Mysticism of Flesh

Flash Fiction - Yukio Mishimima

The sea of fertility stretches out.

In full bloom, the mind gives pause to ponder. Since none of the things are of this world, the road is muddy brown distilled by runaway horses in the spring snow. It used to be so barren and treeless through degradations at the temple of Dawn. The air was saturated now with a continuous fine drizzle.

The time for bearing profit and life were different. The decay, most human, of my angel.

Seppuku and rest