Fork and Spoon

If you would like to be notified of future posts, follow me on:

My Instagram:

Main

My Artwork 

My X

⭐️UPDATING REGULARY 😆

😊🙏🏻 If you’d ever like to repost my translated stories or use them in any other way, I’d really appreciate it if you could include a link back to my blog. I put a lot of effort into creating my posts,

 and personally, it would make me really happy to have that acknowledged. Thank you so much! ☺️❤️

————————

This happened during a family trip we took this summer.

Early in the morning, I woke up to a clinking sound.

It felt like something had hit the window, so I opened it and stepped out onto the balcony, where I found a fork lying on the ground.

It was a fork for small children, with a panda illustration on it.

A name was written on the handle in hiragana underneath a piece of clear tape.

It was the same name as mine.

When I showed it to my mother, she said it was the fork I had used for my lunch back in preschool, and that the handwriting was definitely hers.

I had no memory of it at all. My mother also said she couldn’t remember what had happened to it after the preschool.

There was no explanation for how something from so long ago had ended up here, far away from home.

Strangely, despite being over a decade old, it was in unusually good condition.

It gave me a bad feeling somehow, so I left the fork at the hotel.

When we were leaving, a bellboy at the front desk handed me an envelope.

He said that late the previous night, a man had come to the front desk, given my name and room number, and said, “This belongs to him, so please give it to him,” before leaving immediately.

The man was described as a neatly dressed elderly gentleman in casual clothes. He had left before they could ask any questions, so they didn’t know who he was.

Inside the envelope was a spoon.

It had the same design as the fork from that morning. They must have been a matching pair.

And just like the fork, my name was written underneath a strip of tape.

A chill ran down my spine, and I didn’t feel like asking anything further.

I asked them to throw it away and left it at the front desk.

I never told my mother about it.

This might sound like a random, incomprehensible story, but it really happened.

No matter how hard I try, I can’t remember anything about that fork and spoon.

However, there was one photo my mother found in an old album she dug out—

a picture from a preschool field trip, taken at lunchtime.

In it, I was holding what looked like the same fork found in the hotel.