In the dream, I am fighting to guard my precious person. She is the last physicist in the world. With the loss of her brain, a part of our civilization or history will be tranquilly terminated. It is a sure interpretation. It is because the very worth of the humankind exists in her head. We are trying to fight against that.
We?
I mean, the two of us; I and she.
I never thought that there was any other human being in this world.
The two of us are running away through underground passages. We are trying to get away from the attacking enemies as far away from them as possible and are trying to survive together for so long as we can. We do not even have enough time to talk to each other. I have not had time for recalling the reason why we have gotten ourselves into this situation. I just ... I just want to do something for her, who is frightened. I cannot bear to hear her crying. The emotion proudly cries for its eternal pain more than any other remaining scars on my body do. I think I myself am ready to die at any time. In the first place, I have never been afraid of my death. If she were to be caught by the enemies, I would have committed suicide immediately without any hesitation.
Even so, I ask her why she is afraid to such an extent. With a really grim expression, she replies like this:
“That means I wouldn’t be able to be with you ... I’m afraid of being alone.”
Really.
Neither of us has been afraid of death.
To begin with, living itself is the possibility in which we might have to part with someone. Because we live, we feel fear. However, life and death never have the same meaning. I mean, when I die, I part even with myself. So, whom the dead body, or the shadow in this world, lives with or parts ways with is entirely meaningless.
With myself?
Who is myself?
Such a notion is the arrogance that a living being thinks.
It is an illusion that only a living one is deceived into imagining.
It is an irregular, fragmented, and literally desperate lie.
“What do you think if we die here together?”
In the middle of a dark underground passage, I speak of the proposition.
As expected, she easily accepts it. Rather than despair, I think of it as a far more familiar and more optimistic decision.
“Bye.” I say.
“Thanks.” She smiles.
I point the gun toward her head, and pull the trigger.
A single shot.
Gun smoke.
Sweet fragrance of gunpowder.
Then.
After I finish observing her slowly falling down.
I close my eyes and stop my breath.
Farewell, the eternity.
Hey, air. Hey, space.
Call my name, if you can call my name.
Recalling the textile pattern.
There is a small stain at the edge of mandala.
Swimming.
Dancing.
And, crawling.
In this way ..., I escape from the dream.
Since I know the way to awake myself from a dream, I sometimes use the method. I have to be aware of the fact that I am in a dream. It is the condition. Each time I want to escape, it is always a dream. That is very convenient for me. I have never thought so in my real life. Probably, she must have known the same method. A moment before she was shot by me, she might have escaped. It is only my wish, though ...
Even after I wake up, she remains in my mind for a short while. It is not her figure, her voice, or her scent. It is her existence itself. So, it cannot be reduced to words or signals. Therefore, it is dispersed rapidly and starts to fade away. Even so, it is wonderful dissipation, compared to the ridiculousness of containing the impressions within someone’s figure, voice, or scent.
My pulse is rapid, and I am sweating.
An imminent world is intruding before long. They have been considering my mind their residence.
In this unbelievably ridiculous reality, there is no enemy that would even try to fight directly against my name. I do not have a physicist girlfriend. I have yet to love someone in person and to kill someone with my own hands.
Who am I?
I try to recall it.
The act of recalling itself is the proof of my curse.
I am a pilot, who has just been assigned here today.
Piloting a fighter plane is my job.
Therefore, I cannot say that I have never killed anyone indirectly. Yes, I have done it indirectly.
Almost all the differences in this world are about whether they are direct or indirect.
My breathing has calmed down a little.
I get up while throwing the blanket aside. I put my feet from the bed on the floor. I feel that my head is as heavy as mud. But, my body has stopped shivering already. The floor is sarcastically cold. I slip my feet into the shoes placed on the floor. I do not believe in a miracle in which my shoes are neatly placed at the right place when I wake up in the middle of the night. I feel strange about the fact that I always wake up in the same world. Or, are we added some sort of “augmentative procedure” with which we are forced into believing that we always wake up in the same world? Magical needles might have been implanted inside our bodies when we were born.
I stand up. The opaque-glass windows are dimly bright. The dawn seems to be approaching. I have been sleeping in a solid bunk bed and another man is sleeping on top of the same bunk bed. Although I cannot see his face, I can hear his regular breathing. I have not asked him his name. I need not ask what I will know sooner or later. He is much bigger than I am. I have yet to know what kind of human being he is. The situation in which I am sleeping this close to an unknown person right above me does not make me feel too comfortable. Obviously, it is a special situation. I guess many people cannot accept such a special condition like this. Luckily, I never mind such a matter. I can sleep anywhere and eat anything. That is about the only asset that I possess.
I occasionally wake up like this, and cannot go back to sleep afterwards. It is one of my malfunctions.
I hear a subtle, rhythmical sound. At first, I mistake that for the buzzing of an insect. If that is the case, then it is continuing for an unnaturally long time.
I stand up, put on a windbreaker, and get out of the room. I walk through a dark corridor, which looks like a muffler stained with carbon, and open a door leading to the courtyard. Despite its heavy weight, the door opens smoothly.
The air is chilly. It is comfortable for me, and appropriate for the night.
I can hear the sound a little more clearly. It sounds like a motor. Since I have forgotten to take a look at a clock in the room to see what time it is, I look up at the sky to observe the constellations that I am familiar with. Now, I know what time it is. This is the method that I learned in my childhood. I estimate that it is about 04:00 a.m.
While walking along a concrete wall, I find a dazzling light in the distance. It is from the direction of a hangar.
I get closer to it a little more. The shutter is partially raised to make it half open. It is the backside of the hangar, which appears to be used as a carry-in delivery entrance for trucks. The light is leaking from the opening.