第８回 イマジン・リトル東京ショートストーリー・コンテスト

Your daddy’s religion was Worry. Never one to call upon any God for any reason, he chose to bear the weight of everything—especially the fear of uncertainty—upon no one other than himself. But in those tender, terrifying seconds between your mama’s contractions, he felt an instinctual, perhaps primitive-like urge to pray. He reassured your mama he’d be right back before hurrying out onto the balcony. He clutched the railing and took deep breaths of dry, summer air. He gazed down at the orange glow of the San Fernando Valley on a busy Saturday night. Motors revving, sirens screaming, people rushing …

22世紀、リトルトーキョー。

舞い散る粉雪を見上げ、俺はコートの襟を立て、両手に息を吹きかけた。

一世紀前ならこの街で、こんな雪が降ることはなかったと、いつだったかトキオが俺に教えてくれた。トキオとは交番勤務のAIだ。この街がAIとの共存を決めてから、トキオはずっとこの街の治安を守る為、些細な犯罪にも目を光らせてきたらしい。人間の年齢にしたら、喜寿をとっくに迎えているはずだが、トキオの外見は二十代後半の俺と変わらなかった。

AIに人間の職業を奪われるなどと、騒がれた時代もあったが、今ではAIに対し寛容な街は珍しくなくなった。逆に言えば、AIと共存できない国家は、衰退の一途をたどり、いつの間にか消滅してしまった。それ…

I. 

May Tomita was embarrassed. Her dad is a Kibei gardener and would always pick her up in his beat up truck at Carson High School, with the lawnmower, edger and other dirty garden tools still in the truck bed. Compared to the Cadillacs and Buicks that parents drive to pick up their kids, her dad’s Ford Courier was a pile of heap that even junkyards would reject. She’d ignore the truck, walk past her father, as he drives alongside her. He yells in Japanese, “Get in the goddamn truck!”

But today May was really pissed. She saw her boyfriend …

On the day of the Tanabata Festival, the summer sun cast rays of golden light onto the streets of Little Tokyo. The sizzling smell of yakisoba cooking in stalls around the corner taunted Yuki Clearwater. At fifteen years old, Yuki felt a bit too old for the festivities—or at least that is what she told herself. She knew how important the Tanabata Festival was to her family’s shop Usagi Mochi, which sat on East First Street for generations.

The amount of customers in the shop had slowed to a trickle in recent years and the wrinkles on her father’s forehead …

Thistle sat and watched people eat mochi ice cream from a tree. She was in the James Irvine Garden, and all the lanterns were glowing particularly bright this evening. Of all the places in Los Angeles, the garden here in Little Tokyo was her favorite place, especially during this time of year when the sound of drums hummed through the streets and children twirled in colorful clothing.

When Thistle, the small fox squirrel, first arrived in Little Tokyo, she watched as a little girl danced, the patterns on her kimono swirled to the rhythm of the song. Thistle didn’t know …