Suddenly, I feel something very strange.
Before I realize it, I’ve fallen into a deep sleep. My consciousness is gradually swallowed up by the depths of darkness, my sense of comfort dyed in nothingness. I don’t want to think anymore. I don’t want to feel anymore. I crave the stillness of death. Even so.
It’s like when that kindly doctor slowly lowered the lights, placing me in the dark, into the depths of my consciousness. I sense something, like sensing God. With a sixth sense. No good. At this rate, I won’t be able to sleep. Instinct, the collective unconsciousness, cries out.
As if rising from the depths of the ocean, I awaken.
I regain my consciousness. Regain myself.
I react to the stimulus.
There is a sound. It’s shrill, like a siren. Like when some abnormal situation has taken place. Is this not the end then? Swallowed up in darkness, returned to nothing, isn’t that a fine ending too?
I just want to be left alone. No. I just want to be at peace, to lie in my bed. I don’t want to feel anything else. I don’t want to think. I don’t want to feel any further stimulation.
I’ve bled dry, cried myself out, worn myself down.
However, a sound with the timbre of a siren or a shrieking alarm clock grows louder, as if trying to prod me along.
Like the blaring of an alarm. The continuation of the sound must mean that there are things still undone. Like it’s too early to go to sleep, let consciousness slip away, and stop thinking.
I reluctantly sit up.
I rub my eyes, yawn, and stretch.
I look forward.
At this rate, I can’t go to sleep.
I throw off the comforter and get out of bed.
It seems like some major crisis is taking place. In sync with the siren, a bright red light, seemingly to warn of something, is blinking on and off. It’s like someone is sounding an evacuation warning. At the very least, something bad is happening.
This is no time to be sleeping.
Like pain itself visualized, that bright red light switches on and off with a brilliant flash. I become anxious and glance about my surroundings. My vision is unclear. The tremors are so great, I cannot stay standing. Whether the spaceship’s erratic movement is to blame for my not being able to stand or not, I slip out into the room with the piano.
There, the siren’s wail echoes on.
In that tiny room, that alien-like man who seems to be my archetype, or perhaps my shadow, is making a panicked commotion. He’s rushing about. Even though an archetype should be a symbol of peace and calm. What is with this pitiful being?
No matter how much wisdom or brute strength he has, it’s of no use. I get the feeling that the man is in a situation that nothing can be done about. All he can do is panic.
I’m dumbfounded.
I wonder what’s happening.
It’s enough of a tremor that it could shatter everything, including the dreams. The spaceship seems to be in the midst of falling. The hull ends up diagonal, then drops with a violent force.
Gravity seizes my body, leaving me unable to stand and causing my body to topple over.
Amidst the major shock, the alien-like Sensei collapses, his entire body hitting the piano.
It makes a sound I can’t comprehend.
How useless, my shadow. Shadows have no mass, that’s why they pose no actual threat once you turn away. It seems that’s the kind of metaphor he embodies. My breathing is disrupted, I can’t calm down, all I can do is pull myself together.
There’s a huge impact.
A loud sound.
The spaceship must have crash-landed somewhere. I grasp this, as I have something of an overhead view. The spaceship has made a lively impact on a desolate planet. We’ve smashed into the ground, been crushed, and warped.
The rather firm spaceship was not broken up into pieces on impact though. I float in the air, bouncing between the ceiling and the floor, everything getting all mixed up. It feels like I could puke up all my insides. So much so that I’m surprised I’m not dead.
Finally, the spaceship stops.
The planet’s surface has things resembling gravestones sticking out of it.
I can tell from looking out the window.
The spaceship has made an emergency landing on this vast, dead planet. There’s nothing moving outside the window, yet the aftershocks from the crash cause us to shake.
I groan as I sit up. My whole body is tossed here and there, my blood flows out, and my bones feel as if they might break. It doesn’t hurt, it doesn’t hurt, it doesn’t hurt... I tell myself over and over like always. I have to endure it.
Though people tell me it’s not good to hold it in. You have to face pain and shock, process them, do all that you can to make that happen and be proactive. Maybe that’s what we call courage. Such an unbelievable impetus is preparation for battle itself.
I move the alien doubled over in the floor aside with my foot and head for what looks like the spaceship’s exit.
That alien and anything mysterious have no practical use. Escaping into daydreams is futile. My arms and legs feel like they will be torn apart, my eyes squished, if I don’t face the world.
There are steps leading outside.
I carefully descend the steps, not wanting to make the slightest mistake.
I leave the spaceship, that place that felt as comforting and safe as an egg.
Outside seems to be a barren wasteland, devoid of hope, just as it appeared from the window of the ship. There’s nothing that looks useful, resembles a landmark, nothing. It’s almost all desert. There are just rocks scattered everywhere... It’s all barren earth.
There’s something like a road before me. I follow it. Step by step, I gain courage. I step onto it. I walk along it. The ground is unsteady, it feels like if I get careless, I could fall. There doesn’t seem to be a destination as far as the eye can see, and walking on and on with no goal is torturous.
But I have no choice but to proceed down the road.
The spaceship won’t move anymore.
So I walk.
Maybe that’s what it means to live.
Walking through a wasteland alone, with no guarantees.
It’s the same for everyone, and I’m no exception. I’ve been running away this whole time, but that kind of naïveté is unforgivable now. That’s the feeling that I get. I walk along, like a martyr.
A divine music note rings out.
It’s not unpleasant.
It’s like a neural drug that softens pain and makes one feel better. I take it as encouragement and traverse the never-ending path.
I can’t find a nearby road. There are no doors, nor conveniences like teleportation. There’s no one to take my hand and guide me either. I just walk on. Alone. On and on ahead.
In order to live.
I breathe, gaze ahead, step forward.
That’s all that I can do.
Until I experience this agony and move on, I won’t know what awaits me. There might be nothing. I might become exhausted, collapse, and let it end there.
The road gradually slopes, finally becoming steep.
No matter how I think about it, according to the laws of gravity, this hill is on an angle that shouldn’t exist and I should be falling backwards. Yet, somehow, I stand firm and walk on. I wipe away the sweat and, wheezing, continue this torturous labor. This labor of walking, of living.
I proceed steadily.
The scenery changes.
I can see the end.