2008-05-01 - 2:54 p.m.
The package arrived in the mail. It was both larger and lighter than I'd been expecting, but I really had no reason to know what to expect.
The box was the size of a large-ish refridgerator. I was impressed that I'd only been charged nine dollars for shipping it. But there didn't seem to be any weight to the package beyond the weight of the box itself.
I thought about cleaning the apartment a little before opening it, but there didn't seem to be much point.
I'd come across this purchase while searching, out of curiousity, for what strain of bird flu the dead swans in Lake Towada had tested positive for.
Carbohydrate polymer suits! (The ad said.) Lighter, cheaper, and more effective protection from a viral epidemic than any other material known to man!
I was intrigued.
It occured to me that if was going to take an interest in emergency preparedness that I would probably be better off to make up some sort of earthquake kit, but somehow that didn't strike me as as much fun. Also, I was already entertaining the idea of wearing a carbohydrate polymer suit on the train during cold season. In my mind, I would be standing on the platform, waiting for the train and pulling on my amazing carbohydrate polymer suit, while other people walked by wearing those silly little surgical masks and secretly felt totally jealous of my ensemble.
Needless to say, I decided to buy one.
I opened the box. Inside it was what looked like a green scuba suit, the texture of which was strangely plant-like. An attached sticker soon informed me that my new suit was 100% gentically-modified marimo. I considered it very lucky that I'd just finished translating a folk tale about marimos (and how they came to be living in a lake near Higashidori) and that I actually knew what a marimo was.
The suit was amazing and perfectly formed into what I could tell would be a good, snug fit. The marimo had been altered as to allow it to live out of water and the stalk it was growing on was a pefectly shaped coathanger.
I wanted to try it on. What I hadn't anticipated, however, was that this suit was intended for one time use. There was no way to put it on without first picking it from its stalk.
(The idea was that once it became clear that some manner of viral epidemic had began, a marimo suit owner should put on their suit, and then leave it on until the epidemic had passed, during which time the suit would be slowly but surely dying. Rigorous scientific testing assured that the cell walls of the suit would remain rigid enough to keep viruses out for a minimum of four months. I wasn't too sure whether or not four months would be long enough to outlast a viral epidemic, but four months was obviously better than nothing.)
I watered my carbohydrate polymer marimo suit everyday. And, everyday, I thought about trying it on. Towards Spring tiny buds appeared on the suit and then bloomed into fantastic jewel-colored flowers. It was extra hard to resist the urge to put in on while it had pretty flowers all over it. I had a dream in which wearing the suit gave me telekinetic powers. In time, wearing the suit became all that I thought about.
I began secretly hoping that a viral apocalypse would begin for no better reason than to give me an excuse to wear my marimo suit.
