Sinister things continue to be written in that red, that vivid color that means “stop!” on a stoplight.
“What are you guys......?”
As I watch the erased letters in blood be written over, I somehow sit up.
I can tell that the blood flowing from my body is soaking my clothes. I’m invisible, so I can’t see it, but it makes me feel uneasy. The circuits around me keep moving, letting out an irritating, ear-ringing sound. It’s like snoring or teeth-grinding that interrupts restful sleep.
No matter what kind of mechanical engineer or programmer one is, in the end, they are entranced by and pursue that grotesque, complex machine known as the human. Using the machine created by God as an example. And there, in the corner of that machine, I continue thinking with my tiny brain.
“Why do you concern yourselves with me? This dream belongs to that girl, doesn’t it?”
That girl. The girl with braids, the one I kept chasing......
That girl — you — where are you?
“I am a character in those dreams. Like you two, I’m just a symbol. Isn’t that right? That girl is at the center of these dreams, and only she can impact them or cause change. She’s the protagonist of these dreams. Hey, I’m right, aren’t I?”
“Is that the truth?”
“It might be?”
A question mark — “?” — is drawn right on top of the illustration.
“We aren’t gods either. It’s not like we know everything.”
“There are plenty of times when knowledge gleaned from comics isn’t useful in real life.”
“Who is the subject of these dreams? Whose dreams are they? These are very difficult questions — in Through the Looking-Glass, Alice and the Red Queen are both dreaming. In that situation, who is the subject of the dreams?”
“The Jabberwocky is coming! The Jabberwocky!”
“Within dreams, everyone is connected by a shared unconscious — the collective unconscious. You could say that, even though they’re different on the surface, everyone is having the same dream. In that case, who is the subject of the dream? In an online game or social game, who is the protagonist?”
“It’s so hard to tell!”
“The heart can neither be seen by the eyes nor touched by the hands. You cannot look into other people’s hearts. So can you clearly articulate why it is that you’re inside of someone else’s dream? Even in a net game, the distinction between program-automated NPCs and player characters is difficult. You’re the only one who understands what is in control of you. You cannot make affirmations about others. And yet, here you are, talking as if you yourself are a cast member of the game, asserting that someone else is the protagonist!”
“It’s so strange? Isn’t it~?”
What does that mean?
I feel a terrible anxiety, like I’ve lost my footing.
This is your dream. That girl’s dream. I’m just something that is pursuing you, the protagonist of this dream. But how have I confirmed this? Have I never questioned how it is that I know this?
I become dizzy.
Like a detached observer being suddenly knocked onto a stage.
That’s how it feels. I suddenly shrink back from all of the attention, like a stupid performer who has forgotten their part.
I shake my head. It’s still too soon to take what they say to heart.
Dreams are full of valuable hints and truths, but it’s hard to suss out those truths, and much of it is useless junk.
Tweedledee and Tweedledum merely continue spouting out nonsense. The realm of the unconscious is a mix of the good and the bad, and I’m the one who has to find the true, right answers for myself.
Having decided that, I have to tell myself to calm down to keep the anxiety at bay.
The words written in blood go on and on.
“Consciousness and unconsciousness are two sides of the same whole. Everyone has those two layers of self. The surface and hidden selves are separate people. That’s why it’s possible that you might think of one as someone else. Even though you have things in common, things that connect you, you’re still different people.”
“Different people, different people~ ♪”
Something passes through the letters that seems to mock me.
It’s a strange, disc-shaped creature that seems to have human-like legs. They have to notice it, even just a little. It tramples and passes through the words written in blood, busily running about. It quickly puts distance between us.
“One can understand themselves. But not the unconscious, because that is someone else. Is there any logical explanation for those creatures just now? Can you comprehend them as clearly as you do yourself? Is that what that girl is to you — another person connected to you, like a twin?”
“So which one is hidden, and which is on the surface?”
“They’re another person, but they’re you. Surface and hidden are both different sides of the same coin, so you can’t avoid them. They cannot be separated, no matter how much you wish they could. You’re curious about this. That’s why you pursue that girl endlessly, right?”
“I have no clue what you’re saying—” I groan and glare at the letters.
I’m convinced, somewhere deep down. But I don’t want to face that fact.
However, the pair is not going to forgive my lack of self-reliance.
“What you don’t understand, you hide away. You restrain it, seal it away. But that becomes stress, and your heart warps as a result. At this rate, you will rupture.”
At some point, a door appears in front of me.
And then, it opens wide.
I am flung through that door.
I hit my nose hard and let out a moan.
I lift my head, astonished.
It’s a narrow room. Like that little room, that tent where I can be my true self. This place is full of a large number of creatures.
They are the same as the creature that passed through earlier, the one that looked like a disc that had sprouted legs. They cluster together like insects, packing in so close that it resembles a crowded train car.
It gets so cramped with their shoulders all jostling together, there isn’t even a crevice to move in.
Like creatures that belong in a colder country.
I begin to shake at the prospect of them stepping on me.
No. I’m scared. I can’t breathe......
“It’s hard to breathe because you are enduring it.”
“If you stop breathing, you’ll die!”
The blood that dripped out of me pools next to the door, and with it, letters are written.
However, I have no time to read. One by one, the disc-like creatures step on top of me, inhibiting me. This room is packed so full right now that there’s not even a corner for one ant to fit into. I’m trampled numerous times, as if I’m being attacked, lashed at.
Like a child with a strict upbringing is lashing out at me.
I have no energy with which to resist, so I have no choice but to endure it.
“Hey, why do you hide that away inside a treasure box? Even though it’s something silly that will never satisfy you?”
I can see part of the floor. There is the humorous face of a man.
I really am hiding something silly.
Things that seem to be meaningful or to have a lot of value, but in reality are nothing... I might be hiding some of those within as well.
No, I’ve probably completely covered them up.
“What if the things you’ve covered or endured take on a warped form, becoming toxins or monsters?”
“If you leave it there the whole time without eating it, then it’ll go bad even if you put it in the fridge!”
“Wh-What should I...” I ask for help, only seeking to escape this torture. “What should I do?”
I get frustrated about having all these things thrust at me in a condescending manner. I feel like I’m being scolded or blamed for some reason. However, I don’t know why. I don’t get it at all.
I want them to forgive me.
“Eat it before it goes bad.”
“Put it in your belly and digest it!”
“The heart cannot be seen with the eyes, and if it’s wounded, you won’t know. First you must accept something, even if you can’t swallow it. For example, there are people who firmly believe in the existence of extraterrestrials. For that person, aliens are real. If you listen to that person’s thoughts while accepting the premise that aliens could exist... if you consider the possibility, imagine it, and seek the cause of that belief, then you can understand the belief and finally begin to deal with it.”
“You can’t just keep putting it in your stomach! You have to digest it!”
“Or otherwise throw it up!”
“It’ll rot in your stomach!”
“With the thoughts that you cannot see, first try swallowing them. Whether or not you can swallow them, your body knows the heart. If it can properly be digested, can it become nutrition? If you cannot do it by yourself, then leave it to a specialist! They might be able to set things right for you.”
“Cooking is love!”
The things enumerated by the text are disturbing, and so I run out of the cramped room.
It’s like I’ve just finished reading a difficult technical book.
I can’t take any more. If it’s going to be this hard, I’m better off not knowing.
The trail of blood follows along as I try to get away from the sight.
“Are you going to run away again?”
“But we’re connected, so there is no escape!”
I avert my eyes from the text.
I crawl along like a newborn baby.
I want to see you.
I want to see your face.
Without you here, who knows what will become of me—