(Akutagawa 2005)
The Japanese know how to write despair. The pathological self-indulgence of the desolate soul, somewhat free of the pop-psy/trauma doxa, can be adorned more easily with images collected along the character wanderings.

There was a toad smushed on the asphalt, lying on its back with both its arms raised as if in a full-body expression of joy. I walked two or three steps farther, and there was a lightly soiled white glove, its limp index finger pointing to the right. I cocked my head and took a right turn down a narrow street. A small dog that was tied up started barking at me like mad, as if it were really going to do me harm. If I could melt away into the darkness, I thought to myself, that might make me happy. I didn't know what happiness was, but I figured I might at least be at ease.

The now adult mistreated orphan doesn't want to die, rather he wishes to be earthed or maybe inearthed. The strange desire drags him from suicide attempt to suicide attempt, in between his rare nocturnal taxi rides (he is the driver).

Through my grogginess, I was aware that my skin was enmeshed in particles of dirt. The earth was eroding me, and would erode the earth. How I wished I could become one with the earth and disappear. There was no need for me to do anything, I didn't need to wait with bated breath to see what their mood was, I didn't need to run about trying to evade their raised fists, I didnt need to protect my head and belly. The earth softly soothed me, cooling me little by little, the chill penetrating deeper into me.