Lemon

Kajii Motojirō's writing is like a deep, dark swamp, and 'Lemon' is always fascinating no matter when you read it. His depiction of gloomy psychology is just too masterful. I love how the protagonist can view themselves so objectively, which barely keeps them human, yet the text accelerates towards a precariousness of thought at the end. Every time I read it, the sense of speed is incredible, and it makes my brain spin. The abrupt ending leaves me wanting more, though obviously, there isn't any. While the first half is so damp and gloomy it feels like mushrooms could grow, the part where the protagonist becomes lively at the end is truly colorful and sparkles like flares or prisms. The monologue right up until the very end is so lighthearted and childlike, it's fun, and this is the kind of innocent fear. The thought of explosion won't become reality, and the part where they smile (that's the exact expression) while recognizing that such fantasies are not good is a perfect hybrid of madness and childlike innocence. His faith and worship of the lemon are clearly a salvation, but the intoxication that follows salvation, prioritizing the destructive impulse over it and then letting it go at the end – the unconscious prioritization of pleasure over reason is what makes him so wonderfully human. That lemon won't ever come back, will it?