Every time the electric fan oscillated, the sound of a creaking motor traveled from one corner of the room to the other.

Beyond the wide-open window, the sunset stained the walls of the old apartment red. The sounds of someone preparing dinner drifted from another room, and there was the faint presence of cars driving in the distance, but the only thing echoing in this room was the dull sound of flesh being struck.

Not once, but repeatedly.

As a blow landed on my cheek, the yellowed edge of a tatami mat streaked across the edge of my vision. Soon after, a fist sank into my stomach, forcing the air from deep within my throat. Trying to inhale brought a sharp pain to my ribs, and when I tried to shield myself, my hair was seized.

A voice was screaming at me to say something, but it sounded distant, as if heard from the bottom of a pool. When I spat out the blood pooling in my mouth, a red streak stretched along the weave of the tatami.

Seeing that, the person seemed to grow even more foul-tempered.

My collar was yanked, and my back was slammed against the wall, making the old wallpaper rustle slightly against my shoulder.

The fist rose again.

The light from the window sank lower bit by bit. The half-finished plastic bottle on the table and the discarded clothes were now all sinking into the twilight.

I no longer knew how long I had been beaten; the pain was no longer something I could count, but rather a dull heat soaking into every part of my body. It was a chore even to keep my eyes open, but if I closed them, I wouldn't know where the next blow was coming from.

So I decided to just stare at the window over my shoulder. The remnants of the sunset were caught thinly in the gaps between buildings, and even that color was about to vanish.