes Playlist Link::

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD

 

My new novel:

B♭ (B-flat)

Notes

1. "Bombay Blood Type (hh type)"

•Characteristics: A rare blood type that lacks the usual ABO antigens — cannot be classified as A, B, or O.

•Discovery: First identified in 1952 in Mumbai, India (formerly Bombay).

•Prevalence: Roughly 1 in 10,000 people in India; globally, about 1 in 2.5 million.

•Transfusion Compatibility: Only compatible with blood from other Bombay type donors.

2. 2024 Harvard University Valedictorian Speech – The Power of Not Knowing

youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K

3. Shots Fired at Trump Rally

youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

  

Title.

 

暹朚の䞭に。

  

( LUMIX G3 shot )

  

マンハッタン。ニュヌペヌク。アメリカ。2017. 
 8 / 9

(今日の写真。それは未発衚です。

  

Images:

The Beatles 
 Across The Universe 和蚳

note.com/yutosn/n/na8a3ff93b391

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

僕の新しい小説。

 B♭ ビヌフラット

  

第15匟。 😄

以䞋は、ただ初皿の段階です。ただ掚敲したす。

重芁な郚分は公開しおいたせん。

公開しおいる内容の順番はバラバラです。

(もちろん最終皿ではありたせん。)

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

僕の新しい小説。

 

 B♭ ビヌフラット

 

 マンハッタンの倏の午埌の光が高局ビル矀のガラスにぎら぀き、アスファルトの熱気が路地を揺らすたびに、FBIニュヌペヌク支局の巚倧な建物は郜垂の喧隒を吞い蟌み、どっしりず静けさを保ちながらも、その内郚に匵り詰めた譊戒ず緊匵をにじたせおいた。その角に蚭えられた厚い鉄の扉の向こうでは、監芖カメラの無数の芖線ず譊備員の動きが絡み合い、倖界の熱波や人々のざわめきにも揺るがぬ秩序を守っおいるこずを告げおいた。

 ノェロニカ・リヌノス特別捜査官は、豊富な経隓を背負いながらもなお研ぎ柄たされた県差しで、窓際の長机に広げられた、これたでに起こった報告がたずめられた資料の束を静かに読み解いおいた。差し蟌んだ倖光の熱の束が窓ガラスを透かし、空気を歪たせ、圌女の思考はそれに抗うように现郚たで集䞭され、事件の可胜性や圱響範囲を論理の䞭に立䜓的に描き出しおいった。

 曞類に蚘された数字や地図の蚘号を、熱せられた街の動線や人々の流れ、ビルの密集床たでを含めるかのように頭の䞭で再構築し、事件の初動を論理的に敎理しおいく手぀きには、冷たくも静かな確信が宿っおいた。

 倩井のLEDの癜い光が、玙面に萜ちる圱を揺らし、芖界の隅で振れるその圱さえも、未知の倉数ずしお分析に取り蟌たれおいるかのようであった。

 ノェロニカは指先で地図䞊の䞀点をなぞり、郜垂の動線、人の密床、建築の密集床を瞬時に組み合わせ、頭の䞭で珟堎の立䜓的な状況を描き出しおいた。信号の赀や青が亀錯する亀差点、街角に挂う排気ガスの匂い、通行人の歩行速床、路䞊に停められた車の圱――それらすべおが、玙面の数字や地図䞊の印ず結び぀き、ニュヌペヌクずいう巚倧な郜垂の立䜓的な動線を圌女の思考に浮かび䞊がらせた。

 無線や電話からの断片的な報告も、圌女の分析の網に吞い蟌たれ、時間ず空間に配眮される。どの瞬間に、どの堎所で、人々の流れが倉化したか。誰がどの建物に朜入した可胜性があるか。亀通の混雑状況ず、芳衆の動き、建築物の構造を組み合わせ、最小の掚枬誀差で珟堎の党貌を描く。

 圌女の瞳は冷静そのもので、しかし埮现な筋肉の緊匵が、その奥に朜む危機意識を瀺しおいた。手元の地図の䞀点を指でなぞり、過去の事件や郜垂蚈画のデヌタを呌び出しながら、シナリオごずにリスクを蚈算する。郜垂の構造、芳衆の密床、出口の配眮――あらゆる芁玠を論理のグリッドに沿っお䞊べ、想像されるすべおの事態を仮定する。

 ノェロニカは資料の䞭の写真に目を留め、芳衆の衚情や譊備員の配眮、障害物の䜍眮を詳现に分析した。その芖線は冷培でありながらも、埮现な違和感や䞍自然さを芋逃さず、郜垂の熱気に流されるこずなく、論理の網の䞭に党おの倉数を捕らえようずしおいた。

 冷房の空気ず倏の熱気が亀錯するオフィス内で、圌女の思考は静かに、しかし確実に速床を䞊げおいく。次に䜕が起こりうるか、どのルヌトが安党で、どのルヌトが危険か。瞬間ごずの刀断が、芳衆の安党ず候補者の呜を巊右する。論理は揺るぎなく、郜垂の耇雑さを玐解く糞のように圌女の手の䞭で絡たり合った。

 圌女の前には資料だけでなく、コンピュヌタの画面や無線のディスプレむも䞊ぶ。それらは断片的な情報の源にすぎず、ノェロニカの思考ずいうフィルタヌを通すこずで初めお意味を持぀。デヌタず珟実の光景を繋ぎ、事件の党䜓像を構築する䜜業は、倏の街の熱気の䞭でも冷たく静かに進行した。

 倖の熱気は窓ガラスを揺らし、街のざわめきや遠くで響くサむレンは、圌女の集䞭をかき乱すどころか、逆に珟堎の臚堎感を補匷し、頭の䞭のシミュレヌションに奥行きを䞎えた。玙面の数字ず街の実像が、冷たい理性の䞭で重なり合い、圌女は次の䞀手を論理的に導き出す準備を敎えおいった。

 圌女の指先が地図をなぞるたび、郜垂の街路が脳内で立䜓的に浮かび䞊がり、建物の密床、通行人の流れ、監芖カメラの芖野、譊備員の䜍眮が、冷培な論理の䞭で連鎖し、次の行動を瀺唆する。ノェロニカは深く息を吞い、吐き出すず同時に、無蚀のうちに党おの倉数を繋ぎ合わせ、事件の栞心ぞず芖線を固定した。その瞬間、遠くの街路から聞こえるサむレンの音や車のクラクション、亀差点で立ち止たる人々の足音が、圌女の頭の䞭ではパズルのピヌスずなり、論理的な流れの䞭に溶け蟌んでいった。郜垂は暑さに揺れ、光ず圱が乱反射するが、ノェロニカの思考は静かに、その熱気を透過しお事件の党䜓像を描き出しおいった。

 ノェロニカは、静かに内線電話の受話噚を手に取り、その冷たい暹脂の感觊を指先で確かめながら、゚リオット副特別捜査官を呌び出し、いった。

「シヌクレットサヌビスのゞャックバンスに぀ないで」

「了解」

 

ヌヌヌヌヌヌ

 黒のSUVフォヌドは、倏の熱気を抌し裂くように街路を駆け抜けた。ハンドルを握るゞャックの暪顔には焊燥が匵り぀き、埌郚座垭に身を寄せたアナは、子䟛たちを庇うように腕を䌞ばしながら、それでも必死に声を匵り䞊げた。

「前を芋お、ゞャック」

 車䜓の振動に身を揺らしながら、子䟛たちは歓声ずも悲鳎ずも぀かぬ声をあげ、恐怖ず興奮の境を知らぬたたに叫んでいる。その隣でミカは唇を噛み、蚀葉を倱ったたた呆然ずしおいる。

 背埌では远撃の車が唞りを䞊げ、硝煙の匂いを残しお匟䞞がアスファルトを跳ねた。ハンドルを切ったゞャックの車䜓がコンクリヌト壁面に火花が散らせた。郜垂の皮膚を削るようにしお銃声が響く。ゞャックのフォヌドは信号も人波も無芖し、歩道ぞず飛び蟌み、矀衆の悲鳎を振り払うように疟走した。

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

  

僕の新しい小説。

 B♭ ビヌフラット

 

舞台はニュヌペヌクです。

 

14

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54771288620/in/dateposted...

 

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54769008619/in/dateposted...

 

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54758538180/in/dateposted...

 

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54743658539/in/dateposted...

 

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54737038151/in/dateposted...

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54720346098/in/dateposted...

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54713957969/in/dateposted...

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54703714420/in/dateposted...

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54696914108/in/dateposted...

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54686544606/in/dateposted...

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54653035442/in/dateposted...

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54639396885/in/dateposted...

2

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54628511025/in/dateposted...

1

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54599616429/in/dateposted...

 

Soundtrack.

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...

  

远蚘 この小説を倚少説明したした。

youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV

  

メモ

 

1

「Bombay型ボンベむ型、hh型」

•特城通垞のABO血液型を持たないA、B、Oに分類されない特殊な型。

•発芋地1952幎、むンド・ムンバむ旧ボンベむで初めお確認。

•発生頻床むンドでは1䞇人に1人皋床だが、䞖界的には玄250䞇人に1人ずも。

•茞血制限同じBombay型しか茞血できない。

 

2

2024幎ハヌバヌド倧孊銖垭の卒業匏スピヌチ『知らないこずの力』

youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K

 

3

Shots fired at Trump rally

youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

   

Coachella has to be one of the most funnest events I have ever been to. I recommend you go. It's all about enjoying new music because expanding your taste in music makes life so much better. 2018 here I come

Title: Rock

  

( LUMIX G3 shot )

 

Manhattan. New York. USA. 2017. 
 5 / 8

 

Images:

Beck - Cycle + Morning

youtu.be/crpKXePB714?si=wjcQgBn5Rcp1WFzV

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

My new novel.

B♭ (B flat)

Volume 11. 😄

What follows is still in its first-draft stage. It will go through further revisions.

The crucial passages have not been made public.

(Of course, this is not the final manuscript.)

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

My New Novel.

 

B♭ (B Flat)

 

— The darkest hour comes just before dawn —

The dawn in New York brought that phrase back to mind.

It was something Amir once heard from Professor Zakaria of the Faculty of Engineering at the Islamic University.

The professor, in his lifetime, had struggled between theory and reality, yet instilled in his disciples a calm and unshakable resolve.

Amir studied electrical engineering; Rafi Ghannam, architecture.

Each possessed talents that complemented the other.

After mastering the structures of the world, Rafi had gone on to extend his knowledge into electrical engineering, reaching from machinery to programs.

To the two of them, the vulnerabilities of America’s IT networks were but an open book.

In the dim underground floor, where bare fluorescent lights flickered, Rafi crouched at the intersection of the switchboard and the drainage duct.

Beneath his electrician’s vest and helmet, the red earth–colored scarf of Gaza wrapped his neck.

Amir stood beside him, scuffing his dusty work boots against the floor, fighting down his unease.

“Hurry. The morning shift will be here soon.”

“Quiet. Every sound echoes down here.”

Rafi answered evenly, opening his toolbox.

Inside lay a modified pressure switch and a block of C4, black and light-absorbing, gleaming like coal.

The device was to be set in the hidden recess where the structural beam and wiring shaft crossed—a “node” that, once sealed, could never be retrieved.

“Once it’s buried here, no one will ever find it.”

“...But are you sure? Is five years really the right time?”

“It must be five years. When the building stands complete, when it has been forgotten—then the blast will become the return of memory.”

Amir studied his profile and nodded silently.

Every motion of Rafi’s hand, each measured breath, carried the authority of a father, a teacher.

The hand that once learned to build was now preparing to destroy.

A slow tide of trust and kinship welled in Amir’s chest.

The sound of a fan turning, the rasp of chalk on blackboard—these rose in Rafi’s memory.

In the night lecture hall of the university, he had filled his notebook with shear angles of beams and the breaking points of concrete.

The lecturer, pointing to the diagram on the blackboard, had said quietly:

“When a structure collapses, it is not from defect. It follows the very will of its design.”

The classroom had fallen utterly silent at those words.

To know what would sway, what would endure, what would crack with sound during a vibration test—that knowledge was what could transform collapse into form.

That winter, Rafi’s family lost their home to an Israeli airstrike along the coast.

Despair turned to rage, rage to resolve, and resolve gave strength to his hands.

Amir, too, carried the same wound, and shared in that resolve.

Five years earlier, Rafi had begun to set up pirate radio.

Through networks of Caribbean and Hispanic immigrant communities, he passed messages quietly.

Every social platform and smartphone was under watch.

They restricted themselves to the barest communications, leaving only casual, trivial exchanges for daily use.

When he pressed the switch, a faint click was swallowed into the night’s silence.

A small red lamp lit up, linking him to nearby companions.

At two in the morning, a woman’s voice drifted from FM 87.9.

Through the static hush, a poem unfurled:

“If the world should end, I want to be singing alone.”

The verse Rafi chose was the emblem of his quiet resolve.

Amir listened to that voice while gazing at Rafi’s back.

What they undertook was not mere destruction—it was the embodiment of lost memory and anger, the crystallization of their trust and mutual understanding.

In darkness and silence, their plan advanced steadily.

The theory of architecture and the principles of electrical engineering, the pain of the past, and the will of those who had survived—all of it flowed quietly forward, converging toward a future act of ruin.

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

My new novel:

B♭ (B-flat)

There’s still more to come. 😃

(This is not the final draft.)

Set in New York City.

 

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54628511025/in/dateposted...

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54599616429/in/dateposted...

 

Soundtrack.

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...

  

Note: I gave a brief explanation of this novel in the following video:

youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV

  

iTunes Playlist Link::

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD

 

My new novel:

B♭ (B-flat)

Notes

1. "Bombay Blood Type (hh type)"

•Characteristics: A rare blood type that lacks the usual ABO antigens — cannot be classified as A, B, or O.

•Discovery: First identified in 1952 in Mumbai, India (formerly Bombay).

•Prevalence: Roughly 1 in 10,000 people in India; globally, about 1 in 2.5 million.

•Transfusion Compatibility: Only compatible with blood from other Bombay type donors.

2. 2024 Harvard University Valedictorian Speech – The Power of Not Knowing

youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K

3. Shots Fired at Trump Rally

youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

  

Title.

Rock.

  

( LUMIX G3 shot )

  

マンハッタン。ニュヌペヌク。アメリカ。2017. 
 5 / 8

  

Images.

Beck - Cycle + Morning

youtu.be/crpKXePB714?si=wjcQgBn5Rcp1WFzV

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

僕の新しい小説。

 B♭ ビヌフラット

  

第11匟。 😄

以䞋は、ただ初皿の段階です。ただ掚敲したす。

重芁な郚分は公開しおいたせん。

(もちろん最終皿ではありたせん。)

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

僕の新しい小説。

 

 B♭ ビヌフラット

 

ヌヌ 倜明け前が、䞀番暗い ヌヌ

 ニュヌペヌクの倜明けは、その蚀葉を思い出させた。アミヌルが、むスラム倧孊工孊郚のザカリア教授から聞いた蚀葉だ。教授は生前、理論ず珟実の狭間で苊悩し぀぀も、匟子たちに冷静な意思を怍え付けた。アミヌルは電気工孊を、ラフィ・ガンナムは建築孊を孊び、互いに補完し合う才胜を持っおいた。ラフィは䞖界䞭の構造物を理解した埌、電気工孊ぞ知識を広げ、電子機噚からプログラムたで手を䌞ばしおいた。アメリカの脆匱なITネットワヌクを熟知するこずなど、二人にずっおは容易いこずだった。

 地䞋フロアの蛍光灯がむき出しの薄暗い空間で、ラフィは配電盀ず排氎ダクトの亀差郚にしゃがみ蟌んだ。電工業者のベストずヘルメットの䞋、ガザの赀土色のスカヌフが圌の銖を芆う。アミヌルはその暪で、埃たみれの䜜業靎を床で擊りながら、緊匵を抑えおいた。

「早くしおくれ。もうすぐ朝の組が来る」

「静かにしろ、音が響く」

 ラフィは冷静に答え、工具箱を開いた。䞭には改造された圧力スむッチず、光を吞い蟌むように黒光りするC4が収たっおいた。仕掛けるのは、構造梁ず配線シャフトが亀差する“ノヌド”の背面——完成すれば、二床ず取り倖すこずのできない堎所だ。

「ここに埋めたら、二床ず誰にも芋぀からない」

「  でも、本圓に幎埌でいいのか」

「幎経った時こそ意味がある。建物が完成し、忘れ去られた時に——爆砎は蚘憶の埩掻になる」

 アミヌルは暪顔を芋぀め、静かに頷いた。ラフィの手の動き、呌吞の䞀぀䞀぀が、垫ずしおの父のように頌もしく感じられた。建築を孊んだ者の手が、今、建築を砎壊する準備をしおいる。信頌ず共感の感芚が、胞の奥にじわりず広がった。

 扇颚機の回る音ず也いた黒板の響きが、ラフィの蚘憶を呌び芚たす。倧孊の倜の講矩宀で、圌は梁の剪断角ずコンクリヌトの砎断点をノヌトに描き蟌んだ。講垫は黒板の図を指し、静かに蚀った。

「構造が厩壊するのは、欠陥ではなく“蚭蚈の意思”に埓ったずきです」

 その蚀葉に教宀は静たり返った。振動詊隓でどこが揺れ、どこが耐え、どこが音を立おるか。それを理解するこずが、厩壊を“圢”に倉える。

 その冬、ラフィの家族はむスラ゚ルによる湟岞の空爆で家を倱った。絶望は怒りに、怒りは意思に倉わり、ラフィの手に力を宿した。アミヌルもたた、同じ痛みを知る者ずしお、その意思を分かち合っおいた。

 幎前、ラフィはパむレヌツラゞオを蚭眮し始めた。カリブ系やヒスパニック系の移民コミュニティのネットワヌクを利甚し、䌝什を静かに届ける。SNSやスマヌトフォンはすべお監芖されおいる。圌らは必芁最小限の通信にずどめ、日垞的な他愛ないやり取りだけに絞った。

 スむッチを抌すず埮かなクリック音が倜の静けさに吞い蟌たれる。小さな赀いランプが灯り、近隣の同胞たちに接続された。

 午前2時、FM87.9から女の声が流れた。砂嵐のような静寂の䞭、詩が玡がれる。

「この䞖界が終わるなら、私はひずりで歌っおいたい」

 ラフィが遞んだ䞀節は、圌の静かな決意の象城だった。

 アミヌルはその声を聞きながら、ラフィの背䞭を芋぀めた。圌らが行うのは単なる砎壊ではない——倱われた蚘憶ず怒りの象城であり、互いの信頌ず理解の結晶でもあった。闇ず静寂の䞭で、二人の蚈画は着実に進行する。建築の理論ず電気工孊、過去の痛み、そしお生き延びた者の意志が、未来の砎壊ぞず静かに繋がっおいくのだ。

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

  

僕の新しい小説。

 B♭ ビヌフラット

 

舞台はニュヌペヌクです。

 

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54703714420/in/dateposted...

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54696914108/in/dateposted...

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54686544606/in/dateposted...

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54653035442/in/dateposted...

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54639396885/in/dateposted...

2

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54628511025/in/dateposted...

1

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54599616429/in/dateposted...

 

Soundtrack.

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...

  

远蚘 この小説を倚少説明したした。

youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV

  

メモ

 

1

「Bombay型ボンベむ型、hh型」

•特城通垞のABO血液型を持たないA、B、Oに分類されない特殊な型。

•発芋地1952幎、むンド・ムンバむ旧ボンベむで初めお確認。

•発生頻床むンドでは1䞇人に1人皋床だが、䞖界的には玄250䞇人に1人ずも。

•茞血制限同じBombay型しか茞血できない。

 

2

2024幎ハヌバヌド倧孊銖垭の卒業匏スピヌチ『知らないこずの力』

youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K

 

3

Shots fired at Trump rally

youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

   

Title.

Signs and Traffic Lights

 

( LUMIX G3 shot )

 

Manhattan. New York. USA. 2017. 
 5 / 7

 

(Photo of the day. Unreleased.)

  

Images:

Metallica 
 Enter Sandman

youtu.be/87by1DjfxLw?si=d1rcxkxkvGIu0gB7

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

My new novel

B♭ (B Flat)

 

Volume 16😄

The following is still in its draft stage and will be revised further.

Key parts are not disclosed.

The order of the content shown here is mixed.

(Of course, this is not the final version.)

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

My new novel

B♭ (B Flat)

 

Night was drawing its heavy veil over the neighborhoods of the San Fernando Valley, and Kevin Mori’s car slid forward as though gliding on a shadowed surface. Beyond the window, the heat of summer’s night rose, while the asphalt, still holding the brilliance of the day, scattered red and black reflections like fragments of muted fire. His day as an officer of Immigration and Customs Enforcement had not yet ended; it merely continued into the dark. Papers on the passenger seat trembled faintly—orders, reports, each sheet a cold reminder of how every decision could alter the lives of flesh-and-blood people.

The radio crackled with static, then carried the clipped voices of another unit.

“Check complete—residential route secure. Residents advised, heat alert.”

“Roger. Next, proceed to downtown infiltration confirmation.”

The words were concise, yet beneath them lurked the weight of responsibility. Kevin’s colleague at his side listened in silence, and Kevin imagined the strain, the fatigue, the daily fears borne by his subordinates.

The quiet houses of the district floated in the pale light of the streetlamps. Windows glowed with the warmth of family life, and the trees in the yards swayed with the scent of summer. To Kevin, that scene was both what he was sworn to protect, and a stage upon which the gravity of judgment was constantly revealed.

Merging onto the freeway, he entered a sea of headlights undulating like waves. Far ahead, the spires of downtown buildings pierced the night sky. The air was thick with heat, the car’s air conditioning too feeble against the humidity clinging to his skin. On the phone screen in the passenger seat, messages flared cold and abrupt—emergency notices, field reports, each short phrase carrying the weight of lives in the balance.

Through his commute Kevin narrowed his eyes, as though unconsciously trying to read the palette of the summer night. Neon reds and oranges crossed with the green of traffic signals, while the outlines of distant mountains and the shore emerged dimly in the haze. In the rearview mirror, his own face appeared distorted by fatigue and responsibility. He imagined how it must look reflected in the eyes of his men, and in the eyes of those who lived in this city.

As the suburbs gave way to downtown, the flow of cars turned into a red river of lights—not the bustle of rush hour, but a current charged with tension. Footsteps of passersby, the wail of an ambulance far off, exhaust mingling with sea breeze—each sound and scent announcing the unvarnished reality of the city.

Conversation in the car was pared to the barest minimum. His colleague tapped silently at the phone, scanning reports and maps. Every burst of radio static carried words few and clipped, but each syllable held the weight of someone’s life.

At the office, the parking lot was lined with colleagues’ cars, their engines humming in faint reply to one another. A night wind slipped through the windows, rustling the scattered papers—a sound that resembled the heartbeat of responsibility itself.

Inside the building, the cool air brushed his skin, blending with the stillness of late night to bind the corridors in a taut silence. Each step sent back a cold echo. Notices and bulletins on the walls caught the dim light, whispering of daily duty and the reality that awaited beyond.

In the meeting room, his subordinates lifted their eyes to him; reports on the table quivered slightly in the conditioned air. No one spoke, but silence itself was steeped in tension. Everyone knew that today’s decisions would ripple outward to change the lives of people unseen and far away.

As the meeting began, real-time transmissions crackled from the radio, and gazes crossed one another. Between the numbers and the dry lines of reports, there were always living human beings. To protect them—or expose them to danger—was the responsibility that each man recognized as his own.

The meeting stretched deep into the night: communications with the field, sorting of documents, instructions for the next day. Outside, the city wavered in the heat, neon glinting against the office windows. Kevin pressed the day’s weight into his heart as he stared at that restless light.

By the time he set out for home, the city had assumed a face wholly different from daytime. Shadows under the streetlamps, red reflections of neon, exhaust tangled with the sea wind, the faint silhouette of mountains dissolving into the night sky—all of it bore silent testimony to the consequences of the day’s choices.

He glanced at the papers on the seat, drew one deep breath. Summer night air slipped in through the window, brushing his skin. The sense of responsibility weighed heavy on his chest, and so did solitude, but in the pulse of the city he found, still, the strength to take another step forward.

Through the night’s lattice of light, Kevin drove on across summer Los Angeles. The voices on the radio, his men’s tension, the office’s chilled air, the neon glare, the tang of the sea breeze, the distant siren of an ambulance—all of these tangled together, imprinting themselves as the day’s memory. In the silence and in the few words exchanged in the car, in the quiet and the clamor of the city, in the interplay of light and shadow, a living map of the city was etched inside him, sharpening both the solitude and the responsibility of his role as an officer of ICE.

As night deepened, on his way home he clutched the papers on the passenger seat and watched his own shadow fall beneath the streetlamps. He listened closely to the city’s voice: the reflection of light, the tremor of heat, the siren far away, the stillness of neighborhoods. All of it pressed responsibility and solitude deeper into his chest.

When Kevin pushed open the door of his house, the night’s heat retreated slightly, replaced by the cool air of the living room flowing to meet him. He dropped the documents onto the table; the bundled papers struck with a dry sound that sank into silence, as though absorbing some measure of the weight that had burdened his shoulders.

Yet that moment of relief quivered almost at once, like a string brushed by an unseen hand. From the depths of the house came a faint creak—timbers straining, or perhaps the plucked resonance of some hidden instrument. Kevin strained to listen, then wondered if it was no more than the ghostly trick of fatigue.

The air trembled. Water in the half-drunk glass on the table rippled with faint light. The ripples, small yet certain, seemed to resonate with a force lurking in the house’s depths. A frame on the wall slipped askew, and through the glass the smiling figures in the photograph appeared slightly warped. A raw unease rose in Kevin’s chest, and his gaze lifted toward the ceiling. Above the panels, the beams murmured to one another, a low groan not of chance but of deliberate design, as if some hidden architect had composed the house itself as an instrument.

The floor rumbled, faint vibrations pressing upward through his feet. Streetlamp light bled through the curtains, filling the room with a wavering orange glow, as if already foreshadowing collapse. The house expanded and contracted like a lung, like an unseen heart pulsing in the dark, its beat echoed by the beams and pillars. Kevin set his hands on his knees, unmoving, listening. The sound overhead no longer resembled random creaks. It grew with rhythm, swelling into a low wave that spread across the room. The wallpaper split, revealing a thin fissure that carried within it the promise of widening.

The water in the glass quivered, scattering the lamplight into shards. The window shuddered under the night wind; metal fastenings clicked faintly. The beams groaned louder, as if in answer. In that instant the whole house became an instrument, releasing a deep, resonant note. The vibration struck his inner ear, mingled with the pulse of his blood.

Kevin pressed a hand to his chest—but his own heartbeat and the heartbeat of the house merged, the boundary between them dissolving. Cracks across the wall swallowed light, dark lines spreading. The beams moaned and bent, their sound a summons downward, inevitable as gravity. Glass burst into fragments, scattering the street’s light into the air. Furniture leapt, books tumbled, the table tilted.

And then—the ceiling split, and fell. The roar shook even the lamplight outside; dust rose in a choking tide, the world turned white and sightless. Kevin’s body, too, was caught in the same current as the beams and pillars. Whether he stood, or fell, or was torn apart—he felt not terror but a strange relief. Together with the house, he was sinking into the close of a final movement. There was nothing to flee, no document to guard, no responsibility: all dissolved now into dust.

The beams broke, the pillars collapsed, the floor split. His bones, his blood, his voice—all shattered into fragments carried into the night air. The collapse was not violence, but the coda of a meticulously designed score. Kevin, too, was only one note within it, drawn at last into silence.

When the dust settled, silence returned. Kevin was no longer among the wreckage. Only the shadow of a fallen beam lay there, like a remnant of his being.

Far away, a dog barked. An ambulance siren split the night. The city’s breath went on, but Kevin’s had ceased forever. In the streets remained only the echo of collapse, and the quiet memory of a death no one would hear.

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

My new novel:

B♭ (B-flat)

There’s still more to come. 😃

(This is not the final draft.)

Set in New York City.

 

15

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Soundtrack.

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...

  

Note: I gave a brief explanation of this novel in the following video:

youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV

  

iTunes Playlist Link::

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD

 

My new novel:

B♭ (B-flat)

Notes

1. "Bombay Blood Type (hh type)"

•Characteristics: A rare blood type that lacks the usual ABO antigens — cannot be classified as A, B, or O.

•Discovery: First identified in 1952 in Mumbai, India (formerly Bombay).

•Prevalence: Roughly 1 in 10,000 people in India; globally, about 1 in 2.5 million.

•Transfusion Compatibility: Only compatible with blood from other Bombay type donors.

2. 2024 Harvard University Valedictorian Speech – The Power of Not Knowing

youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K

3. Shots Fired at Trump Rally

youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

Title.

暙識ず信号機

  

( LUMIX G3 shot )

  

マンハッタン。ニュヌペヌク。アメリカ。2017. 
 5 / 7

 

(今日の写真。それは未発衚です。

  

Images:

Metallica 
 Enter Sandman

youtu.be/87by1DjfxLw?si=kp4pY2X0_-jFuGQS

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

僕の新しい小説。

 B♭ ビヌフラット

  

第16匟。 😄

以䞋は、ただ初皿の段階です。ただ掚敲したす。

重芁な郚分は公開しおいたせん。

公開しおいる内容の順番はバラバラです。

(もちろん最終皿ではありたせん。)

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

僕の新しい小説。

 

 B♭ ビヌフラット

  

 倜の垳が䜎く䞋り始めたサンフェルナンドバレヌの䜏宅街を、ケビン・モリの車は滑るように進んでいた。窓の倖には倏の倜の熱気が立ち䞊り、路面からはただ昌の光を吞い蟌んだアスファルトが、赀黒い光の反射を散らしおいる。移民皎関捜査局ICEの職員ずしおの圌の䞀日は、すでにその倜も続いおいた。助手垭の曞類は埮かに揺れ、そこに積たれた呜什や報告曞は、この䞀日の決断が生身の人々の生掻にどう圱響するかを、冷たく問いかけおいた。

 ラゞオ無線がかすかに雑音を混ぜながら䜜動し、別の車䞡ずの連絡が飛び蟌んだ。

「確認、䜏宅街ルヌト異垞なし。熱気のため䜏民泚意」

「了解、次はダりンタりンぞの䟵入確認」――蚀葉は簡朔で、しかし背埌には重くのしかかる責任が朜んでいた。助手垭の圌はその声に耳を傟け、郚䞋たちの緊匵や疲劎、日々の恐怖を想像する。

 静かな䜏宅街の家々が、街路灯の光に浮かんでいた。窓に灯る枩かい光は家族の生掻を、庭に揺れる朚々は倏の匂いを、しかしその光景はケビンにずっお、守るべき察象であり、同時に刀断の重さを思い知らせる舞台でもあった。

 フリヌりェむに合流するず、他の車のヘッドラむトが海のように波打ち、遠くのダりンタりンのビル矀が倜空に鋭く突き出す。空気は熱を垯び、車内の゚アコンでは远い぀かない湿気が肌にたずわり぀く。助手垭のスマヌトフォンに届くメッセヌゞは冷たく光り、緊急事態や珟堎からの報告が短く、しかし呜を握る重さを垯びお圌の芖界に入った。

 通勀路の間、ケビンは無意識に目を现め、倏の倜の色圩を読み取ろうずした。ネオンの赀やオレンゞ、信号の緑が亀錯し、遠くの山䞊みや海岞線の茪郭ががんやりず浮かんでいる。車内の鏡に映る自分の顔は、疲劎ず責任の圱で埮かに歪み、郚䞋たちや街の人々の目に映る自分の姿を想像した。

 倜の䜏宅街を抜け、ダりンタりンに近づくず、車列は赀い光の垯ずなり、通勀ラッシュの喧隒ずは別の、緊匵の波を垯びた流れに倉わる。通行人の足音、遠くで鳎る救急車のサむレン、海颚に混じる排気ガスの匂いが、郜垂の生の珟実を告げおいる。

 車内の䌚話は最小限に抑えられる。助手垭の郚䞋は無蚀でスマヌトフォンを操䜜し、報告曞や地図をチェックする。無線が䜜動するたび、蚀葉は短く、しかしそれぞれの䞀語には誰かの生掻を巊右する重みが宿っおいた。

 オフィスに到着するず、駐車堎には同僚の車が敎然ず䞊び、゚ンゞン音やタむダの振動が埮かな呌応を芋せおいた。倜颚が窓から入り蟌み、玙や曞類をかすかに揺らした。その音さえ、責任の重さを耳に䌝える錓動のように聞こえおくる。

 建物内に入るず、冷房の颚が肌に觊れ、深倜の静けさず盞たっお、空間に緊匵を匵り巡らせる。廊䞋を歩くたび、足音が冷たく反響し、壁に貌られた泚意曞きや掲瀺板の文字が埮かに光を受け、日々の任務ずその果おにある珟実を思い出させた。

 䌚議宀に入るず、郚䞋たちの目が圌を芋぀め、報告曞がテヌブルの䞊で埮かに揺れた。熱気を垯びた倏の空気ぱアコンず混ざり、玙の端を埮かに波立たせる。誰もが沈黙の䞭に緊匵を抱え、今日の刀断が遠く離れた誰かの生掻をどう倉えるかを知っおいた。

 䌚議が始たるず、無線から入る情報がリアルタむムで䌝わり、郚䞋たちの芖線が亀錯する。数字や報告曞の行間には必ず生身の人間が存圚し、その呜を守るか、あるいは危険に晒すかを決定するのが自分だず圌らは認識するのだ。

 深倜たで続く䌚議、珟堎ずの通信、曞類の敎理、郚䞋の指瀺。倜の街は倏の熱気で光を歪め、ネオンの光がオフィスの窓に反射しおちら぀いおいた。その光景を芋ながら、ケビンは䞀日の重みを胞に刻んでいた。

 垰路に぀く頃、通勀路の光景は昌間ずは違う衚情を芋せる。街灯に浮かぶ圱、ネオンの赀い反射、海颚に混じる排気ガスの匂い、遠くの山圱が倜空に溶ける。そのすべおが、今日の決断の結果を静かに告げおいた。

 助手垭の曞類を確認し、深呌吞をひず぀぀いた。倏の倜颚が窓を通り抜け、肌に觊れる。ケビンの胞には責任感ず孀独感が重くのしかかるが、それでも次の䞀歩を螏み出す力を䞎える、郜垂の息遣いが確かにあった。

 倜の光の䞭、ケビンは倏のロサンれルスを車で駆け抜ける。無線の声、郚䞋たちの緊匵、オフィスの冷房、ネオンの光、海颚の匂い、遠くの救急車のサむレン――それらすべおが絡み合い、今日䞀日の蚘憶ずしお刻たれおいく。車内での沈黙ず察話、街の静けさず喧隒、光ず圱の亀錯が、圌の心に郜垂の立䜓的な地図を描き、ICE職員ずしおの孀独ず責任を鮮明にしおいた。

 倏の倜が曎け、家路に぀く道すがら、助手垭の曞類を握り締め、深倜の街灯に浮かぶ自分の圱を芋぀めながら、圌はこの街の声に耳を柄たせる。光の反射、熱気の揺らぎ、遠くで鳎るサむレン、䜏宅街の静けさ――それらすべおが、ケビンの胞に責任ず孀独を刻み蟌んだ。

 

 ケビンが自宅の扉を抌し開けるず、倜の熱気はわずかに埌退し、リビングの冷えた空気が迎えるように流れ蟌んできた。曞類を手から攟り投げ、束ねられた玙の重みがテヌブルに小さな衝撃を䞎え、也いた音を響かせお静けさの䞭に沈んだ。

 圌の肩にのしかかっおいた䞀日の重さが、わずかながらその音に吞い取られたかのように思えた。

 しかし、その安堵の瞬間は、芋えない振動に觊れるかのようにすぐに揺らぎぞず倉わっおいった。家の奥から、埮かなきしみが生たれた。朚材が互いに軋むような、しかしどこか楜噚の匊を爪匟くような響きであった。ケビンは耳を柄たし、しかし次の瞬間にはそれがただの疲劎による幻聎ではないかず思った。

 空気がわずかに震えた。テヌブルにあった飲みかけのグラスの氎面がかすかに揺れ、光を垯びお波王を広げた。その波王は小さくも確かに、家党䜓の内郚に朜む力ず呌応しおいるかのようであった。壁にかけられた額瞁が斜めにずれた。ガラス越しの写真の䞭で、笑顔を浮かべる人圱が、わずかに歪んで芋えた。

 ケビンは胞の奥にざら぀いた感芚を芚え、芖線を倩井ぞ向けた。倩井板の奥で梁が共鳎し合い、䜎い唞り声のような音を攟っおいた。それは自然に生たれたものではなく、あらかじめ蚭蚈された響きの連鎖のように感じられた。建築を孊んだ者ならば知る、朚ず鉄ずコンクリヌトの呌応だ。その呌応が、今ここで䞀぀の方向ぞず収束しようずしおいた。

 床板が䜎く唞り、足裏に䌝わる埮现な震えずなった。倖の街路灯の光がカヌテン越しに入り蟌み、郚屋を淡い橙色で満たしおいた。その光さえもわずかに揺らめき、倒壊の予兆を映すかのように芋えた。家党䜓が呌吞をしおいるように膚らみ、そしお収瞮する。たるで芋えない心臓が脈打ち、その錓動に合わせお梁や柱が響きを返しおいるかのようであった。

 ケビンは䞡手を膝に眮き、動くこずなく耳を柄たした。倩井の奥で響く音は、もはや偶然のきしみではなかった。芏則性をもっお増幅し、やがお䜎い波ずなっお郚屋党䜓に広がった。壁玙がわずかに裂け目を芋せ、薄暗い亀裂がその奥から姿を珟した。亀裂は现い線にすぎなかったが、確かに広がりを孕んでいた。

グラスの䞭の氎が震え、その衚面に映る街灯の光が现かく砕けた。倖の倜颚が窓を揺らし、金属の留め具がかすかな音を立おた。それに呌応するかのように、梁の唞りが䞀段ず匷くなった。その瞬間、家党䜓がひず぀の楜噚ず化したように、共鳎音を攟った。空気の震えが耳の奥を打ち、䜓内の血流ず混ざり合うように感じられた。

 ケビンは胞に手を圓おた――だが、自分の錓動ず建物の錓動が重なり、境界が倱われおいくのを感じた。壁に走った亀裂が光を呑み蟌み、闇の線ずなった。

梁が深く軋み、鈍い音を吐き出した。それは重力の呜什であり、逃れられぬ䞋方ぞの召喚であった。ガラス窓が粉々に砕け、倜の街の光が断片ずなっお飛び散った。家具が跳ね、本が厩れ萜ち、テヌブルが傟いた。

そしお――倩井が裂け、厩れ萜ちた。蜟音は街路灯の光さえ震わせ、粉塵が䞀気に立ち䞊った。䞖界は癜く濁り、息が奪われる。

 ケビンの䜓もたた、梁や柱ず同じ流れに組み蟌たれおいった。圌は立ち尜くし、あるいは倒れ、あるいは匕き裂かれ――だが、恐怖ではなく、奇劙な安堵を感じおいた。家ず共に、自分もたた䞀぀の楜章の終わりずしお沈むのだず。

 逃げるべきものはなく、守るべき曞類も責任も、いたや粉塵の䞭に溶けおいく。

 梁が折れ、柱が朰れ、床が裂ける。

 そのすべおず同時に、圌の骚も、血も、声も、無数の砎片ずなっお倜の空気に散った。厩壊は暎力ではなく、むしろ緻密に蚭蚈された楜曲の終章であった。ケビンずいう存圚も、ひず぀の音笊ずしおその䞭に含たれ、やがお静寂に吞い蟌たれた。

 粉塵が沈み、静寂が戻る。

 瓊瀫の䞭にケビンの姿はもはやなかった。

 ただ、厩れた梁の圱が、圌の名残のように暪たわっおいるだけであった。

 遠くで犬が吠え、救急車のサむレンが倜を割った。

 郜垂の呌吞は再び続いおいたが、ケビンの呌吞はもう戻らなかった。

 倜の街に残されたのは、厩壊の䜙韻ず、誰にも届かぬ静かな死の蚘憶だけだった。

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

  

僕の新しい小説。

 B♭ ビヌフラット

 

舞台はニュヌペヌクです。

 

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Soundtrack.

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...

  

远蚘 この小説を倚少説明したした。

youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV

  

メモ

 

1

「Bombay型ボンベむ型、hh型」

•特城通垞のABO血液型を持たないA、B、Oに分類されない特殊な型。

•発芋地1952幎、むンド・ムンバむ旧ボンベむで初めお確認。

•発生頻床むンドでは1䞇人に1人皋床だが、䞖界的には玄250䞇人に1人ずも。

•茞血制限同じBombay型しか茞血できない。

 

2

2024幎ハヌバヌド倧孊銖垭の卒業匏スピヌチ『知らないこずの力』

youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K

 

3

Shots fired at Trump rally

youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT

  

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++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

  

Title:

From inside the car. 3.

 

(LUMIX G3 shot)

 

Manhattan. New York. USA. 2017. 
 3 / 7

 

(Photo of the day. Unpublished.)

 

Images:

Geoffroy 
 No Calls Before Noon

youtu.be/Sua7LOBd9x4?si=vczU4fV0pMY6xrMN

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

My new novel

B♭ (B Flat)

 

Volume 16😄

The following is still in its draft stage and will be revised further.

Key parts are not disclosed.

The order of the content shown here is mixed.

(Of course, this is not the final version.)

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

My new novel

B♭ (B Flat)

 

Night was drawing its heavy veil over the neighborhoods of the San Fernando Valley, and Kevin Mori’s car slid forward as though gliding on a shadowed surface. Beyond the window, the heat of summer’s night rose, while the asphalt, still holding the brilliance of the day, scattered red and black reflections like fragments of muted fire. His day as an officer of Immigration and Customs Enforcement had not yet ended; it merely continued into the dark. Papers on the passenger seat trembled faintly—orders, reports, each sheet a cold reminder of how every decision could alter the lives of flesh-and-blood people.

The radio crackled with static, then carried the clipped voices of another unit.

“Check complete—residential route secure. Residents advised, heat alert.”

“Roger. Next, proceed to downtown infiltration confirmation.”

The words were concise, yet beneath them lurked the weight of responsibility. Kevin’s colleague at his side listened in silence, and Kevin imagined the strain, the fatigue, the daily fears borne by his subordinates.

The quiet houses of the district floated in the pale light of the streetlamps. Windows glowed with the warmth of family life, and the trees in the yards swayed with the scent of summer. To Kevin, that scene was both what he was sworn to protect, and a stage upon which the gravity of judgment was constantly revealed.

Merging onto the freeway, he entered a sea of headlights undulating like waves. Far ahead, the spires of downtown buildings pierced the night sky. The air was thick with heat, the car’s air conditioning too feeble against the humidity clinging to his skin. On the phone screen in the passenger seat, messages flared cold and abrupt—emergency notices, field reports, each short phrase carrying the weight of lives in the balance.

Through his commute Kevin narrowed his eyes, as though unconsciously trying to read the palette of the summer night. Neon reds and oranges crossed with the green of traffic signals, while the outlines of distant mountains and the shore emerged dimly in the haze. In the rearview mirror, his own face appeared distorted by fatigue and responsibility. He imagined how it must look reflected in the eyes of his men, and in the eyes of those who lived in this city.

As the suburbs gave way to downtown, the flow of cars turned into a red river of lights—not the bustle of rush hour, but a current charged with tension. Footsteps of passersby, the wail of an ambulance far off, exhaust mingling with sea breeze—each sound and scent announcing the unvarnished reality of the city.

Conversation in the car was pared to the barest minimum. His colleague tapped silently at the phone, scanning reports and maps. Every burst of radio static carried words few and clipped, but each syllable held the weight of someone’s life.

At the office, the parking lot was lined with colleagues’ cars, their engines humming in faint reply to one another. A night wind slipped through the windows, rustling the scattered papers—a sound that resembled the heartbeat of responsibility itself.

Inside the building, the cool air brushed his skin, blending with the stillness of late night to bind the corridors in a taut silence. Each step sent back a cold echo. Notices and bulletins on the walls caught the dim light, whispering of daily duty and the reality that awaited beyond.

In the meeting room, his subordinates lifted their eyes to him; reports on the table quivered slightly in the conditioned air. No one spoke, but silence itself was steeped in tension. Everyone knew that today’s decisions would ripple outward to change the lives of people unseen and far away.

As the meeting began, real-time transmissions crackled from the radio, and gazes crossed one another. Between the numbers and the dry lines of reports, there were always living human beings. To protect them—or expose them to danger—was the responsibility that each man recognized as his own.

The meeting stretched deep into the night: communications with the field, sorting of documents, instructions for the next day. Outside, the city wavered in the heat, neon glinting against the office windows. Kevin pressed the day’s weight into his heart as he stared at that restless light.

By the time he set out for home, the city had assumed a face wholly different from daytime. Shadows under the streetlamps, red reflections of neon, exhaust tangled with the sea wind, the faint silhouette of mountains dissolving into the night sky—all of it bore silent testimony to the consequences of the day’s choices.

He glanced at the papers on the seat, drew one deep breath. Summer night air slipped in through the window, brushing his skin. The sense of responsibility weighed heavy on his chest, and so did solitude, but in the pulse of the city he found, still, the strength to take another step forward.

Through the night’s lattice of light, Kevin drove on across summer Los Angeles. The voices on the radio, his men’s tension, the office’s chilled air, the neon glare, the tang of the sea breeze, the distant siren of an ambulance—all of these tangled together, imprinting themselves as the day’s memory. In the silence and in the few words exchanged in the car, in the quiet and the clamor of the city, in the interplay of light and shadow, a living map of the city was etched inside him, sharpening both the solitude and the responsibility of his role as an officer of ICE.

As night deepened, on his way home he clutched the papers on the passenger seat and watched his own shadow fall beneath the streetlamps. He listened closely to the city’s voice: the reflection of light, the tremor of heat, the siren far away, the stillness of neighborhoods. All of it pressed responsibility and solitude deeper into his chest.

When Kevin pushed open the door of his house, the night’s heat retreated slightly, replaced by the cool air of the living room flowing to meet him. He dropped the documents onto the table; the bundled papers struck with a dry sound that sank into silence, as though absorbing some measure of the weight that had burdened his shoulders.

Yet that moment of relief quivered almost at once, like a string brushed by an unseen hand. From the depths of the house came a faint creak—timbers straining, or perhaps the plucked resonance of some hidden instrument. Kevin strained to listen, then wondered if it was no more than the ghostly trick of fatigue.

The air trembled. Water in the half-drunk glass on the table rippled with faint light. The ripples, small yet certain, seemed to resonate with a force lurking in the house’s depths. A frame on the wall slipped askew, and through the glass the smiling figures in the photograph appeared slightly warped. A raw unease rose in Kevin’s chest, and his gaze lifted toward the ceiling. Above the panels, the beams murmured to one another, a low groan not of chance but of deliberate design, as if some hidden architect had composed the house itself as an instrument.

The floor rumbled, faint vibrations pressing upward through his feet. Streetlamp light bled through the curtains, filling the room with a wavering orange glow, as if already foreshadowing collapse. The house expanded and contracted like a lung, like an unseen heart pulsing in the dark, its beat echoed by the beams and pillars. Kevin set his hands on his knees, unmoving, listening. The sound overhead no longer resembled random creaks. It grew with rhythm, swelling into a low wave that spread across the room. The wallpaper split, revealing a thin fissure that carried within it the promise of widening.

The water in the glass quivered, scattering the lamplight into shards. The window shuddered under the night wind; metal fastenings clicked faintly. The beams groaned louder, as if in answer. In that instant the whole house became an instrument, releasing a deep, resonant note. The vibration struck his inner ear, mingled with the pulse of his blood.

Kevin pressed a hand to his chest—but his own heartbeat and the heartbeat of the house merged, the boundary between them dissolving. Cracks across the wall swallowed light, dark lines spreading. The beams moaned and bent, their sound a summons downward, inevitable as gravity. Glass burst into fragments, scattering the street’s light into the air. Furniture leapt, books tumbled, the table tilted.

And then—the ceiling split, and fell. The roar shook even the lamplight outside; dust rose in a choking tide, the world turned white and sightless. Kevin’s body, too, was caught in the same current as the beams and pillars. Whether he stood, or fell, or was torn apart—he felt not terror but a strange relief. Together with the house, he was sinking into the close of a final movement. There was nothing to flee, no document to guard, no responsibility: all dissolved now into dust.

The beams broke, the pillars collapsed, the floor split. His bones, his blood, his voice—all shattered into fragments carried into the night air. The collapse was not violence, but the coda of a meticulously designed score. Kevin, too, was only one note within it, drawn at last into silence.

When the dust settled, silence returned. Kevin was no longer among the wreckage. Only the shadow of a fallen beam lay there, like a remnant of his being.

Far away, a dog barked. An ambulance siren split the night. The city’s breath went on, but Kevin’s had ceased forever. In the streets remained only the echo of collapse, and the quiet memory of a death no one would hear.

 

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My new novel:

B♭ (B-flat)

There’s still more to come. 😃

(This is not the final draft.)

Set in New York City.

 

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54628511025/in/dateposted...

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54599616429/in/dateposted...

 

Soundtrack.

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...

  

Note: I gave a brief explanation of this novel in the following video:

youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV

  

iTunes Playlist Link::

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD

 

My new novel:

B♭ (B-flat)

Notes

1. "Bombay Blood Type (hh type)"

•Characteristics: A rare blood type that lacks the usual ABO antigens — cannot be classified as A, B, or O.

•Discovery: First identified in 1952 in Mumbai, India (formerly Bombay).

•Prevalence: Roughly 1 in 10,000 people in India; globally, about 1 in 2.5 million.

•Transfusion Compatibility: Only compatible with blood from other Bombay type donors.

2. 2024 Harvard University Valedictorian Speech – The Power of Not Knowing

youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K

3. Shots Fired at Trump Rally

youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT

  

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Title.

車内から。3。

  

( LUMIX G3 shot )

  

マンハッタン。ニュヌペヌク。アメリカ。2017. 
 3 / 7

 

(今日の写真。それは未発衚です。

  

Images:

Geoffroy 
 No Calls Before Noon

youtu.be/Sua7LOBd9x4?si=vczU4fV0pMY6xrMN

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

僕の新しい小説。

 B♭ ビヌフラット

  

第16匟。 😄

以䞋は、ただ初皿の段階です。ただ掚敲したす。

重芁な郚分は公開しおいたせん。

公開しおいる内容の順番はバラバラです。

(もちろん最終皿ではありたせん。)

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

僕の新しい小説。

 

 B♭ ビヌフラット

  

 倜の垳が䜎く䞋り始めたサンフェルナンドバレヌの䜏宅街を、ケビン・モリの車は滑るように進んでいた。窓の倖には倏の倜の熱気が立ち䞊り、路面からはただ昌の光を吞い蟌んだアスファルトが、赀黒い光の反射を散らしおいる。移民皎関捜査局ICEの職員ずしおの圌の䞀日は、すでにその倜も続いおいた。助手垭の曞類は埮かに揺れ、そこに積たれた呜什や報告曞は、この䞀日の決断が生身の人々の生掻にどう圱響するかを、冷たく問いかけおいた。

 ラゞオ無線がかすかに雑音を混ぜながら䜜動し、別の車䞡ずの連絡が飛び蟌んだ。

「確認、䜏宅街ルヌト異垞なし。熱気のため䜏民泚意」

「了解、次はダりンタりンぞの䟵入確認」――蚀葉は簡朔で、しかし背埌には重くのしかかる責任が朜んでいた。助手垭の圌はその声に耳を傟け、郚䞋たちの緊匵や疲劎、日々の恐怖を想像する。

 静かな䜏宅街の家々が、街路灯の光に浮かんでいた。窓に灯る枩かい光は家族の生掻を、庭に揺れる朚々は倏の匂いを、しかしその光景はケビンにずっお、守るべき察象であり、同時に刀断の重さを思い知らせる舞台でもあった。

 フリヌりェむに合流するず、他の車のヘッドラむトが海のように波打ち、遠くのダりンタりンのビル矀が倜空に鋭く突き出す。空気は熱を垯び、車内の゚アコンでは远い぀かない湿気が肌にたずわり぀く。助手垭のスマヌトフォンに届くメッセヌゞは冷たく光り、緊急事態や珟堎からの報告が短く、しかし呜を握る重さを垯びお圌の芖界に入った。

 通勀路の間、ケビンは無意識に目を现め、倏の倜の色圩を読み取ろうずした。ネオンの赀やオレンゞ、信号の緑が亀錯し、遠くの山䞊みや海岞線の茪郭ががんやりず浮かんでいる。車内の鏡に映る自分の顔は、疲劎ず責任の圱で埮かに歪み、郚䞋たちや街の人々の目に映る自分の姿を想像した。

 倜の䜏宅街を抜け、ダりンタりンに近づくず、車列は赀い光の垯ずなり、通勀ラッシュの喧隒ずは別の、緊匵の波を垯びた流れに倉わる。通行人の足音、遠くで鳎る救急車のサむレン、海颚に混じる排気ガスの匂いが、郜垂の生の珟実を告げおいる。

 車内の䌚話は最小限に抑えられる。助手垭の郚䞋は無蚀でスマヌトフォンを操䜜し、報告曞や地図をチェックする。無線が䜜動するたび、蚀葉は短く、しかしそれぞれの䞀語には誰かの生掻を巊右する重みが宿っおいた。

 オフィスに到着するず、駐車堎には同僚の車が敎然ず䞊び、゚ンゞン音やタむダの振動が埮かな呌応を芋せおいた。倜颚が窓から入り蟌み、玙や曞類をかすかに揺らした。その音さえ、責任の重さを耳に䌝える錓動のように聞こえおくる。

 建物内に入るず、冷房の颚が肌に觊れ、深倜の静けさず盞たっお、空間に緊匵を匵り巡らせる。廊䞋を歩くたび、足音が冷たく反響し、壁に貌られた泚意曞きや掲瀺板の文字が埮かに光を受け、日々の任務ずその果おにある珟実を思い出させた。

 䌚議宀に入るず、郚䞋たちの目が圌を芋぀め、報告曞がテヌブルの䞊で埮かに揺れた。熱気を垯びた倏の空気ぱアコンず混ざり、玙の端を埮かに波立たせる。誰もが沈黙の䞭に緊匵を抱え、今日の刀断が遠く離れた誰かの生掻をどう倉えるかを知っおいた。

 䌚議が始たるず、無線から入る情報がリアルタむムで䌝わり、郚䞋たちの芖線が亀錯する。数字や報告曞の行間には必ず生身の人間が存圚し、その呜を守るか、あるいは危険に晒すかを決定するのが自分だず圌らは認識するのだ。

 深倜たで続く䌚議、珟堎ずの通信、曞類の敎理、郚䞋の指瀺。倜の街は倏の熱気で光を歪め、ネオンの光がオフィスの窓に反射しおちら぀いおいた。その光景を芋ながら、ケビンは䞀日の重みを胞に刻んでいた。

 垰路に぀く頃、通勀路の光景は昌間ずは違う衚情を芋せる。街灯に浮かぶ圱、ネオンの赀い反射、海颚に混じる排気ガスの匂い、遠くの山圱が倜空に溶ける。そのすべおが、今日の決断の結果を静かに告げおいた。

 助手垭の曞類を確認し、深呌吞をひず぀぀いた。倏の倜颚が窓を通り抜け、肌に觊れる。ケビンの胞には責任感ず孀独感が重くのしかかるが、それでも次の䞀歩を螏み出す力を䞎える、郜垂の息遣いが確かにあった。

 倜の光の䞭、ケビンは倏のロサンれルスを車で駆け抜ける。無線の声、郚䞋たちの緊匵、オフィスの冷房、ネオンの光、海颚の匂い、遠くの救急車のサむレン――それらすべおが絡み合い、今日䞀日の蚘憶ずしお刻たれおいく。車内での沈黙ず察話、街の静けさず喧隒、光ず圱の亀錯が、圌の心に郜垂の立䜓的な地図を描き、ICE職員ずしおの孀独ず責任を鮮明にしおいた。

 倏の倜が曎け、家路に぀く道すがら、助手垭の曞類を握り締め、深倜の街灯に浮かぶ自分の圱を芋぀めながら、圌はこの街の声に耳を柄たせる。光の反射、熱気の揺らぎ、遠くで鳎るサむレン、䜏宅街の静けさ――それらすべおが、ケビンの胞に責任ず孀独を刻み蟌んだ。

 

 ケビンが自宅の扉を抌し開けるず、倜の熱気はわずかに埌退し、リビングの冷えた空気が迎えるように流れ蟌んできた。曞類を手から攟り投げ、束ねられた玙の重みがテヌブルに小さな衝撃を䞎え、也いた音を響かせお静けさの䞭に沈んだ。

 圌の肩にのしかかっおいた䞀日の重さが、わずかながらその音に吞い取られたかのように思えた。

 しかし、その安堵の瞬間は、芋えない振動に觊れるかのようにすぐに揺らぎぞず倉わっおいった。家の奥から、埮かなきしみが生たれた。朚材が互いに軋むような、しかしどこか楜噚の匊を爪匟くような響きであった。ケビンは耳を柄たし、しかし次の瞬間にはそれがただの疲劎による幻聎ではないかず思った。

 空気がわずかに震えた。テヌブルにあった飲みかけのグラスの氎面がかすかに揺れ、光を垯びお波王を広げた。その波王は小さくも確かに、家党䜓の内郚に朜む力ず呌応しおいるかのようであった。壁にかけられた額瞁が斜めにずれた。ガラス越しの写真の䞭で、笑顔を浮かべる人圱が、わずかに歪んで芋えた。

 ケビンは胞の奥にざら぀いた感芚を芚え、芖線を倩井ぞ向けた。倩井板の奥で梁が共鳎し合い、䜎い唞り声のような音を攟っおいた。それは自然に生たれたものではなく、あらかじめ蚭蚈された響きの連鎖のように感じられた。建築を孊んだ者ならば知る、朚ず鉄ずコンクリヌトの呌応だ。その呌応が、今ここで䞀぀の方向ぞず収束しようずしおいた。

 床板が䜎く唞り、足裏に䌝わる埮现な震えずなった。倖の街路灯の光がカヌテン越しに入り蟌み、郚屋を淡い橙色で満たしおいた。その光さえもわずかに揺らめき、倒壊の予兆を映すかのように芋えた。家党䜓が呌吞をしおいるように膚らみ、そしお収瞮する。たるで芋えない心臓が脈打ち、その錓動に合わせお梁や柱が響きを返しおいるかのようであった。

 ケビンは䞡手を膝に眮き、動くこずなく耳を柄たした。倩井の奥で響く音は、もはや偶然のきしみではなかった。芏則性をもっお増幅し、やがお䜎い波ずなっお郚屋党䜓に広がった。壁玙がわずかに裂け目を芋せ、薄暗い亀裂がその奥から姿を珟した。亀裂は现い線にすぎなかったが、確かに広がりを孕んでいた。

グラスの䞭の氎が震え、その衚面に映る街灯の光が现かく砕けた。倖の倜颚が窓を揺らし、金属の留め具がかすかな音を立おた。それに呌応するかのように、梁の唞りが䞀段ず匷くなった。その瞬間、家党䜓がひず぀の楜噚ず化したように、共鳎音を攟った。空気の震えが耳の奥を打ち、䜓内の血流ず混ざり合うように感じられた。

 ケビンは胞に手を圓おた――だが、自分の錓動ず建物の錓動が重なり、境界が倱われおいくのを感じた。壁に走った亀裂が光を呑み蟌み、闇の線ずなった。

梁が深く軋み、鈍い音を吐き出した。それは重力の呜什であり、逃れられぬ䞋方ぞの召喚であった。ガラス窓が粉々に砕け、倜の街の光が断片ずなっお飛び散った。家具が跳ね、本が厩れ萜ち、テヌブルが傟いた。

そしお――倩井が裂け、厩れ萜ちた。蜟音は街路灯の光さえ震わせ、粉塵が䞀気に立ち䞊った。䞖界は癜く濁り、息が奪われる。

 ケビンの䜓もたた、梁や柱ず同じ流れに組み蟌たれおいった。圌は立ち尜くし、あるいは倒れ、あるいは匕き裂かれ――だが、恐怖ではなく、奇劙な安堵を感じおいた。家ず共に、自分もたた䞀぀の楜章の終わりずしお沈むのだず。

 逃げるべきものはなく、守るべき曞類も責任も、いたや粉塵の䞭に溶けおいく。

 梁が折れ、柱が朰れ、床が裂ける。

 そのすべおず同時に、圌の骚も、血も、声も、無数の砎片ずなっお倜の空気に散った。厩壊は暎力ではなく、むしろ緻密に蚭蚈された楜曲の終章であった。ケビンずいう存圚も、ひず぀の音笊ずしおその䞭に含たれ、やがお静寂に吞い蟌たれた。

 粉塵が沈み、静寂が戻る。

 瓊瀫の䞭にケビンの姿はもはやなかった。

 ただ、厩れた梁の圱が、圌の名残のように暪たわっおいるだけであった。

 遠くで犬が吠え、救急車のサむレンが倜を割った。

 郜垂の呌吞は再び続いおいたが、ケビンの呌吞はもう戻らなかった。

 倜の街に残されたのは、厩壊の䜙韻ず、誰にも届かぬ静かな死の蚘憶だけだった。

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

  

僕の新しい小説。

 B♭ ビヌフラット

 

舞台はニュヌペヌクです。

 

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54758538180/in/dateposted...

 

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54743658539/in/dateposted...

 

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54737038151/in/dateposted...

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54720346098/in/dateposted...

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54713957969/in/dateposted...

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54703714420/in/dateposted...

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54696914108/in/dateposted...

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54686544606/in/dateposted...

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54653035442/in/dateposted...

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54639396885/in/dateposted...

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54628511025/in/dateposted...

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54599616429/in/dateposted...

 

Soundtrack.

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...

  

远蚘 この小説を倚少説明したした。

youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV

  

メモ

 

1

「Bombay型ボンベむ型、hh型」

•特城通垞のABO血液型を持たないA、B、Oに分類されない特殊な型。

•発芋地1952幎、むンド・ムンバむ旧ボンベむで初めお確認。

•発生頻床むンドでは1䞇人に1人皋床だが、䞖界的には玄250䞇人に1人ずも。

•茞血制限同じBombay型しか茞血できない。

 

2

2024幎ハヌバヌド倧孊銖垭の卒業匏スピヌチ『知らないこずの力』

youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K

 

3

Shots fired at Trump rally

youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

  

Title:

Right to the water's edge.

 

( FUJIFILM GFX50R shot )

 

Motosuka Beach. Kujukuri Beach. Sanmu City. Chiba Prefecture. Japan. 2025. 
 1 / 1

 

(Photo of the day. Unpublished.)

 

Images:

Geoffroy 
 No Calls Before Noon

youtu.be/Sua7LOBd9x4?si=vczU4fV0pMY6xrMN

  

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My new novel

B♭ (B Flat)

 

Volume 16😄

The following is still in its draft stage and will be revised further.

Key parts are not disclosed.

The order of the content shown here is mixed.

(Of course, this is not the final version.)

 

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My new novel

B♭ (B Flat)

 

Night was drawing its heavy veil over the neighborhoods of the San Fernando Valley, and Kevin Mori’s car slid forward as though gliding on a shadowed surface. Beyond the window, the heat of summer’s night rose, while the asphalt, still holding the brilliance of the day, scattered red and black reflections like fragments of muted fire. His day as an officer of Immigration and Customs Enforcement had not yet ended; it merely continued into the dark. Papers on the passenger seat trembled faintly—orders, reports, each sheet a cold reminder of how every decision could alter the lives of flesh-and-blood people.

The radio crackled with static, then carried the clipped voices of another unit.

“Check complete—residential route secure. Residents advised, heat alert.”

“Roger. Next, proceed to downtown infiltration confirmation.”

The words were concise, yet beneath them lurked the weight of responsibility. Kevin’s colleague at his side listened in silence, and Kevin imagined the strain, the fatigue, the daily fears borne by his subordinates.

The quiet houses of the district floated in the pale light of the streetlamps. Windows glowed with the warmth of family life, and the trees in the yards swayed with the scent of summer. To Kevin, that scene was both what he was sworn to protect, and a stage upon which the gravity of judgment was constantly revealed.

Merging onto the freeway, he entered a sea of headlights undulating like waves. Far ahead, the spires of downtown buildings pierced the night sky. The air was thick with heat, the car’s air conditioning too feeble against the humidity clinging to his skin. On the phone screen in the passenger seat, messages flared cold and abrupt—emergency notices, field reports, each short phrase carrying the weight of lives in the balance.

Through his commute Kevin narrowed his eyes, as though unconsciously trying to read the palette of the summer night. Neon reds and oranges crossed with the green of traffic signals, while the outlines of distant mountains and the shore emerged dimly in the haze. In the rearview mirror, his own face appeared distorted by fatigue and responsibility. He imagined how it must look reflected in the eyes of his men, and in the eyes of those who lived in this city.

As the suburbs gave way to downtown, the flow of cars turned into a red river of lights—not the bustle of rush hour, but a current charged with tension. Footsteps of passersby, the wail of an ambulance far off, exhaust mingling with sea breeze—each sound and scent announcing the unvarnished reality of the city.

Conversation in the car was pared to the barest minimum. His colleague tapped silently at the phone, scanning reports and maps. Every burst of radio static carried words few and clipped, but each syllable held the weight of someone’s life.

At the office, the parking lot was lined with colleagues’ cars, their engines humming in faint reply to one another. A night wind slipped through the windows, rustling the scattered papers—a sound that resembled the heartbeat of responsibility itself.

Inside the building, the cool air brushed his skin, blending with the stillness of late night to bind the corridors in a taut silence. Each step sent back a cold echo. Notices and bulletins on the walls caught the dim light, whispering of daily duty and the reality that awaited beyond.

In the meeting room, his subordinates lifted their eyes to him; reports on the table quivered slightly in the conditioned air. No one spoke, but silence itself was steeped in tension. Everyone knew that today’s decisions would ripple outward to change the lives of people unseen and far away.

As the meeting began, real-time transmissions crackled from the radio, and gazes crossed one another. Between the numbers and the dry lines of reports, there were always living human beings. To protect them—or expose them to danger—was the responsibility that each man recognized as his own.

The meeting stretched deep into the night: communications with the field, sorting of documents, instructions for the next day. Outside, the city wavered in the heat, neon glinting against the office windows. Kevin pressed the day’s weight into his heart as he stared at that restless light.

By the time he set out for home, the city had assumed a face wholly different from daytime. Shadows under the streetlamps, red reflections of neon, exhaust tangled with the sea wind, the faint silhouette of mountains dissolving into the night sky—all of it bore silent testimony to the consequences of the day’s choices.

He glanced at the papers on the seat, drew one deep breath. Summer night air slipped in through the window, brushing his skin. The sense of responsibility weighed heavy on his chest, and so did solitude, but in the pulse of the city he found, still, the strength to take another step forward.

Through the night’s lattice of light, Kevin drove on across summer Los Angeles. The voices on the radio, his men’s tension, the office’s chilled air, the neon glare, the tang of the sea breeze, the distant siren of an ambulance—all of these tangled together, imprinting themselves as the day’s memory. In the silence and in the few words exchanged in the car, in the quiet and the clamor of the city, in the interplay of light and shadow, a living map of the city was etched inside him, sharpening both the solitude and the responsibility of his role as an officer of ICE.

As night deepened, on his way home he clutched the papers on the passenger seat and watched his own shadow fall beneath the streetlamps. He listened closely to the city’s voice: the reflection of light, the tremor of heat, the siren far away, the stillness of neighborhoods. All of it pressed responsibility and solitude deeper into his chest.

When Kevin pushed open the door of his house, the night’s heat retreated slightly, replaced by the cool air of the living room flowing to meet him. He dropped the documents onto the table; the bundled papers struck with a dry sound that sank into silence, as though absorbing some measure of the weight that had burdened his shoulders.

Yet that moment of relief quivered almost at once, like a string brushed by an unseen hand. From the depths of the house came a faint creak—timbers straining, or perhaps the plucked resonance of some hidden instrument. Kevin strained to listen, then wondered if it was no more than the ghostly trick of fatigue.

The air trembled. Water in the half-drunk glass on the table rippled with faint light. The ripples, small yet certain, seemed to resonate with a force lurking in the house’s depths. A frame on the wall slipped askew, and through the glass the smiling figures in the photograph appeared slightly warped. A raw unease rose in Kevin’s chest, and his gaze lifted toward the ceiling. Above the panels, the beams murmured to one another, a low groan not of chance but of deliberate design, as if some hidden architect had composed the house itself as an instrument.

The floor rumbled, faint vibrations pressing upward through his feet. Streetlamp light bled through the curtains, filling the room with a wavering orange glow, as if already foreshadowing collapse. The house expanded and contracted like a lung, like an unseen heart pulsing in the dark, its beat echoed by the beams and pillars. Kevin set his hands on his knees, unmoving, listening. The sound overhead no longer resembled random creaks. It grew with rhythm, swelling into a low wave that spread across the room. The wallpaper split, revealing a thin fissure that carried within it the promise of widening.

The water in the glass quivered, scattering the lamplight into shards. The window shuddered under the night wind; metal fastenings clicked faintly. The beams groaned louder, as if in answer. In that instant the whole house became an instrument, releasing a deep, resonant note. The vibration struck his inner ear, mingled with the pulse of his blood.

Kevin pressed a hand to his chest—but his own heartbeat and the heartbeat of the house merged, the boundary between them dissolving. Cracks across the wall swallowed light, dark lines spreading. The beams moaned and bent, their sound a summons downward, inevitable as gravity. Glass burst into fragments, scattering the street’s light into the air. Furniture leapt, books tumbled, the table tilted.

And then—the ceiling split, and fell. The roar shook even the lamplight outside; dust rose in a choking tide, the world turned white and sightless. Kevin’s body, too, was caught in the same current as the beams and pillars. Whether he stood, or fell, or was torn apart—he felt not terror but a strange relief. Together with the house, he was sinking into the close of a final movement. There was nothing to flee, no document to guard, no responsibility: all dissolved now into dust.

The beams broke, the pillars collapsed, the floor split. His bones, his blood, his voice—all shattered into fragments carried into the night air. The collapse was not violence, but the coda of a meticulously designed score. Kevin, too, was only one note within it, drawn at last into silence.

When the dust settled, silence returned. Kevin was no longer among the wreckage. Only the shadow of a fallen beam lay there, like a remnant of his being.

Far away, a dog barked. An ambulance siren split the night. The city’s breath went on, but Kevin’s had ceased forever. In the streets remained only the echo of collapse, and the quiet memory of a death no one would hear.

 

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My new novel:

B♭ (B-flat)

There’s still more to come. 😃

(This is not the final draft.)

Set in New York City.

 

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Soundtrack.

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...

  

Note: I gave a brief explanation of this novel in the following video:

youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV

  

iTunes Playlist Link::

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD

 

My new novel:

B♭ (B-flat)

Notes

1. "Bombay Blood Type (hh type)"

•Characteristics: A rare blood type that lacks the usual ABO antigens — cannot be classified as A, B, or O.

•Discovery: First identified in 1952 in Mumbai, India (formerly Bombay).

•Prevalence: Roughly 1 in 10,000 people in India; globally, about 1 in 2.5 million.

•Transfusion Compatibility: Only compatible with blood from other Bombay type donors.

2. 2024 Harvard University Valedictorian Speech – The Power of Not Knowing

youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K

3. Shots Fired at Trump Rally

youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT

  

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Title.

波打ち際たで。

  

( FUJIFILM GFX50R shot )

  

本須賀海岞。九十九里浜。山歊垂。千葉県。日本。2025. 
 1 / 1

 

(今日の写真。それは未発衚です。

  

Images:

Geoffroy 
 No Calls Before Noon

youtu.be/Sua7LOBd9x4?si=vczU4fV0pMY6xrMN

  

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僕の新しい小説。

 B♭ ビヌフラット

  

第16匟。 😄

以䞋は、ただ初皿の段階です。ただ掚敲したす。

重芁な郚分は公開しおいたせん。

公開しおいる内容の順番はバラバラです。

(もちろん最終皿ではありたせん。)

 

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僕の新しい小説。

 

 B♭ ビヌフラット

  

 倜の垳が䜎く䞋り始めたサンフェルナンドバレヌの䜏宅街を、ケビン・モリの車は滑るように進んでいた。窓の倖には倏の倜の熱気が立ち䞊り、路面からはただ昌の光を吞い蟌んだアスファルトが、赀黒い光の反射を散らしおいる。移民皎関捜査局ICEの職員ずしおの圌の䞀日は、すでにその倜も続いおいた。助手垭の曞類は埮かに揺れ、そこに積たれた呜什や報告曞は、この䞀日の決断が生身の人々の生掻にどう圱響するかを、冷たく問いかけおいた。

 ラゞオ無線がかすかに雑音を混ぜながら䜜動し、別の車䞡ずの連絡が飛び蟌んだ。

「確認、䜏宅街ルヌト異垞なし。熱気のため䜏民泚意」

「了解、次はダりンタりンぞの䟵入確認」――蚀葉は簡朔で、しかし背埌には重くのしかかる責任が朜んでいた。助手垭の圌はその声に耳を傟け、郚䞋たちの緊匵や疲劎、日々の恐怖を想像する。

 静かな䜏宅街の家々が、街路灯の光に浮かんでいた。窓に灯る枩かい光は家族の生掻を、庭に揺れる朚々は倏の匂いを、しかしその光景はケビンにずっお、守るべき察象であり、同時に刀断の重さを思い知らせる舞台でもあった。

 フリヌりェむに合流するず、他の車のヘッドラむトが海のように波打ち、遠くのダりンタりンのビル矀が倜空に鋭く突き出す。空気は熱を垯び、車内の゚アコンでは远い぀かない湿気が肌にたずわり぀く。助手垭のスマヌトフォンに届くメッセヌゞは冷たく光り、緊急事態や珟堎からの報告が短く、しかし呜を握る重さを垯びお圌の芖界に入った。

 通勀路の間、ケビンは無意識に目を现め、倏の倜の色圩を読み取ろうずした。ネオンの赀やオレンゞ、信号の緑が亀錯し、遠くの山䞊みや海岞線の茪郭ががんやりず浮かんでいる。車内の鏡に映る自分の顔は、疲劎ず責任の圱で埮かに歪み、郚䞋たちや街の人々の目に映る自分の姿を想像した。

 倜の䜏宅街を抜け、ダりンタりンに近づくず、車列は赀い光の垯ずなり、通勀ラッシュの喧隒ずは別の、緊匵の波を垯びた流れに倉わる。通行人の足音、遠くで鳎る救急車のサむレン、海颚に混じる排気ガスの匂いが、郜垂の生の珟実を告げおいる。

 車内の䌚話は最小限に抑えられる。助手垭の郚䞋は無蚀でスマヌトフォンを操䜜し、報告曞や地図をチェックする。無線が䜜動するたび、蚀葉は短く、しかしそれぞれの䞀語には誰かの生掻を巊右する重みが宿っおいた。

 オフィスに到着するず、駐車堎には同僚の車が敎然ず䞊び、゚ンゞン音やタむダの振動が埮かな呌応を芋せおいた。倜颚が窓から入り蟌み、玙や曞類をかすかに揺らした。その音さえ、責任の重さを耳に䌝える錓動のように聞こえおくる。

 建物内に入るず、冷房の颚が肌に觊れ、深倜の静けさず盞たっお、空間に緊匵を匵り巡らせる。廊䞋を歩くたび、足音が冷たく反響し、壁に貌られた泚意曞きや掲瀺板の文字が埮かに光を受け、日々の任務ずその果おにある珟実を思い出させた。

 䌚議宀に入るず、郚䞋たちの目が圌を芋぀め、報告曞がテヌブルの䞊で埮かに揺れた。熱気を垯びた倏の空気ぱアコンず混ざり、玙の端を埮かに波立たせる。誰もが沈黙の䞭に緊匵を抱え、今日の刀断が遠く離れた誰かの生掻をどう倉えるかを知っおいた。

 䌚議が始たるず、無線から入る情報がリアルタむムで䌝わり、郚䞋たちの芖線が亀錯する。数字や報告曞の行間には必ず生身の人間が存圚し、その呜を守るか、あるいは危険に晒すかを決定するのが自分だず圌らは認識するのだ。

 深倜たで続く䌚議、珟堎ずの通信、曞類の敎理、郚䞋の指瀺。倜の街は倏の熱気で光を歪め、ネオンの光がオフィスの窓に反射しおちら぀いおいた。その光景を芋ながら、ケビンは䞀日の重みを胞に刻んでいた。

 垰路に぀く頃、通勀路の光景は昌間ずは違う衚情を芋せる。街灯に浮かぶ圱、ネオンの赀い反射、海颚に混じる排気ガスの匂い、遠くの山圱が倜空に溶ける。そのすべおが、今日の決断の結果を静かに告げおいた。

 助手垭の曞類を確認し、深呌吞をひず぀぀いた。倏の倜颚が窓を通り抜け、肌に觊れる。ケビンの胞には責任感ず孀独感が重くのしかかるが、それでも次の䞀歩を螏み出す力を䞎える、郜垂の息遣いが確かにあった。

 倜の光の䞭、ケビンは倏のロサンれルスを車で駆け抜ける。無線の声、郚䞋たちの緊匵、オフィスの冷房、ネオンの光、海颚の匂い、遠くの救急車のサむレン――それらすべおが絡み合い、今日䞀日の蚘憶ずしお刻たれおいく。車内での沈黙ず察話、街の静けさず喧隒、光ず圱の亀錯が、圌の心に郜垂の立䜓的な地図を描き、ICE職員ずしおの孀独ず責任を鮮明にしおいた。

 倏の倜が曎け、家路に぀く道すがら、助手垭の曞類を握り締め、深倜の街灯に浮かぶ自分の圱を芋぀めながら、圌はこの街の声に耳を柄たせる。光の反射、熱気の揺らぎ、遠くで鳎るサむレン、䜏宅街の静けさ――それらすべおが、ケビンの胞に責任ず孀独を刻み蟌んだ。

 

 ケビンが自宅の扉を抌し開けるず、倜の熱気はわずかに埌退し、リビングの冷えた空気が迎えるように流れ蟌んできた。曞類を手から攟り投げ、束ねられた玙の重みがテヌブルに小さな衝撃を䞎え、也いた音を響かせお静けさの䞭に沈んだ。

 圌の肩にのしかかっおいた䞀日の重さが、わずかながらその音に吞い取られたかのように思えた。

 しかし、その安堵の瞬間は、芋えない振動に觊れるかのようにすぐに揺らぎぞず倉わっおいった。家の奥から、埮かなきしみが生たれた。朚材が互いに軋むような、しかしどこか楜噚の匊を爪匟くような響きであった。ケビンは耳を柄たし、しかし次の瞬間にはそれがただの疲劎による幻聎ではないかず思った。

 空気がわずかに震えた。テヌブルにあった飲みかけのグラスの氎面がかすかに揺れ、光を垯びお波王を広げた。その波王は小さくも確かに、家党䜓の内郚に朜む力ず呌応しおいるかのようであった。壁にかけられた額瞁が斜めにずれた。ガラス越しの写真の䞭で、笑顔を浮かべる人圱が、わずかに歪んで芋えた。

 ケビンは胞の奥にざら぀いた感芚を芚え、芖線を倩井ぞ向けた。倩井板の奥で梁が共鳎し合い、䜎い唞り声のような音を攟っおいた。それは自然に生たれたものではなく、あらかじめ蚭蚈された響きの連鎖のように感じられた。建築を孊んだ者ならば知る、朚ず鉄ずコンクリヌトの呌応だ。その呌応が、今ここで䞀぀の方向ぞず収束しようずしおいた。

 床板が䜎く唞り、足裏に䌝わる埮现な震えずなった。倖の街路灯の光がカヌテン越しに入り蟌み、郚屋を淡い橙色で満たしおいた。その光さえもわずかに揺らめき、倒壊の予兆を映すかのように芋えた。家党䜓が呌吞をしおいるように膚らみ、そしお収瞮する。たるで芋えない心臓が脈打ち、その錓動に合わせお梁や柱が響きを返しおいるかのようであった。

 ケビンは䞡手を膝に眮き、動くこずなく耳を柄たした。倩井の奥で響く音は、もはや偶然のきしみではなかった。芏則性をもっお増幅し、やがお䜎い波ずなっお郚屋党䜓に広がった。壁玙がわずかに裂け目を芋せ、薄暗い亀裂がその奥から姿を珟した。亀裂は现い線にすぎなかったが、確かに広がりを孕んでいた。

グラスの䞭の氎が震え、その衚面に映る街灯の光が现かく砕けた。倖の倜颚が窓を揺らし、金属の留め具がかすかな音を立おた。それに呌応するかのように、梁の唞りが䞀段ず匷くなった。その瞬間、家党䜓がひず぀の楜噚ず化したように、共鳎音を攟った。空気の震えが耳の奥を打ち、䜓内の血流ず混ざり合うように感じられた。

 ケビンは胞に手を圓おた――だが、自分の錓動ず建物の錓動が重なり、境界が倱われおいくのを感じた。壁に走った亀裂が光を呑み蟌み、闇の線ずなった。

梁が深く軋み、鈍い音を吐き出した。それは重力の呜什であり、逃れられぬ䞋方ぞの召喚であった。ガラス窓が粉々に砕け、倜の街の光が断片ずなっお飛び散った。家具が跳ね、本が厩れ萜ち、テヌブルが傟いた。

そしお――倩井が裂け、厩れ萜ちた。蜟音は街路灯の光さえ震わせ、粉塵が䞀気に立ち䞊った。䞖界は癜く濁り、息が奪われる。

 ケビンの䜓もたた、梁や柱ず同じ流れに組み蟌たれおいった。圌は立ち尜くし、あるいは倒れ、あるいは匕き裂かれ――だが、恐怖ではなく、奇劙な安堵を感じおいた。家ず共に、自分もたた䞀぀の楜章の終わりずしお沈むのだず。

 逃げるべきものはなく、守るべき曞類も責任も、いたや粉塵の䞭に溶けおいく。

 梁が折れ、柱が朰れ、床が裂ける。

 そのすべおず同時に、圌の骚も、血も、声も、無数の砎片ずなっお倜の空気に散った。厩壊は暎力ではなく、むしろ緻密に蚭蚈された楜曲の終章であった。ケビンずいう存圚も、ひず぀の音笊ずしおその䞭に含たれ、やがお静寂に吞い蟌たれた。

 粉塵が沈み、静寂が戻る。

 瓊瀫の䞭にケビンの姿はもはやなかった。

 ただ、厩れた梁の圱が、圌の名残のように暪たわっおいるだけであった。

 遠くで犬が吠え、救急車のサむレンが倜を割った。

 郜垂の呌吞は再び続いおいたが、ケビンの呌吞はもう戻らなかった。

 倜の街に残されたのは、厩壊の䜙韻ず、誰にも届かぬ静かな死の蚘憶だけだった。

  

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僕の新しい小説。

 B♭ ビヌフラット

 

舞台はニュヌペヌクです。

 

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Soundtrack.

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...

  

远蚘 この小説を倚少説明したした。

youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV

  

メモ

 

1

「Bombay型ボンベむ型、hh型」

•特城通垞のABO血液型を持たないA、B、Oに分類されない特殊な型。

•発芋地1952幎、むンド・ムンバむ旧ボンベむで初めお確認。

•発生頻床むンドでは1䞇人に1人皋床だが、䞖界的には玄250䞇人に1人ずも。

•茞血制限同じBombay型しか茞血できない。

 

2

2024幎ハヌバヌド倧孊銖垭の卒業匏スピヌチ『知らないこずの力』

youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K

 

3

Shots fired at Trump rally

youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT

  

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Title:

Near the Traffic Light.

(The plastic bag on the street has been removed in today’s photo.)

(LUMIX G3 shot)

Manhattan. New York. USA. 2017. 
 3 / 7

 

Images.

Tyler, The Creator · Daniel Caesar · LaToiya Williams 
 Take Your Mask Off

youtu.be/JPOjiXoPmOk?si=yFqxAC7D6H5lWFzh

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

My new novel.

B♭ (B Flat)

Part 8. I’ve polished the opening section into what is almost its final form. 😄

(Of course, this is not the definitive version.)

Below is the earlier draft of the same passage. You might find it interesting to compare them. 😄

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++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

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My New Novel.

 

B♭ (B Flat)

1

——There are countless reasons a person might fall in love. Yet to realize—only afterward—that one has already fallen, that has no reason at all. That, I believe, is what true love is. And perhaps, if at that very moment a pale, washed light were spilling across the air around you, it would be easier to know. Such a light wraps itself around you like breath, stirring dormant memories. It seeps through the veil of your eyelids, reaching into the quietest chambers of your heart. To meet someone whose name you do not yet know, and come to know them deeply—this light is indispensable.——

From the warehouse’s high windows, a softened light poured in at an angle.

It was nearly noon, yet the whiteness seemed uncertain, as if reluctant to wake. It drifted into the dimness, losing its edges, and came to rest in silence upon the floor, where it left a faint, wavering shimmer over the roughened concrete.

Between the white tape that marked each booth, artists moved quickly, crossing paths with the efficient chaos of a weekend market. They had gathered for an exhibition and sale, and the air was thick with a mingling of colors, voices, and the faint hum of old walls holding their breath.

From the half-open loading bay came the low throb of hip-hop—its bass-heavy rhythm dragging slightly, as if reluctant to let go. The beat shivered through the floor, up the walls, as though the building itself were listening. Likely it came from the speakers of a delivery truck idling outside.

From a narrow slit in the eastern bay door, sunlight spilled in just enough to turn the dust motes into a drifting gold haze.

A young man in a suit lowered himself into the booth where Ana sat. On the white tape marking the aisle edge, someone had written Sieve—the name under which Ana and her group had reserved the space.

He leaned forward, pulling one notebook from a precarious stack, and began turning the pages slowly, his eyes lingering. His skin was a warm brown, perhaps Middle Eastern like Ana’s, and the profile that caught the light was refined, his blue eyes steady and unhurried. They followed each pencil line as if tracing a path: the breadth of a slow curve, the layering of fine, taut lines, the shadows conjured by the pressure of graphite.

Ana had always thought that those who can speak with their eyes are also those who can take the world in with them.

He looked up, caught her gaze from the corner of his vision, and smiled.

“Is this yours?”

Startled at being caught watching him, Ana answered a little too quickly.

“Yes. Mine.”

“Why did you draw it in ordinary pencil? Is it a rough sketch?”

The piece he was looking at was Arjun—her boyfriend—seen in profile as he waited for her at a café. That day she had arrived late; he was seated by the window, eyes fixed on his laptop screen. The slant of sunlight had fused with the intent in his gaze, branding the image into her memory. That was the moment she had drawn.

“No—it’s finished. I like the feel of ordinary tools. Pencils, everyday pens
”

He smiled faintly.

“And the man is him?”

“Yes,” she replied without hesitation, the smile reaching her eyes.

“I see. A shame, though—for a weekend. And is this one your mother?”

Ana leaned over to see the page he held. It was indeed her mother, Sangeeta Patel, bent slightly forward, preparing food. The curve of her lips revealed a glimpse of teeth, a smile caught mid-breath.

When Sangeeta cooked, the whole house was wrapped in the perfume of spices and the warm, nutty scent of fenugreek. Every winter, without fail, she made undhiyu, a recipe handed down from Ana’s grandmother. It was a traditional Hindu dish from before the family converted to another faith, yet she had kept it—because inside it lived the memory of family as an unbroken circle.

To Anaya, it was the very scent of India’s sun-dried earth.

“Yes, my mother,” she said softly.

Amir’s mouth softened into a smile. He turned the page.

“And this too?”

Ana stepped closer. Again, her mother—but this time by the window, reading. Her gaze, resting on the page, held a quiet stillness, and somewhere deep in it, a shadow of sorrow. On the cover, in dull gold letters, was the title Untouchable. Years ago, her mother had stumbled upon the novel in the town library, and it had shifted her life by a fraction—enough to change its course. Within the text, she had met a younger version of herself. Reading had become prayer; prayer had become resolve. From that day, Sangeeta’s faith was aimed toward “a God who would harm no one.”

Ana gave a small nod.

“Yes. My beloved mother—whom I deeply respect.”

Amir lowered his gaze to the drawing again, his index finger following the line of her mother’s sight, almost but not quite touching.

“You draw eyes beautifully,” he said.

Those eyes were nothing but gradations of graphite, and yet they held a depth that felt layered with countless emotions. The contours were soft, the shadows of the lashes trembling faintly. There was no reflected light, and still, the act of seeing was there—quiet, unwavering. In the firmness of the strokes lay a delicate quiver, as though searching for the light beyond. The shadows seemed steeped in unspoken conflict and in prayer. As if, deep in the paper, a soul stood motionless in silence.

“Eyes that seem to be fighting quietly,” Amir murmured, his voice roughened, “and yet, somehow, forgiving.”

His words stirred something deep in Ana’s chest. She had wanted to capture both—the heat of her mother’s struggles and the cool clarity with which she met them. And he had seen it.

Amir smiled again, and rose slowly.

Mika arrived, weaving between the booths with a bright, scattering smile for every artist, her F30 canvas slung across her back.

“If you’d like, you can look at mine too. I’m Mika.”

“Thank you,” Amir said, extending his hand. Mika passed her canvas to Ana, shook hands, and grinned.

“Why are you giving me your stuff?” Ana muttered, a touch annoyed.

“You live together, don’t you?” Mika whispered back, smiling.

“My name is Amir. Amir Nasser.”

He smiled at them both, lowered his gaze to the floor, glanced up at the ceiling, then turned his eyes away shyly, like a boy.

Tapping rapidly at his phone, Rafi appeared, gave Ana a quick look, and addressed Amir in a low voice. The heaviness in his build suggested he was older.

“What’s wrong? Something happen?”

“No. I’ll tell you later,” Amir said gently, as if to temper Rafi’s stare. Then, to Ana and Mika:

“Thank you. It was a beautiful moment. I’ll see you on Saturday.”

Ana smiled her thanks, though Rafi’s gaze stayed sharp. For a moment, Amir studied her eyes as if searching for something, then turned and walked away with Rafi.

Ana watched them go, unsettled. Both were wearing suits—on a Saturday.

“They rich?” Mika said lightly. “Saudi heirs, maybe?”

“What do you mean?” Ana asked.

“Brioni suits. Edward Green shoes. That’s about the price of a luxury car. Two of them? Two cars.”

She bent to retrieve a canvas from behind their booth’s supplies, and began setting up again.

“Maybe they’re with the Republicans? There’s a national convention at the Garden tonight.”

The Garden—short for Madison Square Garden. Ana, still watching the two men’s retreating backs, said absently,

“Is that so.”

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

My new novel:

B♭ (B-flat)

There’s still more to come. 😃

(This is not the final draft.)

Set in New York City.

 

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Soundtrack.

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...

  

Note: I gave a brief explanation of this novel in the following video:

youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV

  

iTunes Playlist Link::

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD

  

Notes

1. "Bombay Blood Type (hh type)"

•Characteristics: A rare blood type that lacks the usual ABO antigens — cannot be classified as A, B, or O.

•Discovery: First identified in 1952 in Mumbai, India (formerly Bombay).

•Prevalence: Roughly 1 in 10,000 people in India; globally, about 1 in 2.5 million.

•Transfusion Compatibility: Only compatible with blood from other Bombay type donors.

2. 2024 Harvard University Valedictorian Speech – The Power of Not Knowing

youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K

3. Shots Fired at Trump Rally

youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

Title.

信号機の付近。

 

( LUMIX G3 shot )

  

マンハッタン。ニュヌペヌク。アメリカ。2017. 
 3 / 7

  

Images.

Tyler, The Creator · Daniel Caesar · LaToiya Williams 
 Take Your Mask Off

youtu.be/JPOjiXoPmOk?si=yFqxAC7D6H5lWFzh

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

僕の新しい小説。

 B♭ ビヌフラット

  

第匟。ただ掚敲したすが、冒頭郚分をほが最終的な圢に仕䞊げたした。😄

(もちろん最終皿ではありたせん。)

 

以䞋が同じ文章の初期です。比范するずおもしろいかもしれたせん。😄

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++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

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僕の新しい小説。

 

 B♭ ビヌフラット

  

1

 

ヌヌヌヌ 恋に萜ちる理由は、人によっおさたざただけど、恋に萜ちおいたず、あずになっお気づくこずに、理由はない。それをほんずうの恋だず、私は思う。できればそのずき、蟺りに癜く滲んだ光が差し蟌んでいたら、もっずわかりやすい。淡い光は人を包み、蚘憶を呌び芚たす。瞌を透かしお、胞の内たで照らしだす。名も知らない人に出䌚い、倚くを深く知るためには、倧切な光だ ヌヌヌヌ

  

 やわらかな光が、倉庫の高窓から差し蟌んでいた。昌近くだずいうのに、ただ目を芚たしきれないような、おが぀かない癜さだ。闇に溶け蟌んだ淡い光が、ひっそりず床に降り、ざら぀いたコンクリヌトの䞊に、かすかなたばゆさを滲たせおいる。

 癜いガムテヌプで四方に仕切られたブヌスのあいだを、アヌティストたちが忙しなく行き亀っおいた。週末の展瀺ず即売のために集たった人々が、それぞれの色ず音を匕き連れお、この雑倚な叀い倉庫にひしめいおいる。

 半開きの搬入口からは、䜎音の効いたヒップホップが流れ蟌んでくる。匕きずるような重いビヌトが床から壁面たで小刻みに震わせおいる—— おそらく搬入車のスピヌカヌだ。

 東偎搬入口のシャッタヌの隙間から、わずかに陜が差し、埃の粒を金色に舞わせおいた。

 若い、スヌツをたずった男性がアナのブヌスぞ腰を萜ずした。通路際の床に貌られた、癜いガムテヌプには『Sieveシヌノ』ず曞かれおいる。アナらがグルヌプ名で予玄したブヌスだ。

 男性は無造䜜に積み重なったノヌトの山から䞀぀抜き出した。ゆっくりペヌゞを繰りながら、静かに眺めおいる。耐色の肌は、たぶんアナず同じ、䞭東系の男性だ。端正な暪顔に、ブルヌの瞳が静かに茝いおいた。その県差しは、アナの䜜品の線を、䞹念に、そしお䜕床も远っおいる。緩いカヌブの線の倪さ、现い盎線の重ね具合。鉛筆の濃淡を䜿った陰圱。

 蚀葉ではなく、県で語るこずができる人は、県で倚くを吞収するこずができる人だ。アナは幌少の頃からそう感じおいた。

 男性は、圌の芖界の隅に入ったアナぞ、埮笑んだ。

「この䜜品は、君の」

 アナは、芋入っおいたこずを取り繕うように慌おお答えた。

「ええ、私です」

「どうしお普通の鉛筆で描いたの ラフスケッチ」

 圌が芋おいたのは、カフェで埅ち合わせおいた恋人のアルゞュンの暪顔だった。アナが遅れおカフェにやっおきた時、アルゞュンは窓際に腰掛け、ノヌトパ゜コンを睚んでいた。鋭利な光の差し蟌み具合がアルゞュンの真剣な県差しず重なり合っお、瞌に焌き぀いおいた。その䞀瞬の暪顔だ。

「いえ、䞋曞きではなく、完成品です。鉛筆ずか身近なペンが奜きだから .」

 圌はアナに埮笑みで返した。それからいった。

「男性は圌」

「はい」アナは屈蚗のない笑みで圌にそう玠盎に答えた。

「そうなんだ。少し残念だな、週末だずいうのに。こっちの絵は君のお母さん」

 アミヌルが差し出したペヌゞに近づき、アナは䞀瞬蚘憶をたどったが、自分の母、サンギヌタ・パテルをモデルにした絵だった。やはり暪顔で少し俯き、郷土料理を䜜っおいる。口元から歯がのぞけ、埮笑んでいる。

 サンギヌタがキッチンに立぀ず、家䞭がスパむスず銙ばしいフェヌグリヌクの銙りに包たれた。冬になるず必ず䜜る「りンディナ」は、祖母の代から䌝わるレシピだった。ヒンドゥヌ教埒時代の䌝統的な家庭料理で、改宗しおも倉わらなかったのは、この料理に蟌めた“家族の円たる”の蚘憶だった。

 アナダにずっお、それはむンドの也いた土の銙りそのものだった。

「ええ、私の母です」

 アミヌルは、口元を緩め、アナに応えるず次のペヌゞを繰った。

「じゃ、これもお母さんかな」

 アナは、䞀歩近づき、芋入った。やはり母の絵だ。ただし、料理を䜜っおいる優しい母ではなく、窓際で本を読んでいるものだ。本に萜ずしおいる県差しには、冷静さずどこか悲しみが朜んでいる。衚玙には、くすんだ金色の文字で《Untouchable》ず曞かれおいた。若い頃、町の図曞通で偶然芋぀けたこの小説が、母の運呜をそっず動かした。文字の奥に、か぀おの自分がいた。読曞が祈りになり、祈りが決意に倉わった。あの日から、サンギヌタの信仰は、“誰も傷぀けない神”ぞず向かっおいた。

 アナは、アミヌルぞ軜く埮笑んでから肯き、答えた。

「はい、私の倧奜きな母で、尊敬しおいたす」

 アミヌルは再び絵に目を萜ずすず、人差し指で觊れるか觊れないかぐらいで、母の芖線を蟿った。

「玠晎らしい県の描き方だ」

 その県は、鉛筆の濃淡だけで描かれおいた。なのに、驚くほど深く、䜕局にも重ねられた感情が宿っおいた。茪郭はやわらかく、た぀毛の圱がほんのわずかに揺れおいるように芋えた。光を反射しおいるわけでもないのに、そこに確かに“芋る”ずいう行為があった。硬質な線のなかにかすかな震えを宿し、光を求めるように宙を芋぀めおいた。陰圱の重なりが、蚀葉にできない葛藀ず祈りを滲たせおいる。たるで玙の奥に、魂そのものが沈黙のたた立ち尜くしおいるようだった。

「静かに戊っおいるような目だね   それでいお、どこか赊しおいる」

 そう蚀ったアミヌルの声は、少し掠れおいた。

 アミヌルの蚀葉にアナの胞がざわめいた。熱した難解を冷静に解く。母のその䞡面をアナは描きたかった。アナの意図がアミヌルぞ䌝わっおいた。

 笑顔を戻し、アミヌルはゆっくり立ち䞊がりながらアナにそう答えた。

 ミカが、他のブヌスのアヌティストらに明るい笑顔を振り撒きながら、自分のキャンバス、F30の䜜品を背䞭に背負っお足早にやっおきた。

「よかったら私の䜜品も芋おいっおね。私はミカ」

 ありがずうず蚀いながらアミヌルは手を差し出した。ミカは背負っおいた䜜品をアナに預け、握手を亀わした。アナは、なんで荷物をわたしに ずやや䞍機嫌にミカぞ耳打ちするず、ミカは同棲しおいるでしょず埮笑み返した。 

「僕の名前はアミヌル。アミヌル・ナッセル」

 アミヌルは口元を緩めおふたりに笑いかけた。やや俯いお、床ぞ目を萜ずし、再び倩井を芋䞊げ、恥ずかしそうに目を逞らしおから少幎のように埮笑んだ。ただあどけなさを残しおいた。

 スマヌトフォンに文字を打ち蟌みながら、ラフィは足早にやっおくるず、アナを䞀瞥し、アミヌルぞ䜎い声でいった。銖呚りの莅肉からアミヌルよりもずっず幎䞊のようだ。

「どうした 問題が」

「いや、あずで話す」

 アミヌルは、睚んだラフィの芖線を悟すように、穏やかにいった。続けお、アナらに䌝えた。

「ふたりずもありがずう。玠敵な時間だった。たた土曜日に」

 アナはありがずうず埮笑んだが、ラフィはアミヌルを睚んだ。しばらく、アミヌルの芖線はアナの瞳の奥を探るようにじっず芋぀めおいたが、背を向け、ラフィず歩き出した。

 アナはふたりを芋お、䞍思議に思った。

 アミヌルもラフィも土曜だずいうのにスヌツを纏っおいる。二人の埌ろ姿を芋送りながら、ミカが明るく぀ぶやいた。

「ふたりずもリッチマン サりゞアラビアの埡曹叞ずか」

 アナが䞍思議そうにミカぞ尋ねた。

「どういう意味」

「スヌツはブリオヌニ。革靎ぱドワヌドグリヌン。高玚車䞀台分ぐらいよ。あ、二人だから二台分。たぶんね」

ミカは、ブヌスに積たれた荷物の奥からキャンバスを取り出し、展瀺の準備を再び始めた。

「ひょっずしたら共和党の関係者かな 今倜、ガヌデンで党囜倧䌚じゃない」

 ガヌデンずは、マゞ゜ンスク゚アガヌデンの略称だ。アナは、二人の埌ろ姿を芋送りながら、気のない返事で答えた。

「そうなんだ」

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

  

僕の新しい小説。

 B♭ ビヌフラット

 

舞台はニュヌペヌクです。

 

7

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1

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54599616429/in/dateposted...

 

Soundtrack.

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...

  

远蚘 この小説を倚少説明したした。

youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV

  

メモ

 

1

「Bombay型ボンベむ型、hh型」

•特城通垞のABO血液型を持たないA、B、Oに分類されない特殊な型。

•発芋地1952幎、むンド・ムンバむ旧ボンベむで初めお確認。

•発生頻床むンドでは1䞇人に1人皋床だが、䞖界的には玄250䞇人に1人ずも。

•茞血制限同じBombay型しか茞血できない。

 

2

2024幎ハヌバヌド倧孊銖垭の卒業匏スピヌチ『知らないこずの力』

youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K

 

3

Shots fired at Trump rally

youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT

  

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Title:

From inside the car. 5.

 

(LUMIX G3 shot)

 

Manhattan. New York. USA. 2017. 
 5 / 7

 

(Photo of the day. Unpublished.)

 

Images:

Geoffroy 
 No Calls Before Noon

youtu.be/Sua7LOBd9x4?si=vczU4fV0pMY6xrMN

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

My new novel

B♭ (B Flat)

 

Volume 17😄

The following is still in its draft stage and will be revised further.

Key parts are not disclosed.

The order of the content shown here is mixed.

(Of course, this is not the final version.)

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

My new novel

B♭ (B Flat)

 

Columbia Point Residences, a redevelopment of an old warehouse district near the piers of Red Hook that look south over New York Harbor, sat with Williamsburg’s commercial and arts quarter to its north, a reclaimed stretch of landfill between them transformed into a quiet new neighborhood of low-rise detached houses.

On the freshly paved streets the laughter of children echoed, and the soft afternoon sun gently lit the roof tiles and white exterior walls. The wind carried a cool, saline scent from the sea, and, far off in the harbor, a ship’s horn punctuated the calm.

Residents were building new lives here, apart from the city’s daily tumult.

At three in the afternoon the light was still mild, gilding the leaves of the street trees. Mariners’ Row—this new residential enclave—presented itself with almost calculated perfection: rows of white houses, straight sidewalks flanking them. The scent of new construction and still-wet paint hung faintly in the air.

Mark Sanchez stood by the large living-room window and imagined a happy future for his family.

His unit, ERO, was the field force within ICE responsible for immigration enforcement and removals—hardened by the harsh realities of carrying out deportations—contrasted with HSI’s international-crime investigations. But here, behind the glass, he was simply a father and a husband.

Rachel had begun preparing dinner in the kitchen. Children’s voices drifted from the distant school-bus stop.

— Calm. Perhaps life is distilled on a Sunday at three in the afternoon, — he murmured inwardly.

The afternoon light slanted more and more; shadows reflected in the window stretched. On the neighborhood street, an old man walked slowly, pushing a cart as he walked his dog. The crossing laughter of children made that scene seem like an emblem of a gentle, innocent world.

Inside the house, the children were absorbed in play, and Rachel greeted them with a smile. The outside air was mild, the breeze only slightly warm; curtains swayed softly.

Mark opened the front door and checked the mailbox. There were notices about the new school and an announcement for a local disaster-preparedness drill.

At three in the afternoon, as the second hand crept forward, silence deepened.

Beside the house’s foundation concrete there was a faint tremor.

In the afternoon hush, the harbor horn and the rustle of leaves in the breeze filled the soundscape—sounds that masked a subtle detonation so that the surrounding residents did not notice. Smoke rose slowly; there was no fierce blaze at the moment of explosion, only fine dust quietly filling the air. The collapse did not happen all at once but proceeded slowly and inevitably. Part of the exterior wall developed quiet fissures; glass trembled and fractured into fine shards. Wooden posts toppled one by one without a sound, the house crumbling inward as if in a muted dance. A small shock set off a chain reaction of charges that dismantled the structure from within—silently yet surely. The exterior split without fanfare; windows became powder; wooden supports began to fall.

But the noise had been suppressed to the greatest extent possible; the neighborhood’s residents scarcely noticed anything had occurred.

In the distance, silhouettes of buildings slumped and settled. Not only Mark’s house but a blue house about three hundred meters across the street, and a white house further in, kicked up clouds of dust.

Three houses vanished in an instant.

The wind halted for a moment; only the leaves of the street trees trembled.

Mariners’ Row’s afternoon regained its former stillness, as if nothing had happened.

Yet everything had changed.

By planting small, distributed charges of C4 at several points in the foundation concrete and detonating them in precisely timed, ordered sequences, the shockwave could be minimized while the skeleton of the structure was collapsed from the inside.

Rafi’s knowledge of architecture had made possible not mere destruction but a “quiet collapse.”

“Use only the force that’s necessary”—that was his credo.

From a rooftop some distance away, Rafi watched the scene unfold; a deep silence flowed through his chest. For him, it was both an outcry and a prayer. The silence dwelling in destruction was the expression of his tangled feelings.

From childhood, Rafi had found refuge only in silence. The clamor of children playing in Gaza’s dusty alleys, the thunder of airstrikes—these had only wounded him more deeply. In a rundown corner of Gaza, the small Rafi leaned against a wall. When the roar of bombardment receded, the brief stillness was a salvation.

His mother’s tears, his father’s anger—the chaos of it all—the boy sought only a place without sound. He fled inward to a world without noise.

Tinkering with the innards of a broken radio with small hands, Rafi first understood the relation between destruction and quiet. A ruined radio, after it lost its sound, simply remained there in material form, silently.

As he grew, his inner life knotted into complexity. He studied architecture at the Islamic University to make shapes and manipulate structures as a way to steady the disorder within him. Even the days bent over blueprints failed to soothe the quiet madness hidden under his skin. When he faced a building plan, his hands trembled; in his head the calculated beauty of structure mixed with the cool cruelty of demolition.

Then he found a method to produce the silence he had once sought: planting bombs.

For him, it was the only way to externalize his pain. The C4 placed silently at a building’s core crystallized the intersection of his desire to destroy and his thirst for silence. Israel’s attacks on Gaza had stoked his rage, but the true explosion had been nurtured in the quiet of his childhood. For Rafi, releasing explosives without sound was a ritual of severing himself from the world’s noise.

Rafi’s heart could find rest only in the stillness of destruction; he was trapped in a darkness no one noticed.

Without sound, unnoticed by anyone, he broke his world and obtained silence.

And no one knew that his cry was hidden within that quiet destruction.

Construction of Columbia Point Residences had begun in 2024. The three collapsed houses had been occupied by staff of the U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement—ICE—and its Enforcement and Removal Operations, ERO.

They took off their uniforms, sat at these tables with their families. By day they detained migrants and sent them out of the country; by night they held children on their laps and drank beer.

To Rafi, those two faces were one mask. Smile and cruelty breathed under the same skin. It was almost impossible to discern the boundary. He had seen the light in those houses many nights—the silhouettes at dinner through the curtains, laughter. There were no faces of the detained among them.

Each night Rafi never missed the five prayers. His fingertips turned sacred pages of the Qur’an; Arabic verses rang in his heart. “True strength lies in patience; vengeance is entrusted to God”—that phrase steadied him, lending calm. His anger was forbidden to flare; it lived quietly inside.

Recent news repeated the same refrain daily—“a million deported annually,” “military bases converted to detention centers,” “raids even on pending family applications”—numbers passing through the broadcast with a dry sound. But behind those numbers were names: his mother’s name, his sister’s name, the old man next door. Those names did not run on the news; they had no voice.

Rafi thought: this is not policy but selection—sorting who to keep and who to cast aside on sheets of paper. His faith taught mercy and justice, yet the world trampled those teachings. “God is the judge; we are only witnesses”—he repeated in his heart, while refusing to look away.

People in the city sought ways to lighten their lives. Yet tariff hikes made the very air heavy. Bread, nails, gasoline rose in price; sighs filled the shopping streets. Oddly, ICE and ERO garages always housed new vehicles; uniforms looked uncreased and shoes had thick soles. It was the result of budget and protection, the payoff for casting others aside.

Rafi kept calm. To erupt in emotion was to feed the enemy’s desire. So he hid his anger. The fire burning within him was tended like a vow to God—silent and steady.

Stories of neighbors taken in the night, a child crying as someone was seized—each one settled into him and became fuel. But it never flared. It only fed the coals and raised the burn temperature. From the outside, he seemed a gentle man. Inside, however, a balanced plan of destruction was quietly taking shape.

  

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My new novel:

B♭ (B-flat)

There’s still more to come. 😃

(This is not the final draft.)

Set in New York City.

  

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54653035442/in/dateposted...

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54639396885/in/dateposted...

2

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54628511025/in/dateposted...

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54599616429/in/dateposted...

 

Soundtrack.

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...

  

Note: I gave a brief explanation of this novel in the following video:

youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV

  

iTunes Playlist Link::

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD

 

My new novel:

B♭ (B-flat)

Notes

1. "Bombay Blood Type (hh type)"

•Characteristics: A rare blood type that lacks the usual ABO antigens — cannot be classified as A, B, or O.

•Discovery: First identified in 1952 in Mumbai, India (formerly Bombay).

•Prevalence: Roughly 1 in 10,000 people in India; globally, about 1 in 2.5 million.

•Transfusion Compatibility: Only compatible with blood from other Bombay type donors.

2. 2024 Harvard University Valedictorian Speech – The Power of Not Knowing

youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K

3. Shots Fired at Trump Rally

youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT

  

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Title.

車内から。4。

  

( LUMIX G3 shot )

  

マンハッタン。ニュヌペヌク。アメリカ。2017. 
 5 / 7

 

(今日の写真。それは未発衚です。

  

Images:

Geoffroy 
 No Calls Before Noon

youtu.be/Sua7LOBd9x4?si=vczU4fV0pMY6xrMN

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

僕の新しい小説。

 B♭ ビヌフラット

  

第17匟。 😄

以䞋は、ただ初皿の段階です。ただ掚敲したす。

重芁な郚分は公開しおいたせん。

公開しおいる内容の順番はバラバラです。

(もちろん最終皿ではありたせん。)

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

僕の新しい小説。

 

 B♭ ビヌフラット

 

 ニュヌペヌク枯を南に望むレッドフックの埠頭に近い、叀い倉庫街を開発したコロンビア・ポむント・レゞデンシズは、北偎にりィリアムズバヌクの商業・アヌト地区を背にし、その間の埋立地を再造成した、䜎局戞建お䞭心の静かな新興䜏宅街だ。

 新しく舗装された道には、子䟛たちの笑い声がこだたし、午埌の柔らかな陜射しが屋根の瓊や癜壁の倖壁を優しく照らしおいる。颚は海からの冷たい銙りを運び、枯湟の遠くで聞こえる船の汜笛が静けさにアクセントを加えた。

 䜏民たちは日垞の喧隒から離れ、ここに新たな生掻の基盀を築いおいる。

 午埌時の陜射しは、ただ柔らかく街路暹の葉を黄金色に染めおいた。

 マリナヌズ・ロりの新興䜏宅街は、たるで蚈算されたように完璧な敎列を芋せおいる。癜壁の戞建おが䞊び、たっすぐな歩道が䞡脇に䌞びる。新築の銙りず、ただ新しいペンキの匂いが埮かに挂っおいた。

 マヌク・サンチェスはリビングの倧きな窓から倖を眺めながら、家族の幞せな未来を思い描いおいた。

 圌が属するEROは、ICEを構成する郚門のうちのひず぀、HSIの囜際犯眪捜査に比べ、EROの移民の匷制執行や送還を行う珟堎郚隊で培った厳しい珟実もあったが、ここではただの父芪であり倫だった。

 レむチェルはキッチンで倕食の準備を始めおいる。子䟛たちの声が、遠くのスクヌルバス停から聞こえおきた。

ヌ 穏やかだ。日曜日の午埌時に、人生は集玄されおいるかもしれない ヌ

 圌は胞のうちでそう぀ぶやいた。

 午埌の光は埐々に斜めになり、窓ガラスに映る圱が䌞びおいく。䜏宅街の通りでは犬の散歩をする老人が䞀人、手抌し車を抌しながらゆっくり歩いおいた。子䟛たちの笑い声が亀差するその颚景は、穏やかで無垢な䞖界の象城のようだった。

 家の䞭では子䟛たちが遊びに倢䞭になり、レむチェルがにこやかに声をかけおいる。倖の空気は穏やかで、颚はわずかに暖かく、揺れるカヌテンが優しく靡いおいた。

 マヌクは玄関のドアを開け、郵䟿受けを確認する。ポストには新しい孊校の案内ず地域の防灜蚓緎のお知らせが入っおいた。

 午埌䞉時、秒針がゆっくりず動く䞭、静寂が深たっおいった。

 家の䞭心、基瀎のコンクリヌトのすぐ脇が埮かに揺れた。

 午埌の静けさの䞭、遠くからは枯湟の汜笛ず、颚に揺れる街路暹の葉擊れの音が響いおいた。それらの環境音が、わずかな爆砎音をかき消し、呚囲の䜏民が気づくこずはなかった。煙はゆっくりず立ち䞊り、爆発の瞬間に生たれる激しい炎はなく、ただ现かな粉塵が静かに空気を満たした。倒壊は䞀気ではなく、ゆっくりず、しかし確実に進んだ。倖壁の䞀郚が静かに亀裂を生み、ガラスは埮现に震えながら割れおいく。朚補の柱が䞀本、たた䞀本ず音もなく倒れ、家党䜓が内偎から厩れおいく様は、たるで静かな舞螏のようだった。爆薬はわずかな衝撃で連鎖反応を起こし、家の構造を静かに、しかし確実に砎壊しおいく。倖壁は音もなく割れ、ガラスは粉々になり、朚補の柱が倒れ始めた。

 しかし、隒音は極力抑えられ、呚囲の䜏民たちは䜕が起きたのか気づきにくいほどだ。

 遠くで小さく厩れ萜ちる建物のシル゚ットがあった。マヌクの家屋だけでなく、通りを挟んでmほど先の青い家、そしお、そこからさらに奥ぞ進んだ癜い家から砂埃が舞い䞊がった。

 3軒の家が瞬時に消えた。

 颚が䞀瞬止み、街路暹の葉が揺れる音だけが響く。

 マリナヌズ・ロりの午埌は、再び䜕事もなかったかのように静けさを取り戻した。

 しかし、すべおは倉わっおしたったのだ。

 基瀎のコンクリヌトに小分けしたC4を耇数箇所に埋め蟌み、埮现なタむミングで順序良く起爆させるこずで、衝撃波を最小限に抑え぀぀構造の骚組みを内偎から厩しおいく。

 ラフィの建築孊の知識が、単なる砎壊ではなく「静かなる厩壊」を可胜にしおいた。

「必芁な力だけを䜿う」——それが圌の信念だった。

 ラフィは遠くの建物の屋䞊からその光景を芋぀め、胞に深い静寂が流れた。圌にずっお、それは叫びでもあり、祈りでもあった。砎壊の䞭に宿る静寂こそが、圌の耇雑な感情の衚珟だったのだ。

 ラフィは幌いころから、静寂の䞭にしか安らぎを芋いだせなかった。

 ガザの埃っぜい路地裏で遊ぶ子䟛たちの喧隒も、爆撃の蜟音も、圌の心を深く傷぀けるだけだった。廃れたガザの街角で、幌いラフィは静かに壁にもたれかかっおいた。爆撃の蜟音が遠ざかる瞬間、その静寂は圌にずっお䞀瞬の救いだった。

 母の涙、父の怒り、そのすべおが混ざり合う隒乱の䞭で、圌はただ「音のない堎所」を求めおいた。圌は音のない䞖界ぞず逃げ蟌んだ。

 小さな手で壊れかけたラゞオの䞭身をいじりながら、ラフィは初めお「砎壊」ず「静けさ」の関係に気づいた。壊れたラゞオは、音を倱った埌に、ただ静かにそこに物質ずしおの圢状を保っおいた。

 成長するに぀れ、圌の内面は耇雑に絡み合った。

 むスラム倧孊の建築孊郚に進んだのは、圢を䜜り、構造を操るこずで、圌の心の乱れを制埡しようずしたからだ。倧孊で建築を孊ぶ日々も、圌の心の奥底に朜む静かな狂気を癒すには足りなかった。建物の蚭蚈図に向き合うずき、圌の指先は震え、頭の䞭で蚈算される構造の矎しさず砎壊の冷培さが入り混じった。

 そしお圌は、か぀お自分が求めた静寂を「䜜り出す」方法を芋぀けた。

 爆匟を仕掛けるこず。

 それは圌にずっお、自分の痛みを倖に攟぀唯䞀の手段だった。

 建物の䞭心に静かに仕掛けられたC4は、圌の「砎壊ぞの欲求」ず「静寂ぞの枇望」が亀錯した結晶だった。むスラ゚ルによるガザ攻撃は圌の憎悪を燃え䞊がらせたが、真の爆発は幌少期の沈黙の䞭でじわじわず育たれおいた。圌にずっお、爆薬を音もなく解き攟぀行為は、䞖界の隒音から自分自身を切り離す儀匏だったのだ。

 ラフィの心は、砎壊の静けさの䞭にしか安息を芋出せず、誰も気づかない闇に囚われおいた。

 音もなく、誰にも気づかれずに、圌は自らの䞖界を砎壊し、静寂を手に入れる。

 そしおその静かな砎壊の䞭に、圌の叫びが隠されおいるこずを、誰も知らなかった。

 コロンビア・ポむント・レゞデンシズは、幎に工事の着工が始たった。厩壊した䞉棟に䜏んでいたのは、米囜移民皎関取締局のICEずその匷制退去執行郚門であるEROの職員たちだった。

 圌らは制服を脱ぎ、この家で家族ず食卓を囲む。昌間、移民を拘束し、囜倖ぞ送る圌らが、倜には子どもを膝に抱き、ビヌルを飲む。

 ラフィには、その二぀の顔がひず぀の仮面にしか芋えなかった。埮笑みず冷酷が、同じ皮膚の䞋で息をしおいる。その境目を芋極めるこずは、ほずんど䞍可胜だった。圌は䜕床も、職員たちの家に灯る明かりを芋た。カヌテン越しに芋える食卓の圱、笑い声。そこには、拘束された者たちの顔はひず぀もなかった。

 ラフィは毎倜、沈黙のなかで五回の瀌拝を欠かさなかった。圌の指先は厳かにクルアヌンのペヌゞをめくり、アラビア語の詩句が心に響いた。

「真の匷さは忍耐にあり、埩讐は神の手に委ねられる」—その蚀葉が圌を支え、冷静さを䞎えた。

 怒りは熱く燃え䞊がるこずを蚱されず、静かに内偎で息づいおいた。

 最近のニュヌスは、毎日が同じ旋埋を繰り返しおいた。

ヌ 「幎間癟䞇人送還」「軍事基地を収容所に転甚」「家族申請䞭でも摘発」 ヌ

 数字は也いた音を立おおニュヌスの䞭を流れおいく。

 だが、その数字の裏偎には名前があった。母の名、効の名、隣に䜏んでいた老人の名。それらはニュヌスには茉らず、声にもならなかった。

 ラフィは思った。これは政策ではなく、遞別だ。残す者ず捚おる者を、曞類の䞊で振り分ける䜜業だ。

 圌の信仰は慈悲ず正矩を説く。だが今の䞖界は、その教えを螏みにじっおいた。

「神は審刀者、我らはただ蚌人」 — 圌は心の䞭で繰り返しながらも、芋過ごすこずを拒んだ。

 街では誰もが生掻を軜くする方法を探しおいた。だが、関皎の匕き䞊げは空気たでも重くした。パンも、釘も、ガ゜リンも倀を䞊げ、ため息が商店街を満たした。

 䞍思議なこずに、ICEやEROの車庫にはい぀も新しい車が䞊んでいた。制服は新品のように皺ひず぀なく、靎底は厚かった。それは予算ず保護の結果であり、他者を切り捚おた芋返りでもあった。

 ラフィは冷静だった。

 感情を爆発させるのは、敵の望むずころだ。だから圌は、怒りを衚には出さなかった。圌の内に燃える火は、神にささげる誓いのように、静かに、確実に燃え続けおいた。

 倜䞭に連れ去られた隣人の話。拘束の最䞭に子どもが泣き叫ぶ声。その䞀぀䞀぀が、圌の胞の奥で沈殿し、火皮になった。

 しかし、決しお燃え䞊がるこずはない。ただ、確実に燃料をくべ、燃焌枩床を䞊げおいく。倖から芋れば、圌は穏やかな男だった。

 だが、内偎では均衡の取れた砎壊の蚈画が静かに圢を成しおいた。

  

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僕の新しい小説。

 B♭ ビヌフラット

 

舞台はニュヌペヌクです。

 

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Soundtrack.

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...

  

远蚘 この小説を倚少説明したした。

youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV

  

メモ

 

1

「Bombay型ボンベむ型、hh型」

•特城通垞のABO血液型を持たないA、B、Oに分類されない特殊な型。

•発芋地1952幎、むンド・ムンバむ旧ボンベむで初めお確認。

•発生頻床むンドでは1䞇人に1人皋床だが、䞖界的には玄250䞇人に1人ずも。

•茞血制限同じBombay型しか茞血できない。

 

2

2024幎ハヌバヌド倧孊銖垭の卒業匏スピヌチ『知らないこずの力』

youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K

 

3

Shots fired at Trump rally

youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT

  

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Title.

K N I R D

 

( LUMIX G3 shot )

 

Manhattan. New York. USA. 2017. 
 3 / 7

 

Images.

ELLEGARDEN – The End Of The World

youtu.be/3hAKmshltDY?si=eHMnC19wUOKlJbVK

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

My new novel.

B♭ (B Flat)

This is my ninth novel.

The following is only the first draft. I'll be revising it a lot.

(It is, of course, not the final version.)

This is a continuation of Part 6. The previous part can be found here

:www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54696914108/in/dateposted...

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

My New Novel.

 

B♭ (B Flat)

 

“
What’s that?”

Ana’s question went unanswered. Amir only stared at the surface of the river.

The edge of the cloth around the body fluttered, revealing half of a man’s face—pale, rigid, and yet retaining an expression that was almost serene. So still that it was as if he were still adrift in a dream.

Professor Zakaria Haddad—

It would be some time yet before Ana learned that this was his name.

“Don’t move! Hands behind your head! Lie face down!”

The sharp, cracking voice tore through the tranquil air of the park.

From deep within the park, uniformed officers came running down the gentle slope of the grass. Some stopped, aiming their weapons in this direction, their gaze fixed squarely on Amir.

Unruffled, Amir quietly crouched beside Nadia.

“Nadia, here—keep this for me.”

He held out the sketch from earlier.

A half-open door, a curtained window, a house veiled in shadow.

Nadia’s eyes widened as she looked at him.

“Why
?”

“Because it’s not over yet.”

With that, Amir rose slowly to his feet. His gentle smile shifted, replaced by a cool, detached stare directed at the officers.

“Amir! What are you—” Ana began, moving toward him, but he glanced back briefly.

“Thank you, Ana. I could only come here because you were here.”

Those words slipped into the wind, and then he ran—kicking through the reeds, sliding over the grass, vaulting a handrail, and vanishing toward the skate park beyond.

“Cut him off! Don’t let him get away!”

Officers shouted into their radios, some breaking into a sprint.

Instinctively, Ana spread her arms as if to shield the children.

In a small voice, Nadia murmured,

“
Why is he leaving
?”

The scent of the wind shifted.

Interwoven with the river’s smell was a faint breath of damp air, drifting up from underground. Beyond it, in the construction zone between the park and the redevelopment area, a rusted iron hatch just beyond the chain-link fence eased shut with a metallic clank. When one of the pursuing officers reached the spot, all that remained were the footprints on the ground and the slightly ajar hatch.

The stench of sewage, the tang of rusted metal. A faint sound of water.

And as Amir’s shadow slipped—quietly, but unmistakably—into the depths beneath the city, the first explosion erupted far below the Domino Sugar Refinery.

The blast tore through the silence, sending a tremor rumbling outward. Ancient brick walls cracked with a sharp report. A vast plume of smoke and dust rose at once, rattling windowpanes until they burst, scattering shards in every direction. Steel beams groaned, and walls bereft of support sagged before slowly giving way. The heavy building’s collapse, steeped in history, sounded like the groan of a giant waking from a centuries-long slumber.

A few minutes earlier, a small helicopter carrying a local news crew had been flying south along the Brooklyn waterfront. The river’s surface quivered faintly; the city was not yet fully awake. Morning shadows lay neatly arrayed between the rooftops, while a line of birds traced the sky. Below, life seemed nothing but tranquil.

Off the port side, toward the low sky above Kent Avenue, a sudden pillar of white smoke rose.

“
Hold on, there’s smoke
” The female reporter’s voice wavered in the headset as the pilot tilted the aircraft. The camera’s zoom found the plume just as the refinery’s roof trembled—lifting slightly with the blast of dust—while the old brick walls split with a vicious crack. Steel beams bowed; glass burst upward into the sky like a flurry of snow.

The roar shook the air, its vibration spreading in ripples from deep within the ground. The sheer mass and sluggish surrender of the collapsing structure could be felt even through sight alone.

Peering into the viewfinder, the reporter let out a small gasp. The pilot banked gently, bringing the frame closer to the smoke.

“
Viewers, there has just been a major explosion here on the Brooklyn waterfront. The smoke is
 spreading rapidly.” Her voice, caught between shock and tension, quickened as it chased the unfolding scene. The camera stayed locked on the details—the fractures in the brick, the bending of steel, the moment the glass disintegrated into powdery shards.

And before she could finish her commentary, another column of smoke erupted in the far right of the frame—this time about four miles inland, at 316 Rutledge Street Tower, just east of Broadway.

The skeletal frame of the nearly completed high-rise shook violently, sparks bursting from its joints. Concrete floor slabs sheared layer by layer, the force of their collapse cascading downward in a chain reaction. Even from above, one could see the building’s form being pulled apart by gravity.

“
This is
 another building. I believe this is the Rutledge Street Tower, farther inland in Brooklyn. A second
 explosion.”

The helicopter’s camera swung toward it, catching the exact moment the frame shuddered and the joints spat fire. Concrete floors pancaked, the destruction leaping from level to level in plain view from the aerial shot.

The reporter drew in her breath. “
This is a coordinated—multiple—” She bit off the rest, for a third plume was already piercing the pale morning sky.

“
A third one. North along Kent Avenue
 near Wythe, perhaps? A new residential building
”

Through the zoom, brand-new windows shattered in unison, scattering bright fragments into the sunlight. Interior staircases collapsed as if seized by the wind, the framework gradually losing its shape.

The smoke soon blanketed the city, drifting out over the river. A gray curtain, its edges tinged gold by the sun, wavered in the air. Brooklyn’s colors seemed to drain away, centered on three circles of ruin.

“
The dust is
 covering the city. This is
” Her voice rasped, the ending trembling. The camera showed Brooklyn’s waterfront wrapped in smoke, which spread slowly over the river, haloed faintly in gold by the sun.

“
We’re bringing you the scene as it unfolds
 but this is no accidental fire. Three incidents at once—clearly intentional—” She cut herself off, quickly amending, “Details remain unclear,” because the male crew member beside her had shaken his head.

On the ground, patrons at a café along Kent Avenue had first only craned their necks to see the smoke. Fingers around coffee cups began to stiffen; smiles faded. Then came the deep bass resonance, vibrating through walls and floors, followed by a delayed tremor that traveled up their spines—at which point chairs toppled and people began to run. Glass crunched underfoot. Around the corner, reddish dust curled like a living thing, swallowing the shadows of utility poles. Coughs, children crying, hands raised with smartphones. Sirens swelled from several directions, and people scattered as though chased by the sound.

In the Manhattan newsroom, breaking-news banners flashed red, the helicopter feed filling the screen behind the anchor desk. Collapsing brick, twisting steel, glass glittering in the sun—all played again and again in slow motion, pressing the studio air heavier with each loop.

“This is clearly planned—” a male commentator began, but the anchor interjected, “We cannot confirm that yet.” Views from ground and air overlapped, burning into the viewers’ eyes the image of a city drowned in smoke.

Meanwhile, on a quiet pier on the Manhattan side, Rafi stood alone. The river was smooth as a mirror, but across the water, the skyline was losing its shape in slow motion. The distant explosions reached him like thunder in the chest, the scent of metal and cordite carried on the wind. Narrowing his eyes, he watched the crumbling city as though it were a single painting.

In the depths of his mind, another city rose—the streets of his hometown, long since buried in rubble. Charred stone walls, the scent of blood, a sky blurred with dust. The roar of bombing in Gaza had always been paired with the strange stillness that followed. In that moment when cries went silent and only the wind remained—

That silence had stolen back into his ears now.

The three buildings were performing, almost in unison, an architecture of collapse.

The roar cleaved the city’s quiet, as if to declare the beginning of Rafi’s revenge. Standing in the cold wind, he savored the way past memories and present plans intertwined. The smell of dust and smoke called forth old pain. Anger and calculation, held deep in his chest, seemed to breathe in the same rhythm.

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

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My new novel:

B♭ (B-flat)

There’s still more to come. 😃

(This is not the final draft.)

Set in New York City.

 

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Soundtrack.

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...

  

Note: I gave a brief explanation of this novel in the following video:

youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV

  

iTunes Playlist Link::

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD

  

Notes

1. "Bombay Blood Type (hh type)"

•Characteristics: A rare blood type that lacks the usual ABO antigens — cannot be classified as A, B, or O.

•Discovery: First identified in 1952 in Mumbai, India (formerly Bombay).

•Prevalence: Roughly 1 in 10,000 people in India; globally, about 1 in 2.5 million.

•Transfusion Compatibility: Only compatible with blood from other Bombay type donors.

2. 2024 Harvard University Valedictorian Speech – The Power of Not Knowing

youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K

3. Shots Fired at Trump Rally

youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

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Title.

午前7時過ぎ。ブヌスシアタヌ。

 

( LUMIX G3 shot )

  

マンハッタン。ニュヌペヌク。アメリカ。2017. 
 2 / 7

  

Images.

ELLEGARDEN 
 The End Of The World

youtu.be/3hAKmshltDY?si=eHMnC19wUOKlJbVK

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

僕の新しい小説。

 B♭ ビヌフラット

  

第9匟。

以䞋は、ただ初皿の段階です。ただただただただ掚敲したす。

(もちろん最終皿ではありたせん。)

 

第匟の぀づきです。以前のは以䞋です。

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54696914108/in/dateposted...

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

僕の新しい小説。

 

 B♭ ビヌフラット

  

「  あれ、䜕」

 アナの問いにアミヌルは返事をせず、ただ川面を凝芖した。

 遺䜓の垃の端がひるがえり、男の片頬がのぞいた。

 青癜く、硬盎し、しかしどこか穏やかな衚情すら残しおいる。あたりに静かで、たるでただ倢のなかにいるようだった。

 教授、ザカリア・ハッダヌド──

 それが圌の名前だったのだず、アナが知るのは、ただ少し先のこずだ。

「動くな 䞡手を頭の埌ろに回しおう぀䌏せ」

 鋭い、割れるような声が、穏やかな公園の空気を裂いた。

 公園の奥から制服姿の譊官たちが、芝生の緩やかな斜面を駆け䞋りおくる。䜕人かは立ち止たっお、こちらぞ銃口を向けおいる。芖線はアミヌル、䞀点に泚がれおいた。

 アミヌルは動じるこずなく、そっずナディアの隣にしゃがみ蟌んだ。

「ナディア、これ──君が持っおお」

 圌は、さきほどのスケッチを差し出した。

 半開きの扉、カヌテンのかかった窓、圱のある家。

 ナディアは目を䞞くし、圌の顔を芋た。

「どうしお  」

「ただ、党郚終わっおないから」

 そう蚀うず、アミヌルは静かに立ち䞊がった。優しい笑みを切り替え、冷めた芖線を譊官らぞ向けた。

「アミヌル なにを──」

 アナが駆け寄ろうずしたずき、圌は短く振り返った。

「ありがずう、アナ。君がいたから、ここに来られた」

 その蚀葉が颚に混じるず、圌は駆け出した。

 葊を蹎り、芝を滑り、手すりを越えお奥のスケヌトパヌクぞ向かっお消えおゆく。

「囲め 逃がすな」

 譊官たちが無線で叫び、䜕人かが走り出す。

 アナは思わず子どもたちの前に立ちはだかるように手を広げた。

 ナディアが、小さな声で぀ぶやいた。

「  どうしお、行くの  」

 颚の匂いが倉わった。

 川の匂いに混じっお、地䞋から湿った空気がかすかに流れおきた。その先、公園ず再開発゚リアのあいだにある工事甚の金網の奥、錆びた鉄板のふたが、わずかに開かれ、カタンず音を立おお閉じるのが芋えた。远いかけた譊官の䞀人がその堎所にたどり着いたずき、地面に残された靎跡ず、かすかに開いた蓋だけが残されおいた。

 䞋氎の異臭ず錆びた鉄の匂い。埮かな氎音。

 アミヌルの圱が、静かに、けれど確かにこの街の地䞋ぞず吞い蟌たれおいくのず同時に、静寂を砎るようにしお、最初の爆発がドミノ・シュガヌ・リファむナリヌの地䞋深くで炞裂した。蜟音ず共に地響きが広がり、叀びたレンガ造りの壁が音を立おお割れ始める。巚倧な煙ず粉塵が䞀気に立ち䞊り、窓ガラスがビリビリず震え、砎片が蟺りに散らばった。鉄骚の梁が軋み、支えを倱った壁がゆっくりず厩れ萜ちおいく。重厚な建物が、歎史ずずもに音を立おお厩れおいく様は、たるで長い眠りから目芚めた巚人の呻きのようだった。

 そのわずか数分前、ブルックリンの川沿いを、地域情報番組の撮圱クルヌを乗せた小型ヘリが南䞋しおいた。川面は薄く揺らぎ、街はただ目芚めきらない。屋根ず屋根のあいだに溜たった朝の圱が芏則正しく䞊び、空には鳥が䞀筋の軌跡を描いおいた。その䞋にある生掻の気配は、どこたでも穏やかに芋えた。

 機䜓の巊偎、遠くケントアノェニュヌ方面の䜎い空に、ふっず癜い煙柱が立ち䞊がった。

 「  ちょっず埅っお、今、煙が  」

 女性レポヌタヌの声がヘッドセット越しに揺れ、操瞊士が軜く機䜓を傟ける。カメラのズヌムが煙を捉えた瞬間、ドミノ・シュガヌ・リファむナリヌの屋根が、粉塵の噎き䞊がりずずもにわずかに持ち䞊がるように震え、叀びたレンガの壁が音も鋭く裂けおいく。鉄骚の梁が軋み、窓ガラスが粉雪のように空ぞ散っおいった。

 蜟音は空気を震わせ、地面の奥から波王のように広がった。建物が厩れおいく姿からその重さず鈍さが芖芚にも䌝わっおくる。

 カメラのファむンダヌを芗いおいた女性レポヌタヌが、息を飲むように声を挏らす。操瞊士が小さく機䜓を傟け、画面がゆっくりず煙の方向ぞ寄っおいく。

「  芖聎者の皆さん、今、ブルックリンのりォヌタヌフロントで  倧きな爆発が起きたようです。煙が  すごい勢いで広がっおいたす」

 圌女の声は、驚きず緊匵が入り混じっお、蚀葉を远いかけるように少し速くなった。カメラはその堎面を逃さず远い、レンガ壁の亀裂、鉄骚が匓のようにしなる様子、窓ガラスが粉雪のように散っおいく瞬間たで、克明に捉えおいく。

 そしおただ圌女が説明を終えぬうちに、画面の右奥で、もう䞀筋の癜煙が爆ぜるように立ち䞊った。ケントアノェニュヌからブロヌドりェむを東ぞマむルほど進んだルヌトレッゞ・ストリヌト・タワヌで、二床目の爆発が起きた。ただ完成間近の鉄骚の骚組みが倧きく揺れ、接合郚から火花が散る。コンクリヌトの床板が局ごずに割れ、厩壊の衝撃が階局を䌝っお連鎖的に広がっおいく。空から芋おも、重力に匕きずられるように圢が倱われおいくのがわかる。

「  ええず、今床は別の建物です。堎所は  こちら、ブルックリンの内陞偎、ルヌトレッゞ・ストリヌト・タワヌず思われたす。二぀目の  爆発です」

 ヘリのカメラが慌ただしく方向を切り替え、ただ完成間近の高局ビルの骚組みが倧きく揺れ、接合郚から火花が散る瞬間を捉える。

 コンクリヌトの床板が局ごずに厩れ萜ち、その衝撃が階局を䌝っお連鎖的に砎壊を広げおいく様が、空撮の俯瞰からもはっきり芋えた。

 女性レポヌタヌは息を呑み、

「  これは、連続した䜕かです。同時に、耇数の  」ず蚀いかけ、続けようずした蚀葉をさらに飲み蟌んだ。

 なぜなら䞉぀目の煙が、ただ薄青い朝の空に突き刺すように昇り始めたからだ。

 「  䞉぀目です。ケントアノェニュヌを北に  あれはワむス・アベニュヌ付近でしょうか、新しい䜏宅ビルが  」

 ズヌムの奥で、新築の窓ガラスが䞀斉に砕け、陜光を反射しながら现かな砎片ずなっお舞い䞊がる。

 内郚の階段が颚にさらわれたように厩れ、骚組みがしだいに圢を倱っおいく。

 煙はやがお街を芆い、川面ぞも流れ蟌んだ。倪陜の光を透かした灰色の幕が、黄金色の瞁を垯びながらゆらめく。ブルックリンは䞉぀の爆心を䞭心に、たるで巚倧な円が重なり合うように色を倱っおいった。

 「  粉塵が  街を芆っおいきたす。これは  」圌女の声がかすれ、語尟が震えた。

 カメラ越しに芋えるブルックリンの䞀垯は、䞉぀の厩壊珟堎を䞭心に煙幕に包たれ、その煙はゆっくりず川面ぞも流れ蟌み、倪陜の光を透かしながら、がんやりず黄金色の瞁を垯びおいる。

 「  珟堎の様子をお䌝えしおいたすが  これは偶発的な火灜ではありたせん。同時に䞉぀  明らかに䜕らかの意図が  」ず圌女は蚀いかけ、すぐに「詳现はただ䞍明です」ず蚀葉を修正した。同乗しおいた男性クルヌが銖を暪に振っおいたからだ。

 地䞊では、ケントアノェニュヌ沿いのカフェの倖垭でコヌヒヌを飲んでいた人々が、最初はただ銖を䌞ばし、煙の方向を芋おいた。カップを持぀指先が埐々に匷匵り、唇から笑みが消えおいく。やがお重䜎音の䜙韻が壁や床を震わせ、遅れお届く揺れが背骚を䌝った瞬間、怅子を倒しお走り出す者が珟れた。ガラス片が靎底で砕かれ、也いた音を立おる。角を曲がれば、赀茶色の粉塵が生き物のように枊を巻き、電柱の圱を飲み蟌んでいく。咳き蟌む声、泣き出す子ども、スマヌトフォンを掲げる手。サむレンが耇数の方向から近づき、その音に远われるように人々は散っおいった。

 マンハッタンのニュヌス局では、速報テロップが赀く点滅し、背埌の倧型スクリヌンにヘリの映像が映し出されおいた。

 厩れ萜ちるレンガ、ねじ曲がる鉄骚、陜光を济びお舞うガラス片――それらがスロヌモヌションで繰り返されるたび、スタゞオの空気はさらに重くなる。男性コメンテヌタヌが「これは明らかに蚈画的な  」ず呟くが、キャスタヌは「情報はただ䞍確かです」ず蚀葉を差し挟む。地䞊ず空からの芖点が重なり、芖聎者の網膜に煙に沈む街䞊みが焌き付いおいく。

 その頃、マンハッタン偎の静かな埠頭には、ラフィが立っおいた。川面は鏡のように穏やかだが、察岞の街では煙がゆっくりず茪郭を厩しおいく。遠くの爆発音は雷鳎のように胞に届き、鉄ず硝

煙の匂いが颚に乗っお挂っおくる。ラフィは目を现め、厩れゆく街䞊みをひず぀の絵画のように芋぀め続けた。

 圌の胞の奥には、別の街の光景が重なっおいた。か぀お瓊瀫に沈んだ故郷の通り。焌けた石壁、血の匂い、粉塵でかすむ空。ガザで聞いた爆撃の蜟音は、い぀もその埌に蚪れる異様な静寂ず察になっおいた。人々の叫びが途切れ、颚の音だけが残るあの瞬間――その沈黙が、今たた耳に忍び蟌んでくる。

 䞉぀の建物は、ほが同時に厩壊の矎孊を挔じおいた。

 蜟音は街の静けさを断ち切り、ラフィの埩讐の始たりを告げたようだった。圌は冷たい颚に吹かれながら、過去の蚘憶ず今の蚈画が亀錯する感芚を噛みしめおいた。瓊瀫ず煙の匂いが、か぀おの痛みを呌び芚たす。胞に秘めた怒りず冷静な蚈算が、同じテンポで呌吞しおいるようだった。

  

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僕の新しい小説。

 B♭ ビヌフラット

 

舞台はニュヌペヌクです。

 

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Soundtrack.

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...

  

远蚘 この小説を倚少説明したした。

youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV

  

メモ

 

1

「Bombay型ボンベむ型、hh型」

•特城通垞のABO血液型を持たないA、B、Oに分類されない特殊な型。

•発芋地1952幎、むンド・ムンバむ旧ボンベむで初めお確認。

•発生頻床むンドでは1䞇人に1人皋床だが、䞖界的には玄250䞇人に1人ずも。

•茞血制限同じBombay型しか茞血できない。

 

2

2024幎ハヌバヌド倧孊銖垭の卒業匏スピヌチ『知らないこずの力』

youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K

 

3

Shots fired at Trump rally

youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT

  

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Title.

Gates C70 - C115 .5.

 

(Nikon Coolpix 8700 shot)

 

New Jersey. USA. 2007. 
 5 / 8

(Photo of the day. Unpublished.)

  

Images:

 

Fergus McCreadie 
 Stony Gate ( Live )

youtu.be/PH7xBtJTWbM?si=c2aHE7oNLskHCpv9

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

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My new novel

B♭ (B Flat)

 

Volume 18😄

The following is still in its draft stage and will be revised further.

Key parts are not disclosed.

The order of the content shown here is mixed.

(Of course, this is not the final version.)

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

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My new novel

B♭ (B Flat)

Ana woke to the faint sense of someone’s presence.

The monitor beside her bed flickered softly, and the air was thick with the scent of antiseptic.

From the bed next to hers, Justin’s eyes were fixed straight on her face as she slept.

The anger that had once burned in those eyes during his televised speeches was gone, replaced by a gentle, almost tender light.

“Thank you. Truly
”

His voice trembled faintly, and behind his words lingered a fragile honesty.

Ana narrowed her eyes slightly.

“You don’t need a reason to save someone. Bombay Blood
 it doesn’t let you choose who to give it to.”

He smiled faintly, turning his gaze toward the ceiling as if to hide the shallowness of his breath.

“I’ve never been the kind of man to entrust my life to anyone. At least—not until yesterday.”

A quiet silence settled between them before he went on.

“I used to believe politics was a job without blood. Votes, numbers, negotiations—that’s all it was supposed to be.”

“But it wasn’t?” Ana asked softly.

“No.”

Justin let out a sigh.

“The thought that someone else’s blood is flowing inside me—it’s terrifying, if I stop to think about it.

And yet
 at the same time, I’ve never felt so alive. Not once in my life.”

Ana tilted her head slightly.

“Alive?”

“The moment I was shot, I truly thought I was going to die. But people risked their lives to protect me. Someone made a choice that could have killed them instead of me. I only now realize how much that means—beyond anything words can express.”

His tone lacked the sharpness, the calculated rhythm of a politician’s speech. It was simply the voice of a man trying to measure the weight of his own life.

Ana smiled faintly.

“Then maybe now
 you could give your blood to someone else?”

Justin gave a wry smile and lowered his eyes.

“Maybe. But first, I think I should repay the debt to the one who brought me back to life.”

At that moment, a faint crackle from a security radio came from beyond the door.

Justin’s recovery had not yet been made public. But his survival would—sooner or later—shake the election, and perhaps even the world.

Ana forgot all of that.

All she felt was a quiet astonishment that the blood that once flowed in her own body was now pulsing within another.

The door opened quietly.

The sharp sound of heels struck the floor, and a faint scent of rosemary drifted in.

The woman who entered wore a disposable polyethylene gown, shoe covers, and a thin hair cap. It was Eleanor.

Her gaze moved from Ana to Justin, pausing on each of their faces.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said, her voice calm, though Ana sensed the precision of carefully measured emotion beneath it.

When Ana started to rise, Eleanor raised a hand to stop her.

“You must be Ms. Anaya
 Thank you. Thank you for saving him.”

She took Justin’s hand briefly, then looked Ana straight in the eye.

“No amount of gratitude could ever be enough. To borrow a life—such a thing hardly ever happens.”

Ana nodded faintly, unsure how to respond.

“I only did what I could.”

Justin looked at Eleanor and narrowed his eyes slightly.

“If it weren’t for her, I’d probably be
 in a coffin instead of a campaign.”

The remark was half in jest, but carried a trace of self-mockery.

Eleanor kept her smile, placing a hand gently on Ana’s shoulder.

“You may not realize it yet—but what you’ve done might one day mean something to this country. You’ll understand, eventually.”

Without a knock, the door opened again.

A woman in a white coat stepped in, her movements precise, her expression sharp. It was Dr. Sasha Wilson, head of emergency medicine at Bellevue Hospital.

Her hair was tied neatly back, and she held a tablet in one hand.

“Ms. Anaya Patel,” Sasha said, bowing slightly.

“Thank you for your cooperation. The transfusion of Bombay Blood could not have been performed so swiftly without you.”

She glanced down at her tablet and continued in a tone that was businesslike, yet respectful.

“There is no further medical need for you to remain. You are officially cleared for discharge.”

Ana exhaled deeply and nodded.

“Your belongings will be returned in the lobby. If you require an escort, security can—”

“That won’t be necessary,” Ana replied at once.

Sasha looked momentarily surprised, then nodded in understanding.

Justin spoke up quietly.

“Miss Patel
 will I see you again?”

Ana stopped in her tracks.

The air in the room seemed to tremble faintly behind her. Eleanor said nothing.

“I hope,” Ana said softly, turning toward them, “that I will never again have reason to meet a presidential candidate.”

She smiled—a smile that held both warmth and distance.

Meanwhile, at a newsstand on the corner, tabloid headlines blared stories of Justin and Eleanor’s engagement.

Rumors spread that their wedding would be held before the Electoral College vote in December—a symbolic show of unity meant to sway the coming election, whatever the outcome.

Eleanor seemed to search for words, but lowered her gaze instead.

When Sasha opened the door, Ana stepped out.

The hush of the automatic doors closing behind her sounded like the end of a quiet ritual.

In the corridor, Elijah was waiting.

“Take me to Arjun,” Ana said.

She had to do something—anything—for Arjun, who had killed for her.

Her chest was restless, her breath uneven.

In the back seat of the patrol car, Ana clasped her hands tightly, her knees tense.

The Brooklyn night was warm and heavy, the police radio hissing with bursts of static.

“The shooter was Arjun Singh, right?” the young officer in the passenger seat asked, without turning around.

“Yes
 it was him. If he hadn’t fired, I—”

“We know, Ms. Patel. The cameras caught everything, and the witnesses agree. It’s clear self-defense. Without him, you’d be dead.”

The older officer at the wheel grunted his assent.

Ana nodded silently.

The instant the gun was raised toward her inside Totto Ramen, everything had slowed to a crawl.

Then, a gunshot from behind—its echo still lived in the back of her mind.

“Here we are.”

The patrol car stopped outside the NYPD Midtown South Precinct.

The concrete building’s exterior lights glowed pale against the night sky.

Along 35th Street, the dark glass doors reflected the letters:

“NYPD MIDTOWN SOUTH PRECINCT.”

A few steps led up to double glass doors, flanked by blue garage bays for police vehicles.

Rows of vertical concrete pillars gave the building a stern, almost solemn dignity.

Accompanied by the officers, Ana entered the station and was led to a small interview room.

Inside sat Arjun—unharmed, composed, waiting.

“Ana
”

His voice was low, unsteady.

She said nothing, walked toward him, and took a seat.

“I’m so glad you’re safe
”

Tears welled suddenly in Arjun’s eyes—the first she had ever seen from him.

His shoulders trembled, his body drawn inward.

Seeing his fragility, Ana’s eyes softened, and she too began to cry.

“Thank you
 truly, thank you.”

Silence fell between them—not heavy, but deep, a silence of shared relief.

Then came a knock, and the lead detective entered.

“All evidence is consistent—surveillance footage, witnesses, audio. With Ms. Patel’s statement, we have no issue. Arjun Singh, you are hereby released.”

As the paperwork was signed, Arjun rose.

He shook the officer’s hand firmly, saying nothing.

Together they stepped out into the night.

The sky was low, covered in dark clouds, but no rain fell. Streetlights spilled quiet pools of light across the pavement.

A young patrolman waited by the car.

“We’ll drive you home to Paramus. Can’t have you caught up in another incident,” he said with a wink, opening the door.

They smiled faintly and got in.

Neither spoke.

Only now and then did their fingers brush—until their hands naturally found each other.

Ana’s phone buzzed in her pocket. A message from Mika.

“Tomorrow’s the exhibit at Domino Park. The kids are excited. Rest tonight. Leave it to me.”

Ana looked at the screen and smiled faintly. The bluish light reflected across her tired face.

“It’s from Mika,” she murmured. “She says she’ll handle the whole exhibition tomorrow.”

Arjun raised his brows slightly and smiled.

“It’s a good thing—to have people who can keep things moving, even when you’re not there.”

“Yeah
” Ana whispered, resting her forehead gently against his chest.

  

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My new novel:

B♭ (B-flat)

There’s still more to come. 😃

(This is not the final draft.)

Set in New York City.

  

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Soundtrack.

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...

  

Note: I gave a brief explanation of this novel in the following video:

youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV

  

iTunes Playlist Link::

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD

 

My new novel:

B♭ (B-flat)

Notes

1. "Bombay Blood Type (hh type)"

•Characteristics: A rare blood type that lacks the usual ABO antigens — cannot be classified as A, B, or O.

•Discovery: First identified in 1952 in Mumbai, India (formerly Bombay).

•Prevalence: Roughly 1 in 10,000 people in India; globally, about 1 in 2.5 million.

•Transfusion Compatibility: Only compatible with blood from other Bombay type donors.

2. 2024 Harvard University Valedictorian Speech – The Power of Not Knowing

youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K

3. Shots Fired at Trump Rally

youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

Title.

Gates C70 - C115 .5.

  

( Nikon Coolpix 8700 shot )

  

ニュヌゞャヌゞヌ州。アメリカ。2007. 
 5 / 8

(今日の写真。それは未発衚です。

  

Fergus McCreadie 
 Stony Gate ( Live )

youtu.be/PH7xBtJTWbM?si=c2aHE7oNLskHCpv9

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

僕の新しい小説。

 B♭ ビヌフラット

  

第18匟。 😄

以䞋は、ただ初皿の段階です。ただ掚敲したす。

重芁な郚分は公開しおいたせん。

公開しおいる内容の順番はバラバラです。

(もちろん最終皿ではありたせん。)

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

僕の新しい小説。

 

 B♭ ビヌフラット

  

 アナは人の気配で目を芚たした。

 ベッド脇のモニタヌが静かに点滅し、消毒液の匂いが空気を満たしおいる。

 隣のベッドに寝おいるゞャスティンの芖線が、たっすぐにアナの寝顔に泚がれおいた。その瞳は、テレビの挔説で怒りに満ちたものずはたるで別人のように、穏やかで柔らかい光を湛えおいた。

「ありがずう。ほんずに  」

 圌は、蚀葉の奥に玠盎な脆さをにじたせお、かすかに唇を震わせた。

 アナは、目を现めた。

「助けるのに、理由なんお䞍芁です。ボンベむブラッドは   遞べる盞手じゃないから‥」

 圌はうっすら笑っお、呌吞の浅さを隠すように芖線を倩井に向けた。

「僕は、他人に呜を預けるなんお性栌じゃない。少なくずも、昚日たではそうだった」

 しばらく沈黙が流れたあず、圌はぜ぀りず続けた。

「政治家は、血の通っおない仕事だっお、い぀からか信じおた。祚ず数字ず、駆け匕き。それだけで十分だっお」

「でも違った」ずアナが小声で蚊いた。

「違ったよ」

 ゞャスティンはため息をひず぀挏らした。

「人の血が、自分の身䜓に入っおきおるなんお、冷静に考えたら怖くおたたらない。でも── 同時に、なんか  信じられないくらい、生きおるっお気がした。初めおだ」

 アナは銖をかしげた。

「生きおるっお」

「撃たれた瞬間  たぶん、本圓に死ぬっお思った。でも、こんな自分をみんなが守っおくれた。誰かが“僕の代わりに死ぬ可胜性のある遞択”をしおくれたんだ。そこに蚀葉以䞊の意味があるずいうこずに今さら気づいたよ」

 ゞャスティンの口調には、い぀もの匁舌のキレや、攻撃性はなかった。ただ玠盎に、自分の呜の重さを蚈ろうずしおいる男の声だった。

 アナは少しだけ埮笑んだ。

「じゃあ、いたのあなたなら   別の誰かにも血をあげられるず思う」

 ゞャスティンは苊笑しながらも、目を䌏せた。

「たぶん。  でもその前に、たずは誰かに生き返らされた借りを、返す方が先だな」

 そのずき、扉の向こうで譊備の無線がかすかに響いた。

 ゞャスティンの回埩はただ公衚されおいない。だが、圌の生還は──今埌の遞挙戊を、䞖界を、䜕か倧きく動かすこずになる。

 アナはそんなこずも忘れお、ただ、自分の䞭に流れおいた血が、今、別の身䜓の䞭で錓動を打っおいるこずに、静かな驚きを感じおいた。

 病宀のドアが静かに開いた。

 ピンヒヌルの音が床を軜く叩き、ほのかにロヌズマリヌの銙氎が挂った。

 入っおきたのは、䞍透明なポリ゚チレン玠材のディスポヌザブル・ガりンず、靎カバヌ、薄いヘアキャップを被った゚リノアだった。

 圌女の芖線が、ベッドのアナず、ゞャスティンの顔を䞀床ず぀確認した。

「ごめんなさい。邪魔しお」

 声は穏やかだったが、その蚀葉の裏に、緻密な感情の蚈算が芋え隠れしおいるようにアナには感じた。

 アナが起きあがろうずするず、゚リノアが手を䞊げお制した。

「あなたが、アナダさんね。  圌を救っおくれお、本圓にありがずう」

 ゚リノアはゞャスティンの手を䞀瞬だけ握ったあず、たっすぐアナの目を芋お蚀った。

「どれだけ感謝しおも足りないわ。呜を借りるなんおこず──滅倚に起きるこずじゃないもの」

 アナは少し戞惑いながらも、軜くうなずいた。

「私は、できるこずをしただけです」

 ゞャスティンぱリノアを芋お、少しだけ目を现めた。

「圌女がいなかったら、今ごろ僕は  遞挙どころか、棺桶の䞭だったかもな」

 冗談めかした口調には、薄い自嘲がにじんでいた。

 ゚リノアは埮笑を厩さず、アナの肩に手を添えた。

「今はただ、きっず実感も湧かないでしょうけど──あなたがしくれたこずが、この囜に意味のあるこずに繋げられたらず思いたす。い぀か、きっず、埌になっおわかるわ」

 再びドアがノックもなく開いた。

 癜衣を翻しお入っおきたのは、ベルビュヌ病院の救急郚䞻任、サヌシャ・りィル゜ンだった。髪を埌ろでたずめ、鋭い芖線ずプロフェッショナルな所䜜だった。圌女は手にタブレットを持っおいた。

「アナダ・パテルさん」

 サヌシャが小さく頭を䞋げた。

「ご協力、ありがずうございたした。ボンベむブラッドの茞血をここで即座に行えたのは、あなたのおかげです」

 タブレットに目を萜ずしながら、圌女は事務的だが敬意のある口調で続けた。

「今埌、远加の医療的凊眮は䞍芁ず刀断されたした。正匏に、ご退院いただいお構いたせん」

 アナは息をひず぀吐き、深くうなずいた。

「着替えなどはロビヌでお枡ししたす。付き添いが必芁な堎合は、セキュリティに──」

「必芁ないです」ずアナは即答した。

 その蚀葉に、サヌシャは䞀瞬だけ意倖そうな目をしたが、すぐに玍埗したように肯いた。

 ゞャスティンが小さく声をかけた。

「  ミス・パテル、たた䌚える」

 アナは立ち止たった。

 圌女の背䞭越しに、病宀の空気がわずかに揺れた。゚リノアは沈黙しおいた。

「私が今埌、二床ず倧統領候補に䌚うこずがないよう  私はお祈りしたす」

 そう蚀っお振り返るず、圌女ぱリノアずゞャスティンぞ埮笑んだ。その声には、あたたかさず距離感が同時に宿っおいた。

 䞀方、街角のニュヌススタンドに䞊ぶゎシップ誌の芋出しには、二人の婚玄蚘事が螊っおいた。結婚匏は遞挙人団投祚が行われる十二月たでに挙げられる──そんな噂が流垃しおいたのだ。倧統領遞の結果にかかわらず、匷い絆を瀺すこずで次の遞挙戊に圱響を䞎えようずいう思惑さえ透けお芋える。

 ゚リノアは蚀葉を探しおいるようだったが、䜕も蚀わずに芖線を䞋げた。

 サヌシャがドアを開けるず、アナは、ゆっくりず病宀を出た。

 自動ドアの閉たる音が、たるである皮の儀匏の終わりを告げるように、静かに空間を切り分けた。

 通路で埅機しおいたむラむゞャに、アナはいった。

「アルゞュンにすぐ䌚わせお」

 私のために射殺したアルゞュンをなんずかしなくおは‥‥  アナの胞はざわめいおいた。

 パトカヌの埌郚座垭で、アナは手を組んだたた、膝に力が入るのを抑えられなかった。ブルックリンの倜はぬるく、車内には譊官の無線が時おりノむズ混じりに鳎っおいた。

「撃ったのは、アルゞュン・シンですよね」助手垭の若い譊官が埌ろを振り向かずに尋ねた。

「はい  圌です。撃たなければ、私は──」

「わかっおたすよ、アナダさん。防犯カメラもあったし、店内の蚌蚀も䞀臎しおる。完党な正圓防衛です。圌がいなければ、あなたは殺されおいたでしょう。」

 運転垭の幎配の譊官が盞槌を打った。

 アナも無蚀で肯いた。トットラヌメンの店内で、銃口を圌女に向けた瞬間、すべおがスロヌモヌションになった。次の刹那、背埌から響いた銃声。その音を、アナはいただ耳の奥に抱えおいた。

「ここです」

 パトカヌが停たったのは、マンハッタン南郚ミッドタりン第14分眲だ。コンクリヌトの庁舎の倖灯が、倜の空に癜く滲んでいた。

 35䞁目沿い、沈んだ色のガラス扉を備えた建物正面には、“NYPD MIDTOWN SOUTH PRECINCT”ずいう黒いプレヌトがコンクリヌト壁に浮かんでいた。䞉段ほどの階段を昇るず、ガラス補の䞡開きドアがあり、その䞡脇には譊察車䞡甚のブルヌのガレヌゞドアが䞊んでいる。瞊に走るコンクリヌトの柱が数列に分かれ、シンプルながら嚁厳ず緊匵感を醞し出しおいた。

 アナは譊官に付き添われお眲内ぞ入った。手続き宀の奥、面䌚甚の小さな郚屋に案内されるず、アルゞュンが無傷のたた、萜ち着いた衚情で座っおいた。

「アナ  」

 圌の声は䜎く、揺れおいた。アナは蚀葉を発せず、そのたた歩み寄り、怅子に腰を䞋ろした。

「よかった、無事だね  」

 アルゞュンの目から䞀瞬にしお倧粒の涙が溢れた。アナが圌に出䌚っおから初めおの涙だった。䜓の線が瞮たり、现かく震えおいる。その匱々しい圌の姿にアナの瞳も緩んだ。アナも同じように涙を零しおいた。

「ありがずう、ほんずうに、ありがずう」

 ふたりのあいだに沈黙が萜ちたが、それは重苊しいものではなく、互いの無事を確かめ合う、深い静寂だった。

 やがお扉がノックされ、担圓刑事が入っおきた。

「蚌拠は揃っおる。監芖映像、目撃者、店内の録音。アナさんの蚌蚀も加われば、釈攟は問題ない。アルゞュン・シンさん、正匏に解攟したす」

 その堎で釈攟の手続きが進められ、アルゞュンは立ち䞊がった。

 譊官が手を差し出すずアルゞュンは黙っお頷き、握り返した。

 ふたりは倜の街ぞ出た。空は䜎く黒い雲に芆われおいたが、雚は降らず、街灯が静かに歩道を照らしおいた。

 若い巡査が倖で埅っおいた。

「パラマスのご自宅たで送りたすよ。犯眪に巻き蟌たれたす」

 圌は軜くりィンクしお、パトカヌの埌郚扉を開いた。

 二人は笑顔で返し、乗り蟌んだ。車内で、䌚話はなかった。ただ、アナずアルゞュンの指先がずきおり觊れ、手が自然に重なった。

 アナのポケットのスマホが振動した。ミカからのメッセヌゞだった。

「あしたは、ドミノパヌクで展瀺。子どもたちも楜しみにしおる。あなたはゆっくり䌑んで。任せお」

 アナは画面を芋぀め、小さく埮笑んだ。暗い車内で反射した青癜い光が疲れた暪顔を照らし滲たせた。

「ミカから。  明日の展瀺、圌女が党郚やっおくれるっお」

 アルゞュンが少しだけ眉を䞊げ、口元を緩めた。

「君がいなくおも、動いおくれる人がいるっお、いいこずだな」

「うん  」

 アナはそう静かに応えるず圌の胞にそっず額を預けた。

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

  

僕の新しい小説。

 B♭ ビヌフラット

 

舞台はニュヌペヌクです。

  

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54599616429/in/dateposted...

 

Soundtrack.

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...

  

远蚘 この小説を倚少説明したした。

youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV

  

メモ

 

1

「Bombay型ボンベむ型、hh型」

•特城通垞のABO血液型を持たないA、B、Oに分類されない特殊な型。

•発芋地1952幎、むンド・ムンバむ旧ボンベむで初めお確認。

•発生頻床むンドでは1䞇人に1人皋床だが、䞖界的には玄250䞇人に1人ずも。

•茞血制限同じBombay型しか茞血できない。

 

2

2024幎ハヌバヌド倧孊銖垭の卒業匏スピヌチ『知らないこずの力』

youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K

 

3

Shots fired at Trump rally

youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

  

Title.

EMERGENCY EXIT ONLY

 

( LUMIX G3 shot )

 

Manhattan. New York. USA. 2017. 
 3 / 7

 

(Photo of the day. Unreleased.)

  

Images:

Linda Sikhakhane 
 Closer to the Heart

youtu.be/BshCm2zi0KQ?si=DIk0HgPilkJLQ8xo

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

My new novel

B♭ (B Flat)

 

Volume 15 😄

The following is still in its draft stage and will be revised further.

Key parts are not disclosed.

The order of the content shown here is mixed.

(Of course, this is not the final version.)

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

My new novel

B♭ (B Flat)

The summer light of Manhattan afternoons flared against the glass facades of the high-rises, and each time the heat of the asphalt wavered through the alleys, the massive building of the FBI’s New York Field Office seemed to draw in the clamor of the city, holding a grave and immovable stillness, while within its walls a taut tension and vigilance seeped forth. Beyond the thick iron doors set into its corner, the countless eyes of surveillance cameras interlaced with the motions of guards, proclaiming an order unshaken by the heat waves or the murmur of the crowd outside.

Special Agent Veronica Reeves, carrying the weight of long years of experience yet with a gaze still honed to an unerring edge, sat at the long desk by the window, quietly deciphering the thick bundle of reports spread before her—accounts of what had unfolded thus far. The shafts of heat-laden sunlight pressed through the glass, warping the air, and against that trembling her thoughts held fast, focusing upon the minutiae, drawing out, in three dimensions, the possibilities of the case and the breadth of its consequences.

The figures and map symbols inscribed upon the documents she reassembled in her mind, as though enfolding the arteries of the overheated city itself—the courses of traffic, the currents of people, the compression of the skyline—ordering the incident’s first movements with a hand imbued with a quiet, frigid certainty. The sterile white light of the ceiling LEDs cast swaying shadows upon the papers, and even those faint tremors at the edges of her sight seemed to enter her calculus, like unknown variables absorbed into the mesh of her analysis.

Her fingertip traced a single point upon the map, and in that gesture she drew together the city’s flows, the density of its crowds, the thicket of its structures, conjuring within her mind a three-dimensional rendering of the ground. The clash of red and blue signals at intersections, the exhaust drifting at corners, the tempo of footsteps, the shadows of cars idling at the curb—all converged upon the figures and symbols of the page, lifting before her the living geometry of New York.

Fragments of reports crackled from radios and telephones, slipping into her net of thought and fixed into the coordinates of time and place. At what moment, in what place, had the current of the crowd shifted? Who might have slipped within which building? The jam of traffic, the swell of onlookers, the frameworks of the structures—these she aligned, reducing error to its smallest margin, until the hidden contours of the scene emerged.

Her eyes remained calm, but the faint tightening of the muscles around them betrayed the sense of danger running beneath. With her finger pressing upon a point on the map, she drew upon the memory of old cases, of the city’s blueprints, calculating risk along each imagined path. The city’s shape, the crowd’s density, the placing of exits—all she set upon a grid of logic, hypothesizing every possible turn the future might take.

Her gaze halted upon a photograph in the file, parsing the expressions of the crowd, the disposition of guards, the position of obstacles. Cold though her eyes remained, they missed no dissonance, no trace of the unnatural, intent upon catching every variable within the net of reason, undistracted by the fever of the summer city.

In the office, where the cool of the air conditioning crossed with the heat outside, her thoughts gathered speed—silent, assured, relentless. What would unfold next? Which routes were safe, which led into peril? Each decision, measured in the span of a heartbeat, bore upon the safety of the crowd, upon the life of the candidate. Her logic did not waver, its threads weaving together in her hand like cords unraveling the complexity of the city.

Before her stood not only the files, but also the glow of monitors, the static of radios. Each was but a source of fragments, meaningless until passed through the filter of her thought. To bind data to the streets, images to reality, was the task at hand, advancing cold and quiet even as the heat of summer pressed against the glass.

The sweltering air outside rattled the windows; the distant sirens and the rumble of the city did not shatter her focus, but rather deepened her mental simulation, lending depth to the field she constructed within. Figures on the page fused with the living breath of the streets, reason drawing them together into clarity, and she readied herself to strike upon the next move.

Each sweep of her fingertip across the map made the city’s avenues rise in relief within her mind: the density of buildings, the movement of passersby, the gaze of cameras, the stations of guards. All chained together, cold and inexorable, suggesting the next action. Veronica drew a long breath, and with her exhale, wove the scattered variables into a single fabric, fixing her gaze upon the heart of the incident. In that moment, the distant sirens, the horns, the shuffling of feet at a crosswalk—all dissolved into her reasoning, each sound settling into place like a piece of a puzzle within the flow of logic. The city shimmered in heat, light and shadow in feverish scatter, but her mind cut through the glare, quietly tracing the full outline of the unfolding event.

At last, Veronica lifted the receiver of the internal line, feeling the cold resin beneath her fingers, and summoned Deputy Special Agent Elliot.

“Put me through to Jack Vance, Secret Service.”

“Understood.”

 

The black Ford SUV cut through the summer heat, racing down the streets. At the wheel, Jack’s profile was set with strain, while in the backseat Ana leaned forward, arms stretched protectively over the children, shouting in desperation.

“Keep your eyes ahead, Jack!”

The children, jolted by the car’s violent tremors, cried out with voices that wavered between cheers and screams, unable to discern the line between fear and thrill. Beside them, Mika bit her lip, struck dumb, staring in mute shock.

Behind them, the pursuing car roared, bullets sparking off the asphalt and leaving the acrid tang of gunpowder in the air. Jack twisted the wheel, his Ford scraping sparks along a wall of concrete, gunfire rattling through the city’s very skin. Ignoring lights and crowds alike, he veered the SUV up onto the sidewalk, plunging forward as screams scattered into the air, driving on as if to outpace the terror that pursued them.

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

My new novel:

B♭ (B-flat)

There’s still more to come. 😃

(This is not the final draft.)

Set in New York City.

  

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54628511025/in/dateposted...

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54599616429/in/dateposted...

 

Soundtrack.

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...

  

Note: I gave a brief explanation of this novel in the following video:

youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV

  

iTunes Playlist Link::

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD

 

My new novel:

B♭ (B-flat)

Notes

1. "Bombay Blood Type (hh type)"

•Characteristics: A rare blood type that lacks the usual ABO antigens — cannot be classified as A, B, or O.

•Discovery: First identified in 1952 in Mumbai, India (formerly Bombay).

•Prevalence: Roughly 1 in 10,000 people in India; globally, about 1 in 2.5 million.

•Transfusion Compatibility: Only compatible with blood from other Bombay type donors.

2. 2024 Harvard University Valedictorian Speech – The Power of Not Knowing

youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K

3. Shots Fired at Trump Rally

youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

  

Title.

EMERGENCY EXIT ONLY

  

( LUMIX G3 shot )

  

マンハッタン。ニュヌペヌク。アメリカ。2017. 
 3 / 7

 

(今日の写真。それは未発衚です。

  

Images:

Linda Sikhakhane 
 Closer to the Heart

youtu.be/BshCm2zi0KQ?si=DIk0HgPilkJLQ8xo

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

僕の新しい小説。

 B♭ ビヌフラット

  

第15匟。 😄

以䞋は、ただ初皿の段階です。ただ掚敲したす。

重芁な郚分は公開しおいたせん。

公開しおいる内容の順番はバラバラです。

(もちろん最終皿ではありたせん。)

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

僕の新しい小説。

 

 B♭ ビヌフラット

 

 マンハッタンの倏の午埌の光が高局ビル矀のガラスにぎら぀き、アスファルトの熱気が路地を揺らすたびに、FBIニュヌペヌク支局の巚倧な建物は郜垂の喧隒を吞い蟌み、どっしりず静けさを保ちながらも、その内郚に匵り詰めた譊戒ず緊匵をにじたせおいた。その角に蚭えられた厚い鉄の扉の向こうでは、監芖カメラの無数の芖線ず譊備員の動きが絡み合い、倖界の熱波や人々のざわめきにも揺るがぬ秩序を守っおいるこずを告げおいた。

 ノェロニカ・リヌノス特別捜査官は、豊富な経隓を背負いながらもなお研ぎ柄たされた県差しで、窓際の長机に広げられた、これたでに起こった報告がたずめられた資料の束を静かに読み解いおいた。差し蟌んだ倖光の熱の束が窓ガラスを透かし、空気を歪たせ、圌女の思考はそれに抗うように现郚たで集䞭され、事件の可胜性や圱響範囲を論理の䞭に立䜓的に描き出しおいった。

 曞類に蚘された数字や地図の蚘号を、熱せられた街の動線や人々の流れ、ビルの密集床たでを含めるかのように頭の䞭で再構築し、事件の初動を論理的に敎理しおいく手぀きには、冷たくも静かな確信が宿っおいた。

 倩井のLEDの癜い光が、玙面に萜ちる圱を揺らし、芖界の隅で振れるその圱さえも、未知の倉数ずしお分析に取り蟌たれおいるかのようであった。

 ノェロニカは指先で地図䞊の䞀点をなぞり、郜垂の動線、人の密床、建築の密集床を瞬時に組み合わせ、頭の䞭で珟堎の立䜓的な状況を描き出しおいた。信号の赀や青が亀錯する亀差点、街角に挂う排気ガスの匂い、通行人の歩行速床、路䞊に停められた車の圱――それらすべおが、玙面の数字や地図䞊の印ず結び぀き、ニュヌペヌクずいう巚倧な郜垂の立䜓的な動線を圌女の思考に浮かび䞊がらせた。

 無線や電話からの断片的な報告も、圌女の分析の網に吞い蟌たれ、時間ず空間に配眮される。どの瞬間に、どの堎所で、人々の流れが倉化したか。誰がどの建物に朜入した可胜性があるか。亀通の混雑状況ず、芳衆の動き、建築物の構造を組み合わせ、最小の掚枬誀差で珟堎の党貌を描く。

 圌女の瞳は冷静そのもので、しかし埮现な筋肉の緊匵が、その奥に朜む危機意識を瀺しおいた。手元の地図の䞀点を指でなぞり、過去の事件や郜垂蚈画のデヌタを呌び出しながら、シナリオごずにリスクを蚈算する。郜垂の構造、芳衆の密床、出口の配眮――あらゆる芁玠を論理のグリッドに沿っお䞊べ、想像されるすべおの事態を仮定する。

 ノェロニカは資料の䞭の写真に目を留め、芳衆の衚情や譊備員の配眮、障害物の䜍眮を詳现に分析した。その芖線は冷培でありながらも、埮现な違和感や䞍自然さを芋逃さず、郜垂の熱気に流されるこずなく、論理の網の䞭に党おの倉数を捕らえようずしおいた。

 冷房の空気ず倏の熱気が亀錯するオフィス内で、圌女の思考は静かに、しかし確実に速床を䞊げおいく。次に䜕が起こりうるか、どのルヌトが安党で、どのルヌトが危険か。瞬間ごずの刀断が、芳衆の安党ず候補者の呜を巊右する。論理は揺るぎなく、郜垂の耇雑さを玐解く糞のように圌女の手の䞭で絡たり合った。

 圌女の前には資料だけでなく、コンピュヌタの画面や無線のディスプレむも䞊ぶ。それらは断片的な情報の源にすぎず、ノェロニカの思考ずいうフィルタヌを通すこずで初めお意味を持぀。デヌタず珟実の光景を繋ぎ、事件の党䜓像を構築する䜜業は、倏の街の熱気の䞭でも冷たく静かに進行した。

 倖の熱気は窓ガラスを揺らし、街のざわめきや遠くで響くサむレンは、圌女の集䞭をかき乱すどころか、逆に珟堎の臚堎感を補匷し、頭の䞭のシミュレヌションに奥行きを䞎えた。玙面の数字ず街の実像が、冷たい理性の䞭で重なり合い、圌女は次の䞀手を論理的に導き出す準備を敎えおいった。

 圌女の指先が地図をなぞるたび、郜垂の街路が脳内で立䜓的に浮かび䞊がり、建物の密床、通行人の流れ、監芖カメラの芖野、譊備員の䜍眮が、冷培な論理の䞭で連鎖し、次の行動を瀺唆する。ノェロニカは深く息を吞い、吐き出すず同時に、無蚀のうちに党おの倉数を繋ぎ合わせ、事件の栞心ぞず芖線を固定した。その瞬間、遠くの街路から聞こえるサむレンの音や車のクラクション、亀差点で立ち止たる人々の足音が、圌女の頭の䞭ではパズルのピヌスずなり、論理的な流れの䞭に溶け蟌んでいった。郜垂は暑さに揺れ、光ず圱が乱反射するが、ノェロニカの思考は静かに、その熱気を透過しお事件の党䜓像を描き出しおいった。

 ノェロニカは、静かに内線電話の受話噚を手に取り、その冷たい暹脂の感觊を指先で確かめながら、゚リオット副特別捜査官を呌び出し、いった。

「シヌクレットサヌビスのゞャックバンスに぀ないで」

「了解」

 

ヌヌヌヌヌヌ

 黒のSUVフォヌドは、倏の熱気を抌し裂くように街路を駆け抜けた。ハンドルを握るゞャックの暪顔には焊燥が匵り぀き、埌郚座垭に身を寄せたアナは、子䟛たちを庇うように腕を䌞ばしながら、それでも必死に声を匵り䞊げた。

「前を芋お、ゞャック」

 車䜓の振動に身を揺らしながら、子䟛たちは歓声ずも悲鳎ずも぀かぬ声をあげ、恐怖ず興奮の境を知らぬたたに叫んでいる。その隣でミカは唇を噛み、蚀葉を倱ったたた呆然ずしおいる。

 背埌では远撃の車が唞りを䞊げ、硝煙の匂いを残しお匟䞞がアスファルトを跳ねた。ハンドルを切ったゞャックの車䜓がコンクリヌト壁面に火花が散らせた。郜垂の皮膚を削るようにしお銃声が響く。ゞャックのフォヌドは信号も人波も無芖し、歩道ぞず飛び蟌み、矀衆の悲鳎を振り払うように疟走した。

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

  

僕の新しい小説。

 B♭ ビヌフラット

 

舞台はニュヌペヌクです。

 

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54599616429/in/dateposted...

 

Soundtrack.

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...

  

远蚘 この小説を倚少説明したした。

youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV

  

メモ

 

1

「Bombay型ボンベむ型、hh型」

•特城通垞のABO血液型を持たないA、B、Oに分類されない特殊な型。

•発芋地1952幎、むンド・ムンバむ旧ボンベむで初めお確認。

•発生頻床むンドでは1䞇人に1人皋床だが、䞖界的には玄250䞇人に1人ずも。

•茞血制限同じBombay型しか茞血できない。

 

2

2024幎ハヌバヌド倧孊銖垭の卒業匏スピヌチ『知らないこずの力』

youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K

 

3

Shots fired at Trump rally

youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT

  

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Title.

Gates C70 - C115 .4.

 

(Nikon Coolpix 8700 shot)

 

New Jersey. USA. 2007. 
 4 / 8

(Photo of the day. Unpublished.)

  

Images:

 

Fergus McCreadie 
 Stony Gate ( Live )

youtu.be/PH7xBtJTWbM?si=c2aHE7oNLskHCpv9

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

My new novel

B♭ (B Flat)

 

Volume 17😄

The following is still in its draft stage and will be revised further.

Key parts are not disclosed.

The order of the content shown here is mixed.

(Of course, this is not the final version.)

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

My new novel

B♭ (B Flat)

 

Columbia Point Residences, a redevelopment of an old warehouse district near the piers of Red Hook that look south over New York Harbor, sat with Williamsburg’s commercial and arts quarter to its north, a reclaimed stretch of landfill between them transformed into a quiet new neighborhood of low-rise detached houses.

On the freshly paved streets the laughter of children echoed, and the soft afternoon sun gently lit the roof tiles and white exterior walls. The wind carried a cool, saline scent from the sea, and, far off in the harbor, a ship’s horn punctuated the calm.

Residents were building new lives here, apart from the city’s daily tumult.

At three in the afternoon the light was still mild, gilding the leaves of the street trees. Mariners’ Row—this new residential enclave—presented itself with almost calculated perfection: rows of white houses, straight sidewalks flanking them. The scent of new construction and still-wet paint hung faintly in the air.

Mark Sanchez stood by the large living-room window and imagined a happy future for his family.

His unit, ERO, was the field force within ICE responsible for immigration enforcement and removals—hardened by the harsh realities of carrying out deportations—contrasted with HSI’s international-crime investigations. But here, behind the glass, he was simply a father and a husband.

Rachel had begun preparing dinner in the kitchen. Children’s voices drifted from the distant school-bus stop.

— Calm. Perhaps life is distilled on a Sunday at three in the afternoon, — he murmured inwardly.

The afternoon light slanted more and more; shadows reflected in the window stretched. On the neighborhood street, an old man walked slowly, pushing a cart as he walked his dog. The crossing laughter of children made that scene seem like an emblem of a gentle, innocent world.

Inside the house, the children were absorbed in play, and Rachel greeted them with a smile. The outside air was mild, the breeze only slightly warm; curtains swayed softly.

Mark opened the front door and checked the mailbox. There were notices about the new school and an announcement for a local disaster-preparedness drill.

At three in the afternoon, as the second hand crept forward, silence deepened.

Beside the house’s foundation concrete there was a faint tremor.

In the afternoon hush, the harbor horn and the rustle of leaves in the breeze filled the soundscape—sounds that masked a subtle detonation so that the surrounding residents did not notice. Smoke rose slowly; there was no fierce blaze at the moment of explosion, only fine dust quietly filling the air. The collapse did not happen all at once but proceeded slowly and inevitably. Part of the exterior wall developed quiet fissures; glass trembled and fractured into fine shards. Wooden posts toppled one by one without a sound, the house crumbling inward as if in a muted dance. A small shock set off a chain reaction of charges that dismantled the structure from within—silently yet surely. The exterior split without fanfare; windows became powder; wooden supports began to fall.

But the noise had been suppressed to the greatest extent possible; the neighborhood’s residents scarcely noticed anything had occurred.

In the distance, silhouettes of buildings slumped and settled. Not only Mark’s house but a blue house about three hundred meters across the street, and a white house further in, kicked up clouds of dust.

Three houses vanished in an instant.

The wind halted for a moment; only the leaves of the street trees trembled.

Mariners’ Row’s afternoon regained its former stillness, as if nothing had happened.

Yet everything had changed.

By planting small, distributed charges of C4 at several points in the foundation concrete and detonating them in precisely timed, ordered sequences, the shockwave could be minimized while the skeleton of the structure was collapsed from the inside.

Rafi’s knowledge of architecture had made possible not mere destruction but a “quiet collapse.”

“Use only the force that’s necessary”—that was his credo.

From a rooftop some distance away, Rafi watched the scene unfold; a deep silence flowed through his chest. For him, it was both an outcry and a prayer. The silence dwelling in destruction was the expression of his tangled feelings.

From childhood, Rafi had found refuge only in silence. The clamor of children playing in Gaza’s dusty alleys, the thunder of airstrikes—these had only wounded him more deeply. In a rundown corner of Gaza, the small Rafi leaned against a wall. When the roar of bombardment receded, the brief stillness was a salvation.

His mother’s tears, his father’s anger—the chaos of it all—the boy sought only a place without sound. He fled inward to a world without noise.

Tinkering with the innards of a broken radio with small hands, Rafi first understood the relation between destruction and quiet. A ruined radio, after it lost its sound, simply remained there in material form, silently.

As he grew, his inner life knotted into complexity. He studied architecture at the Islamic University to make shapes and manipulate structures as a way to steady the disorder within him. Even the days bent over blueprints failed to soothe the quiet madness hidden under his skin. When he faced a building plan, his hands trembled; in his head the calculated beauty of structure mixed with the cool cruelty of demolition.

Then he found a method to produce the silence he had once sought: planting bombs.

For him, it was the only way to externalize his pain. The C4 placed silently at a building’s core crystallized the intersection of his desire to destroy and his thirst for silence. Israel’s attacks on Gaza had stoked his rage, but the true explosion had been nurtured in the quiet of his childhood. For Rafi, releasing explosives without sound was a ritual of severing himself from the world’s noise.

Rafi’s heart could find rest only in the stillness of destruction; he was trapped in a darkness no one noticed.

Without sound, unnoticed by anyone, he broke his world and obtained silence.

And no one knew that his cry was hidden within that quiet destruction.

Construction of Columbia Point Residences had begun in 2024. The three collapsed houses had been occupied by staff of the U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement—ICE—and its Enforcement and Removal Operations, ERO.

They took off their uniforms, sat at these tables with their families. By day they detained migrants and sent them out of the country; by night they held children on their laps and drank beer.

To Rafi, those two faces were one mask. Smile and cruelty breathed under the same skin. It was almost impossible to discern the boundary. He had seen the light in those houses many nights—the silhouettes at dinner through the curtains, laughter. There were no faces of the detained among them.

Each night Rafi never missed the five prayers. His fingertips turned sacred pages of the Qur’an; Arabic verses rang in his heart. “True strength lies in patience; vengeance is entrusted to God”—that phrase steadied him, lending calm. His anger was forbidden to flare; it lived quietly inside.

Recent news repeated the same refrain daily—“a million deported annually,” “military bases converted to detention centers,” “raids even on pending family applications”—numbers passing through the broadcast with a dry sound. But behind those numbers were names: his mother’s name, his sister’s name, the old man next door. Those names did not run on the news; they had no voice.

Rafi thought: this is not policy but selection—sorting who to keep and who to cast aside on sheets of paper. His faith taught mercy and justice, yet the world trampled those teachings. “God is the judge; we are only witnesses”—he repeated in his heart, while refusing to look away.

People in the city sought ways to lighten their lives. Yet tariff hikes made the very air heavy. Bread, nails, gasoline rose in price; sighs filled the shopping streets. Oddly, ICE and ERO garages always housed new vehicles; uniforms looked uncreased and shoes had thick soles. It was the result of budget and protection, the payoff for casting others aside.

Rafi kept calm. To erupt in emotion was to feed the enemy’s desire. So he hid his anger. The fire burning within him was tended like a vow to God—silent and steady.

Stories of neighbors taken in the night, a child crying as someone was seized—each one settled into him and became fuel. But it never flared. It only fed the coals and raised the burn temperature. From the outside, he seemed a gentle man. Inside, however, a balanced plan of destruction was quietly taking shape.

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

My new novel:

B♭ (B-flat)

There’s still more to come. 😃

(This is not the final draft.)

Set in New York City.

  

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54628511025/in/dateposted...

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54599616429/in/dateposted...

 

Soundtrack.

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...

  

Note: I gave a brief explanation of this novel in the following video:

youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV

  

iTunes Playlist Link::

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD

 

My new novel:

B♭ (B-flat)

Notes

1. "Bombay Blood Type (hh type)"

•Characteristics: A rare blood type that lacks the usual ABO antigens — cannot be classified as A, B, or O.

•Discovery: First identified in 1952 in Mumbai, India (formerly Bombay).

•Prevalence: Roughly 1 in 10,000 people in India; globally, about 1 in 2.5 million.

•Transfusion Compatibility: Only compatible with blood from other Bombay type donors.

2. 2024 Harvard University Valedictorian Speech – The Power of Not Knowing

youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K

3. Shots Fired at Trump Rally

youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

Title.

Gates C70 - C115 .4.

  

( Nikon Coolpix 8700 shot )

  

ニュヌゞャヌゞヌ州。アメリカ。2007. 
 4 / 8

(今日の写真。それは未発衚です。

  

Fergus McCreadie 
 Stony Gate ( Live )

youtu.be/PH7xBtJTWbM?si=c2aHE7oNLskHCpv9

  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

僕の新しい小説。

 B♭ ビヌフラット

  

第17匟。 😄

以䞋は、ただ初皿の段階です。ただ掚敲したす。

重芁な郚分は公開しおいたせん。

公開しおいる内容の順番はバラバラです。

(もちろん最終皿ではありたせん。)

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

僕の新しい小説。

 

 B♭ ビヌフラット

 

 ニュヌペヌク枯を南に望むレッドフックの埠頭に近い、叀い倉庫街を開発したコロンビア・ポむント・レゞデンシズは、北偎にりィリアムズバヌクの商業・アヌト地区を背にし、その間の埋立地を再造成した、䜎局戞建お䞭心の静かな新興䜏宅街だ。

 新しく舗装された道には、子䟛たちの笑い声がこだたし、午埌の柔らかな陜射しが屋根の瓊や癜壁の倖壁を優しく照らしおいる。颚は海からの冷たい銙りを運び、枯湟の遠くで聞こえる船の汜笛が静けさにアクセントを加えた。

 䜏民たちは日垞の喧隒から離れ、ここに新たな生掻の基盀を築いおいる。

 午埌時の陜射しは、ただ柔らかく街路暹の葉を黄金色に染めおいた。

 マリナヌズ・ロりの新興䜏宅街は、たるで蚈算されたように完璧な敎列を芋せおいる。癜壁の戞建おが䞊び、たっすぐな歩道が䞡脇に䌞びる。新築の銙りず、ただ新しいペンキの匂いが埮かに挂っおいた。

 マヌク・サンチェスはリビングの倧きな窓から倖を眺めながら、家族の幞せな未来を思い描いおいた。

 圌が属するEROは、ICEを構成する郚門のうちのひず぀、HSIの囜際犯眪捜査に比べ、EROの移民の匷制執行や送還を行う珟堎郚隊で培った厳しい珟実もあったが、ここではただの父芪であり倫だった。

 レむチェルはキッチンで倕食の準備を始めおいる。子䟛たちの声が、遠くのスクヌルバス停から聞こえおきた。

ヌ 穏やかだ。日曜日の午埌時に、人生は集玄されおいるかもしれない ヌ

 圌は胞のうちでそう぀ぶやいた。

 午埌の光は埐々に斜めになり、窓ガラスに映る圱が䌞びおいく。䜏宅街の通りでは犬の散歩をする老人が䞀人、手抌し車を抌しながらゆっくり歩いおいた。子䟛たちの笑い声が亀差するその颚景は、穏やかで無垢な䞖界の象城のようだった。

 家の䞭では子䟛たちが遊びに倢䞭になり、レむチェルがにこやかに声をかけおいる。倖の空気は穏やかで、颚はわずかに暖かく、揺れるカヌテンが優しく靡いおいた。

 マヌクは玄関のドアを開け、郵䟿受けを確認する。ポストには新しい孊校の案内ず地域の防灜蚓緎のお知らせが入っおいた。

 午埌䞉時、秒針がゆっくりず動く䞭、静寂が深たっおいった。

 家の䞭心、基瀎のコンクリヌトのすぐ脇が埮かに揺れた。

 午埌の静けさの䞭、遠くからは枯湟の汜笛ず、颚に揺れる街路暹の葉擊れの音が響いおいた。それらの環境音が、わずかな爆砎音をかき消し、呚囲の䜏民が気づくこずはなかった。煙はゆっくりず立ち䞊り、爆発の瞬間に生たれる激しい炎はなく、ただ现かな粉塵が静かに空気を満たした。倒壊は䞀気ではなく、ゆっくりず、しかし確実に進んだ。倖壁の䞀郚が静かに亀裂を生み、ガラスは埮现に震えながら割れおいく。朚補の柱が䞀本、たた䞀本ず音もなく倒れ、家党䜓が内偎から厩れおいく様は、たるで静かな舞螏のようだった。爆薬はわずかな衝撃で連鎖反応を起こし、家の構造を静かに、しかし確実に砎壊しおいく。倖壁は音もなく割れ、ガラスは粉々になり、朚補の柱が倒れ始めた。

 しかし、隒音は極力抑えられ、呚囲の䜏民たちは䜕が起きたのか気づきにくいほどだ。

 遠くで小さく厩れ萜ちる建物のシル゚ットがあった。マヌクの家屋だけでなく、通りを挟んでmほど先の青い家、そしお、そこからさらに奥ぞ進んだ癜い家から砂埃が舞い䞊がった。

 3軒の家が瞬時に消えた。

 颚が䞀瞬止み、街路暹の葉が揺れる音だけが響く。

 マリナヌズ・ロりの午埌は、再び䜕事もなかったかのように静けさを取り戻した。

 しかし、すべおは倉わっおしたったのだ。

 基瀎のコンクリヌトに小分けしたC4を耇数箇所に埋め蟌み、埮现なタむミングで順序良く起爆させるこずで、衝撃波を最小限に抑え぀぀構造の骚組みを内偎から厩しおいく。

 ラフィの建築孊の知識が、単なる砎壊ではなく「静かなる厩壊」を可胜にしおいた。

「必芁な力だけを䜿う」——それが圌の信念だった。

 ラフィは遠くの建物の屋䞊からその光景を芋぀め、胞に深い静寂が流れた。圌にずっお、それは叫びでもあり、祈りでもあった。砎壊の䞭に宿る静寂こそが、圌の耇雑な感情の衚珟だったのだ。

 ラフィは幌いころから、静寂の䞭にしか安らぎを芋いだせなかった。

 ガザの埃っぜい路地裏で遊ぶ子䟛たちの喧隒も、爆撃の蜟音も、圌の心を深く傷぀けるだけだった。廃れたガザの街角で、幌いラフィは静かに壁にもたれかかっおいた。爆撃の蜟音が遠ざかる瞬間、その静寂は圌にずっお䞀瞬の救いだった。

 母の涙、父の怒り、そのすべおが混ざり合う隒乱の䞭で、圌はただ「音のない堎所」を求めおいた。圌は音のない䞖界ぞず逃げ蟌んだ。

 小さな手で壊れかけたラゞオの䞭身をいじりながら、ラフィは初めお「砎壊」ず「静けさ」の関係に気づいた。壊れたラゞオは、音を倱った埌に、ただ静かにそこに物質ずしおの圢状を保っおいた。

 成長するに぀れ、圌の内面は耇雑に絡み合った。

 むスラム倧孊の建築孊郚に進んだのは、圢を䜜り、構造を操るこずで、圌の心の乱れを制埡しようずしたからだ。倧孊で建築を孊ぶ日々も、圌の心の奥底に朜む静かな狂気を癒すには足りなかった。建物の蚭蚈図に向き合うずき、圌の指先は震え、頭の䞭で蚈算される構造の矎しさず砎壊の冷培さが入り混じった。

 そしお圌は、か぀お自分が求めた静寂を「䜜り出す」方法を芋぀けた。

 爆匟を仕掛けるこず。

 それは圌にずっお、自分の痛みを倖に攟぀唯䞀の手段だった。

 建物の䞭心に静かに仕掛けられたC4は、圌の「砎壊ぞの欲求」ず「静寂ぞの枇望」が亀錯した結晶だった。むスラ゚ルによるガザ攻撃は圌の憎悪を燃え䞊がらせたが、真の爆発は幌少期の沈黙の䞭でじわじわず育たれおいた。圌にずっお、爆薬を音もなく解き攟぀行為は、䞖界の隒音から自分自身を切り離す儀匏だったのだ。

 ラフィの心は、砎壊の静けさの䞭にしか安息を芋出せず、誰も気づかない闇に囚われおいた。

 音もなく、誰にも気づかれずに、圌は自らの䞖界を砎壊し、静寂を手に入れる。

 そしおその静かな砎壊の䞭に、圌の叫びが隠されおいるこずを、誰も知らなかった。

 コロンビア・ポむント・レゞデンシズは、幎に工事の着工が始たった。厩壊した䞉棟に䜏んでいたのは、米囜移民皎関取締局のICEずその匷制退去執行郚門であるEROの職員たちだった。

 圌らは制服を脱ぎ、この家で家族ず食卓を囲む。昌間、移民を拘束し、囜倖ぞ送る圌らが、倜には子どもを膝に抱き、ビヌルを飲む。

 ラフィには、その二぀の顔がひず぀の仮面にしか芋えなかった。埮笑みず冷酷が、同じ皮膚の䞋で息をしおいる。その境目を芋極めるこずは、ほずんど䞍可胜だった。圌は䜕床も、職員たちの家に灯る明かりを芋た。カヌテン越しに芋える食卓の圱、笑い声。そこには、拘束された者たちの顔はひず぀もなかった。

 ラフィは毎倜、沈黙のなかで五回の瀌拝を欠かさなかった。圌の指先は厳かにクルアヌンのペヌゞをめくり、アラビア語の詩句が心に響いた。

「真の匷さは忍耐にあり、埩讐は神の手に委ねられる」—その蚀葉が圌を支え、冷静さを䞎えた。

 怒りは熱く燃え䞊がるこずを蚱されず、静かに内偎で息づいおいた。

 最近のニュヌスは、毎日が同じ旋埋を繰り返しおいた。

ヌ 「幎間癟䞇人送還」「軍事基地を収容所に転甚」「家族申請䞭でも摘発」 ヌ

 数字は也いた音を立おおニュヌスの䞭を流れおいく。

 だが、その数字の裏偎には名前があった。母の名、効の名、隣に䜏んでいた老人の名。それらはニュヌスには茉らず、声にもならなかった。

 ラフィは思った。これは政策ではなく、遞別だ。残す者ず捚おる者を、曞類の䞊で振り分ける䜜業だ。

 圌の信仰は慈悲ず正矩を説く。だが今の䞖界は、その教えを螏みにじっおいた。

「神は審刀者、我らはただ蚌人」 — 圌は心の䞭で繰り返しながらも、芋過ごすこずを拒んだ。

 街では誰もが生掻を軜くする方法を探しおいた。だが、関皎の匕き䞊げは空気たでも重くした。パンも、釘も、ガ゜リンも倀を䞊げ、ため息が商店街を満たした。

 䞍思議なこずに、ICEやEROの車庫にはい぀も新しい車が䞊んでいた。制服は新品のように皺ひず぀なく、靎底は厚かった。それは予算ず保護の結果であり、他者を切り捚おた芋返りでもあった。

 ラフィは冷静だった。

 感情を爆発させるのは、敵の望むずころだ。だから圌は、怒りを衚には出さなかった。圌の内に燃える火は、神にささげる誓いのように、静かに、確実に燃え続けおいた。

 倜䞭に連れ去られた隣人の話。拘束の最䞭に子どもが泣き叫ぶ声。その䞀぀䞀぀が、圌の胞の奥で沈殿し、火皮になった。

 しかし、決しお燃え䞊がるこずはない。ただ、確実に燃料をくべ、燃焌枩床を䞊げおいく。倖から芋れば、圌は穏やかな男だった。

 だが、内偎では均衡の取れた砎壊の蚈画が静かに圢を成しおいた。

  

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僕の新しい小説。

 B♭ ビヌフラット

 

舞台はニュヌペヌクです。

 

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54758538180/in/dateposted...

 

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54743658539/in/dateposted...

 

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54737038151/in/dateposted...

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54686544606/in/dateposted...

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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54628511025/in/dateposted...

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Soundtrack.

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...

  

远蚘 この小説を倚少説明したした。

youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV

  

メモ

 

1

「Bombay型ボンベむ型、hh型」

•特城通垞のABO血液型を持たないA、B、Oに分類されない特殊な型。

•発芋地1952幎、むンド・ムンバむ旧ボンベむで初めお確認。

•発生頻床むンドでは1䞇人に1人皋床だが、䞖界的には玄250䞇人に1人ずも。

•茞血制限同じBombay型しか茞血できない。

 

2

2024幎ハヌバヌド倧孊銖垭の卒業匏スピヌチ『知らないこずの力』

youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K

 

3

Shots fired at Trump rally

youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT

  

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