How many times have you worried about your problems?Everyone has them—some more than others—but they are always there.
Even this itch on my nose, so irritating, nothing but oppressive.This constant feeling of suffocation—there is no oxygen, no doctor who can lift the weight from my chest.There is oxygen outside of me, but why am I drowning?
The cold floor beneath my feet is nothing more than the wheeze of my fevered body.I can only inhale half of the damp wood in the room. It is always so hateful.These comforts, so falsely soothing, like breathing through my pores.
Just tell me I'm crazy. I want to hear a real voice.I want to know if this wooden room produces an echo—not the one in my mind, that one I'm used to.
Today, tomorrow, the day after. So many sensations—only sensations.They are what allow my flesh to pant and my mind to deceive itself.Again and again it can only continue with its savage attempts; it refuses to lose itself in this agony.It has no choice but to stare straight ahead, like a statue.
The pain in his back, ruined by his hunched posture.He could no longer feel his hands—how he wished he could clean them.His eyes fixed on the being he cradled, his attention narrowed to the baby in front of him.Now all he could hear were those short answers, offered as comfort.
—John, do you remember my name?
—Yes.
—John, what does the moon look like?
—Bright.
—I haven't been able to move for some time. How long has it been, John?
—…
How exhausting those answers were becoming.In his desperation, he pressed harder against his fear of silence.
—John, will I ever see the moon again?
—Maybe.
After years of this, his mind—upon reaching the limit of interaction—rebounded into itself.His eyes drifted into memory.
Are you hungry?
In front of me, a sharp voice held out a piece of bread.It had been a long time since I'd received a response.The weight in my arms loosened. My gaze only reached the neck.
Is it your little brother?
My arms tightened their grip.
Will you give him to me?
I think I answered, but I don't remember what I said.
…
My head, by reflex, tried to grasp the figure directly.A woman—happiness resting on her lips—extended her arms.The world blurred.
Now I was lying on the damp floor.My arms still held weight; my eyes made sure nothing was lost.A small head with barely-there hair. That comforted me.
Men, women—whoever approached me—I never saw them again.I had to hide, and try to keep anyone else from coming close.
Sometimes I stayed to watch the people passing through the streets.It was like watching small puddles absorbing the life of the ground,mixing with one another, disappearing under the heat of the sky.
I wanted to know what they see, feel, and smell.To know how different we are.
I don't know how much time passed. In the end, I always grew tired of watching and went to look for somewhere to sleep.
Days passed. Weeks. Months. Years.I'm really not sure.
One night, under a full moon, it happened.
—How much longer will you carry me?
I had never felt such cold.In that moment I wanted to run, but I didn't know where that sense of alarm came from.My body seemed to melt and scatter across the ground.
When my mind regained control, I noticed the absence of weight in my arms.I stood upright. An immediate urgency took hold of me.
—I am standing before you, small living being.
My bones felt like ice when I saw him.
—Brother?
In that moment, everything crystallized.
—Your mind refuses to release that memory, small living being.
The crackling began.The deep navy blue of the moon that fogged the room evaporated.The cabin filled with opposing lights.
Orange began to burn the space, claiming ground.
—Everything dissolves, Saimon.
As the room was consumed, orange rapidly covered Saimon.Desperately, blue tried to splash against the orange.
—Honestly, I pity you.
—You want to keep fighting, even now.
On his frozen lips, a smile melted.
—Among infinite possibilities, you were bound to me.
The orange began to slow its spread.The smile evaporated.
—Even now, your mind—limited as it is—imprisons my existence.
—Perhaps you achieved your purpose.
—At this point in our existences, I cannot dissolve you from the world.
—I think the world wouldn't allow it.
His gaze never left Saimon's eyes.
—So I believe.
The orange stopped. Small drops of blue still lingered in Saimon's eyes.
—This will be my insurance, Saimon.
The tiny beacons dancing within the sockets of that small skull began to shine.At that moment, the baby opened his arms, cradling a small glowing sphere.
—I don't want to know what would happen if you ceased to exist.
Small fluorescent circles of many colors spun and grew in the darkness of the sphere—a spectacle, like tiny marbles on a black cloth.
—I think this is enough.
The expression lost intensity; his hands pressed with less intent.
—I hope you no longer interfere, small living being.
He crushed the sphere.
—I hope that—
His words drowned.He closed his eyes; the phrase simply volatilized.
His small hand rose to the unmoving face of his brother, fanning his cheek.He opened his sockets; his gaze froze.A gurgle echoed through the room.
—Goodbye.
The small drop of blue expanded.Clarity followed.Then the vibration within his being—the sensation of separation beginning in his mind.The waters flowed again.
—Where am I?
The landscapes faded.With no time to process, the pain arrived.
A repulsive sensation, as if a mosquito claimed him as its home—his brain as its bathroom—entering through the front door, heading straight for the center of thought and filth.Impossible to remove, he tried, but with no hands to obey or head to save.
The crackling roar—the sound turned into pain, and pain into muffled screams.The omniscient white exploded like a balloon,spreading beyond Saimon, taking shape—reliefs upon nothingness.
They burst like dust; the puddle split into particles and more puddles.
Like a newborn, Saimon crawled on the floor, his eyes barely able to see:shapes, light, and the cold sensation of fingers against earth.
His brain went on alert.His vision focused.
—John!?
In desperation, he forced his limbs.He tried to stand.His mind could only feel the gurgling.
—John!?
He fell.Dry, crackling with anguish.
Until—
—Refreshing.
He sensed an irregularity.His being fell silent.His gaze lifted in frenzy.
—This…
The gatekeeper charged with receiving him appeared.Radiant in its magnificence.
His body flowed into a sea of shining fish.It was the moon.
—Beautiful.
He felt it—the resurgence of the current.He felt his thoughts begin to flow.The flow gave rise to questions.
His gaze moved, searching for explanation.He looked at his feet, trapped in undergrowth.He turned—three enormous steaming mountains, covered in life.
The estuary spilled into his mouth.
—Where am I?