“You’re wrong.”
A voice.
The kind of voice that gives you an uncomfortable feeling, like hearing a recording of your own voice for the first time. It’s similar, but so distant.
I put my fingers to my lips, wondering if I was the one who said it, but it couldn’t have been me.
So then, whose voice was it? I fix my eyes upon the invisible person — the only one who could have said it.
Saying “fix my eyes upon” might be a bit strange, since this person is invisible, but the hat and scarf help to paint an outline. I can hear their footsteps and sense their presence, so I know more or less that someone is there.
“We’re both invisible, but you and I are not the same. We’re essentially the same, but the difference between us is that you don’t know me, therefore you cannot see me. One can only imagine that which they don’t know, but it’s like a faceless ghost, with that which is missing being unknown, unseeable, and incomprehensible...♪”
The invisible person spins around and around to a beat as if they’re singing.
That’s right, I can guess. As the scarf spins round and round, I can basically imagine their presence.
This person and I are both invisible, but we do have corporeal bodies. It’s just that no one can see them. We have diaphragms, vocal cords, and lungs, so we have voices. We can even talk. That person said, “You’re wrong,” but in the end, we are the same.
“Hmhee.” They let out a strange and hearty laugh, and it sounds like their hands are clapping.
Since they’re invisible, I really can’t see them.
They seem friendly, but I wonder. If they were to frown or sneer, I wouldn’t be able to tell because they’re invisible.
I don’t know them, can’t see them, so I can’t tell, thus all I can do is imagine.
“Thank you.” This invisible person, which I can infer from her voice to be a girl, gives an endearing bow of her head. At least, that’s what I’m made to think as the hat dips for a moment.
“Thanks for the hat and scarf. They’re so warm. They keep me nice and toasty. So I don’t catch cold nor do I freeze. You’re so very kind. ♪”
The fringes of the scarf dance about, and I visualize a happy child. What is it with this invisible girl? What kind of metaphor is she? She’s so talkative, but her words make absolutely no sense.
Why would she thank me?
Having these one-sided words thrown at me makes me uneasy, so I reach out my hand. But the invisible girl lets out a “kya!” and jumps back.
As I get closer I can now see — she’s not invisible. It’s like she’s been blacked out. There’s no other way I can describe it — her face, palms, even her fingertips are all black. It’s not so much that her skin is black, it’s more like someone took a pair of scissors and cut out the shape of a human from the night sky.
And since she’s black, it’s like she melts into the surrounding darkness and can’t be seen.
It’s like she’s the aggregated nothingness of darkness—
It looks somehow like she is bowing in apology.
“But, I’m sorry...... I couldn’t get bigger. I no longer needed the hat and scarf. Even though they were chosen just for me with such love and care. That’s why you don’t know it. You don’t know my face.”
The same words are repeated over and over again.
As if they are a form of hypnosis. Or rather, an echo.
Like she’s trying to reassure someone.
“And then you carry the hat and scarf around, as if in regret. You treasure them so much that you couldn’t cast them aside. Even though it is meaningless. No matter how cute the hat is, if you don’t need something, it’s like tossing pearls before swine — it’s useless.”
“What are you going on about? What ARE you?” I become anxious and call out.
I guess you could say this is the first person I can actually talk back to. So I call out desperately. I want to communicate. I can’t stand squatting on my own and mumbling to myself any longer.
I’m tired of just wandering around.
Scraping about and exhausting my energy.
“Hey, if you know something, tell me!” I demand, trying to make my voice harsh, but the girl just continues trolling about.
“I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know anything—”
Over and over again. It doesn’t feel at all like I’m having a conversation with another human.
It’s like having a conversation with yourself while praying in church. Or else it’s like mumbling to yourself in your room, only for the words to echo off into the void.