You walk briskly along. There’s no way I can catch up to you.
I hate that. I don’t want you to be far away from me. I want to be with you. I want to call you over, like in a game of Red Rover.
I want to feel your warmth, to confirm your existence with the palm of my hand.
And yet, I have no idea why you’re going so far away.
I want to ask someone for advice, but all that whirls about me here is sewer water.
The sewage goes on and on, like necrotic fluid flowing through the veins of a corpse. It stretches on and on, like the accumulated pus of a long life. As if to cover up the gutters, a strange curvature decorated with framed paintings has been carved into the wall.
It’s a bit like a museum.
But to describe it artistically, it is in poor taste.
The pictures are drawn with messy, squiggly lines, like they were done by a child who was left to create them based on their own imagination. One portrait where the head and hands are oddly highlighted is clearly an illustration of a monster with no hint of amicability......
In psychology, miniature gardens, paintings, or writing can serve as a form of therapy or help diagnose and treat the mind. However, these paintings have nothing about them that pulls me in. I have no idea what they’re trying to express. They’re merely unpleasant.
It’s likely that if an infant, scrunching up its face and about to burst into tears, had the ability to grip a paintbrush and could paint, the result might look like that.
It feels like confusion and anxiety alone were pressed into the frame and put on display.
It’s too full of metaphors, and so I overthink it with a great deal of difficulty, causing me to lose sight of what is what. It’s like being ridiculed for oddities or delusions, kind of like in a comedy movie. A movie. Speaking of which, I wonder where I ever saw 2001: A Space Odyssey and Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.
I’m... I’m...?
While I’ve been mulling things over, I’ve finally come upon the end of the sewer.
Pitch-black darkness.
No, right in front of me is a giant face. A bright-red face with the mouth chomping up and down like it’s chewing gum. Its uneven hair sways about in a creepy manner. It wears a vulgar grin...... I feel like I know this face. It’s symbolically exaggerated, but I’m sure I’ve seen it somewhere before.
Flustered by deja vu, I suddenly realize. You’re walking forward. You’re approaching the giant face, gently reaching out your hand—
All of a sudden, you’re eaten by that face.
You’re sucked up by that mouth that was open so wide.
I am horrified.
“No—” I rush over in a panic and pound on the large face over and over again.
Without realizing it, my lips begin stringing words together.
“Open up. Open your mouth. If you don’t open it, you won’t be able to breathe, you’ll die—”
Open it. Open up. Come on.
I scream over and over again, using my whole body to ram into the giant face. I tear at it. I muster up all of my strength and try to force open the giant mouth.
I plant myself firmly and push open the stubbornly shut teeth with my hands, spit soaking my cheeks and a fowl stench causing me to screw up my face.
Somehow, I move with disgust and slip farther in, past the tongue.
I step onto the fleshy interior, looking for you.
“Where are you?! Where have you gone?!” I scream, but there is no response.
At that moment, the tongue easily wraps around me and pulls me in, down farther to the inner part of the throat. Unable to resist, I flail and squirm in futility as I fall into the dark esophagus.
Down another hole. Farther and farther in.
Ground suddenly appears once more, and my entire body is slapped down upon it. This time, the ground is soft and lacks any of the impact I felt earlier. But still, it’s an awful feeling. It’s like I’m standing on top of organs. I might be inside that face’s body — inside of its stomach.
I look around me, searching for you.
“Where......?”
It’s almost complete darkness. However, there is something here and there that glows. There are some designs drawn in unseemly colors — they seem like someone’s x-ray. It’s vague though, and no one besides a specialist would be able to understand it.
“Where are you...?”
I walk along, almost on the verge of tears.
Finally, in this unending darkness — I discover an exit standing all alone. It looks like the baggage check gate at an airport. As long as you are not deemed to be a problem, you can pass through and go into another world.
Unable to find anything else of significance, I stealthily approach it.
I place my hand on the stiff gate and timidly peer inside.
Someone is standing there.
At first, they look like a normal human. No, something is off.
I hold my breath. A hat and scarf are floating there. A hat, a scarf, and that’s all.
It looks like an invisible person. The hat is definitely being worn by someone, as it traces the silhouette of a head. The scarf is wrapped around something, as if to assert the existence of a neck.
However, the body that they’re on is invisible. I can’t make it out.
This invisible person(?) walks about leisurely.
Invisible. I’m invisible too... At the very least, it seems like you can’t see me. In other words, the invisible person who is wearing this hat is likely similar to me.
Perhaps I’ve found a companion.
Perhaps I’m not truly alone—