Karoshi

Karoshi (Japanese: 過労死) is the Japanese term for “death by overwork.” It is officially defined as occupational sudden death, caused by accumulated physical and mental fatigue from excessive labor.

When I sat down on my office chair, the clock struck 12:55.

“So, Tanaka-kun? Not bad right?”

The cubicle was somewhat spacious. It rounded me in a warm embrace, defensive and protecting. The table in front of me was neatly prepared for the new arrival. It hosted a standard computer, a wired phone and a printer. On my right, nearing the cubicle wall, stood a pencil cup with one—fresh out of the box—black marker, a sharpened pencil and an ink pen. No clutter—a fresh, polished workplace.

On the other edge of the table stood a nameplate stating: Kaito Tanaka—Intern.

I’ve waited for this my whole life.

“Alright so that whiteboard on the wall,” I turned to the right, facing the cubicle enclosure “is for you to keep track of the things you have to do,” The late-middle-aged man cleared his throat, “the phone is here if you need anything and the computer is all yours.”

I stared at the blank whiteboard.

“Is there anything I can do now Shibata-san?”

“Oh don’t worry about that,” the elder man chuckled and waved his hand, “people will come and go and drop some stuff for you to do. For now just log-in to your computer and enjoy the peace,” Mr. Shibata glanced at his wrist watch somewhat busy-looking, “hey don’t forget about that meeting with the partners in five’, I’ll come get you” he clasped his heavy hand over my shoulder as a welcoming gesture—my back whining at the action—and walked into the aching bureau cacophony.

I took a deep breath taking it all in—the people, the office, the ambiance. Some argued on their phones, some ran from desk to desk, some typed vigorously on their keyboards… It was as if I was inside someone’s perfectly disorganized brain. I was grateful, so grateful to have landed this internship. All that work, all those late nights—all that was for something. I closed my eyes.

Finally I can—

The table shuddered at a sudden impact and my eyes flew open. A young woman dropped a pile of papers onto my left and ran off mouthing This is for later as the rhythmic clic clac of her heels echoed in the distance.

Alright.

Okay.

I rolled on my chair towards the computer and switched it on. Fujiwara and Co. shown brightly onto my eyes, greeting me for the very first time. Excitement filled my guts.

As I opened email and logged into my account, some emails already found their refuge in my inbox. I opened my very first email. Thereto said Welcome to Fujiwara and Co.. It contained a cluster of my first tasks, and so I took it upon myself to follow Mr. Shibata’s advice and write them down on my whiteboard. The smell of the fresh marker filled my nostrils.

I carefully wrote out each character.

Schedule appointment with HR

Draft a marketing proposal

Sit-in on partners meeting

As I put down my marker, more emails popped up in my inbox.

I turned to my whiteboard yet again and wrote out:

Organize onboarding documents

Plan fundraising campaign

I exhaled—satisfied with my work—but as I turned to my computer yet again my breath caught.

Emails flooded my inbox at the speed of light. I picked up my marker and wrote out as many tasks as I could. This time, there was nothing careful or thorough about it.

Alright.

Okay.

My chest rose and fell.

Maybe it was time to get to work.

My fingers started dancing on the keyboard, moving with grace and determination. I started by downloading all the necessary paperwork and files and spread sheets and graphs…

A sudden weight dropped onto my table.

The woman from before brushed past me yet again, turned to me glancing over her shoulder, mouthed This is for later and smiled. This time, I grasped some of her features—long, silky black hair with bangs; deep, profound eyes; dimples…

My inbox exploded.

I shifted my focus and went back to work.

I glanced at the office clock. It has been around fifteen minutes, and yet Mr. Shibata was nowhere to be seen. The hour hand still moved lazily, warily… And yet the minute hand moved with surprising ease.

It was then when a sense of urgency installed in me for the very first time.

Alright.

Okay.

I forced myself to concentrate. A shuddering breath escaped my mouth, but all I could think about was the never ending flow of tasks. I supposed it was to keep me busy. Busy is good, after all. The more, the merrier.

But as I started one task I’d leave it half done just to open the next.

After a while, though, it all became ordinary.

I finally became ordinary.

I became Fujiwara and Co..

I became that aching cacophony I was mesmerized at when I first came here. I’d open twenty tabs and jump between them having memorized what each ones for. I’d hop from computer to whiteboard, letting my fingers float on the keyboard and wrap around the marker almost simultaneously. I’d smudge my fingers in black and my let my inky, smooth hair ruffle in the process. I’d completely let go.

My table trembled. A quake, I first though. But I was mistaken.

The woman with satiny black hair and dimples rushed past me for the third time now, turning over her shoulder, smiling and mouthing This is for later. Her movements mimicking those before with unsettling precision.

On her shirt I noticed a name tag. Her first name being Misaki.

I sat in my thoughts for a moment. It was confusion that fogged my mind, perplexity. I rubbed my temples, glanced on the clock.

14:55.

My heart sank.

I snapped out of my drowsiness and got back to work. I understood now why Mr. Shibata emphasized the whiteboard. It was simply impossible to keep track of the pending assignments in your head. But as I turned to face the whiteboard, perplexity struck me again.

My whiteboard was empty—crystal clear. My reflection examined my own self—my rumpled hair, frantic eyes…

I had to take a moment to settle down, I figured. It shocked me—my reflection. How easy it was to get carried away. As I came closer and took a better look upon myself, I saw my temples—smudged in black.

Was that marker?

I rubbed on my temples—

My table convulsed once again and I almost jumped at the sound. I pivoted on my chair just to see Misaki drop a pile of papers on my table again, running off into the chaos and glancing over to mouth This is for later.

What is this all about?

My body pleaded to call after her, to dig into this puzzle. But as I almost stood up from my chair—

My desk phone erupted.

I swallowed. My tie seemed tighter than usual.

I reached towards the phone and pulled it towards my ear.

“Fujiwara and Co., Tanaka Kaito speaking.”

In return I heard nothing.

Just still, white noise.

Buzzing and buzzing and buzzing.

I breathed in and out.

Buzzing and buzzing and buz—

I put the phone down.

Took a deep breath.

Alright.

Okay.

Involuntarily, my body turned to look at the whiteboard.

This time, my heart sank to my toes and left a hollow trace of lightheadedness.

My whiteboard was full of characters, numbers, dates. It was dizzying, truly horrifying. It couldn’t have been me.

Maybe someone was behind me?

I turned to see.

Evidently, there was no one in sight.

I slowly turned back to my computer and swore under my breath.

Did I eat something funny?

I looked at the growing pile of papers Misaki has been leaving. I took the one at the top—my fingers gritting against it like sand paper. The printed paper stated the company’s policy—“We value precision, timing, loyalty and absolute perfection.” My eyes kept scanning the page, until they reached the end. The last, lonesome phrase being: Why are you wasting time, Kaito?

I shuddered at the words—pins and needles covering the entirety of my body—and shook my head. In a blink, the phrase was gone, instead were some standard regulations.

This is fucking crazy.

I glanced at the clock.

17:55

But as I kept looking, the hands of the clock kept spinning faster and faster as if my gaze was winding them up to the point that in a matter of seconds, the clock was already at 20:55.

The sun was already long set. The office was empty.

I was running out of time.

I had to get this work done. I’ve worked so hard to land this position. So much stress and pain would be washed down the drain if I happen to not keep up with ordinary policy. So much is on the line yet, yet…

Yet I couldn’t concentrate. My eyes kept darting to the office clock. My hands kept clicking form tab to tab. As I breathed in, my heart beat against my ribcage, and as I breathed out, my mind and sight clouded up to the point where I could see none other but the computer in front of me. At some point, I swore I heard someone writing on my whiteboard—I swore I heard the squeaking of the marker.

My table wobbled with a thumping sound.

I looked to my left.

Misaki glanced to look at me, mouthed This is for later, and went on her way.

I couldn’t let her get away.

I jumped from my chair and stormed out of the cubicle. At the action, my nameplate fell to the ground. Kaito Tanaka—intern was now shattered in two.

A few steps through the empty quarters were all that was needed to reach the young woman. I stopped her by her shoulders and turned her to look at me. Among empty cubicles and desks, in front of me stood a young woman with the same silky black hair and bangs, with the same name tag and heels, and yet, and yet…

And yet Misaki had no face. Her eyes, nose, mouth dimples… were all covered by porcelain skin.

My stomach dropped, as my hands did too.

And I’ll never forget it—how I stormed towards the elevator, heart thumping in ears and chest. How I forced my limbs to move, to save one self. How I prayed not to pass out. How I clasped my hands together to stop them from shaking. How I clenched and unclenched them to force some blood into them. How I wiped my cold sweat.

I left the office building and the cold air struck against my face like no other. It was soothing, though. It was distracting.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

I couldn’t wrap my head around what had happened. I couldn’t form words. Couldn’t read characters. Couldn’t hear the city. And yet I took my phone and saw a message from Mr. Shibata: “Dinner at Okada’s?”

I couldn’t describe to you how I reached the restaurant even if I wanted to. It was a blur, a broken memory. When I try to remember, I simply can’t. And when I try to forget—forget that state of complete panic and at the same time of vacancy and nothingness—I simply can’t either.

“Shibata-san,” I tried to swallow but my throat was dry, deserted “you wanted to see me?” the reddish ambient lights at Okada’s flickered in his iris.

“Oh Tanaka-kun drop the formalities, I’ve known you since you were a little kid. Call me Hiroshi.”

I sat oposite Mr. Shibata. The table was flourishing with all kinds of dishes. The smell snapped some sense into me.

“So, Kaito-kun, how was your first day? I’m sure it was exciting—tell me all about it.”

I sat still.

“I…” I tried making up words in my head, turning words over with my numb tongue, “I—”

“You must be tired, it is understandable. But this is how it is, in the workplace. You know,” Mr. Shibata took a gyoza with his chopsticks, “you really helped out Fujiwara after all that karoshi commotion.”

I shook my head “What do you mean Shi—Hiroshi-san…?”

“Well you know how it goes…one incident and the crowd goes wild. It really struck us with that poor intern.”

Drops of cold sweat rolled down my spine.

“But it’s clearly different with you isn’t it, Kaito-kun?” Mr. Shibata tasted the gyoza and nodded in approval.

“You must return though,” he looked at me.

I stared back, like a deer blinded by headlights “Where..?”

“To Fujiwara and Co., of course,” he smiled with the most heartwarming and familiar of smiles, “you must go, you are running out of time.”

I couldn’t believe it. I must be going insane.

“What…” I breathed heavily now, unsteadily, “what do you mean Shibata-san, I—”

“You are running out of time”

“But!” I stood up, looked around—no one was bothered, “But this can’t—”

“Wake up Kaito-kun.”

The world was closing its walls around me.

“Wake u—”

I jolted awake.

I was sat in my cubicle. People around me worked like bees.

The sun still shone brightly and the clock said 13:00.

Someone came up beside me.

“Kaito Tanaka, is it?”

A young woman stood beside my desk.

“I’m Misaki Aoki, nice to meet you,” she offered her hand to me.

The image of the faceless woman flickered in my eyes.

I somehow shook her hand and she giggled at my stupor.

From somewhere beyond, emerged Mr. Shibata.

“Tanaka-kun! I see you met Aoki-kun,” he sighed and glanced at his wrist watch, “Come on, let’s go, partner meeting awaits.”

The partner meeting.

I glanced at my whiteboard and saw a single sentence neatly written:

Sit-in on partners meeting

I then glanced at the clock.

13:00

It’s only been five minutes.

But as I stood up—legs slightly weak and wobbly—I looked at my name plate.

Kaito Tanaka—Intern was cracked in two.