One day there was a little boy named Felix. He watched as all the little kids in his neighbourhood played, and how they were allowed to play outside. He sighed a long sigh as he heard the haunting sound of children's laughter and enjoyment.

Later that day, he ran to his mother, his bare feet touching the cold tiles. His mother was singing a soft lullaby while cooking. The pan was filled with what smelled like katsu curry noodles. He sniffled slowly and took in the scent of the food as he breathed in. "Mother, why can I not play with the other kids?" he whispered cautiously. "It is forbidden," she said, looking at him peripherally. "You know not to ask questions. You wouldn't want to get stuck out there," she told him knowingly. But Felix didn't believe her.

The next morning Felix woke up quietly. He put on his knee socks and his loafers and decided he would leave forever. He walked to the front door and waited there. He didn't have the courage to open the door.

He stood there for a long time. Then he slowly wrapped his fingers around the cold brass handle and opened the door. The laughter outside immediately stopped. Every child in the street was frozen in place. Felix smiled nervously and stepped outside. The children turned their heads towards him all at once. But their eyes were empty. Their mouths stretched into smiles that were way too wide. Felix took a step backwards. The children began to whisper:

"Too late."

"It's too late for you."

"Too late."

Felix covered his ears and yelled frantically for his mother. No answer came. The children slowly surrounded him. One by one, they held out their hands. Felix did not want to take them.

But his own hands began to move without him telling them to. His feet walked forward without his permission. His smile grew wider and wider until he could no longer stop it. Then his voice disappeared.

The next morning, all the neighbours heard children laughing outside. There was one more child standing among them. A little boy with knee socks and loafers. He smiled without blinking. Every now and then, he would stand outside his old house and wait for another child to open the door. If someone looked very closely, they would notice tears in his eyes.

But he could no longer cry. He could only smile.

That is why you should listen when your parents tell you not to do something.

Because sometimes, by the time you realise they were trying to protect you…

It is already too late.

This is my first blog, so please don't judge…

The other day I listened to a Murakami short story called Barn Burning. After fully listening to it I came to the conclusion that I didn't know how to feel about it. It left me feeling quite melancholic. I truly love Murakami's style of writing because he always leaves you with an odd feeling; the feeling of not being quite sure of the ending.

This short story begins with a man who is very close with a younger woman. Not in a creepy way, mind you — he is 11 years older. She comes back from a big trip to North Africa with her new boyfriend. She introduces him to a wealthy, mysterious young man she met during her travels. During one evening together, the new man casually reveals that he enjoys burning abandoned barns as a hobby, and hints that he plans to burn one soon.

The narrator becomes increasingly disturbed by this confession and begins searching the countryside for signs of a burned barn, but none ever appear. Soon afterward, the young woman suddenly disappears without explanation. As the narrator tries to understand what happened, he is left with only unanswered questions about the mysterious man, the missing woman, and whether the story about burning barns was ever meant literally. Murakami ends the story without resolving these mysteries, leaving readers to interpret the events for themselves.

All in all it was an excellent read. My views are that if you feel only content with an ending, it wasn't a good piece of literature or poetry or whatever you read.

I'll write again soon!