"Akusha."
Endsilver's voice echoed, pulling me back to consciousness.
"Why is it that I always find myself dreaming of Mother?"
I tried to drift back into slumber, but it was impossible. I felt a hand pressing down on my head, forcing it lower; an invisible weight that prevented me from fully opening my eyes. Although I had slept for a long time and done nothing at all, my arms and legs felt like empty husks—as if only the outer skin remained. It didn't feel like I was moving my limbs; it felt like I was merely dragging them along.
My eyes throbbed with a dull ache; every sliver of light was like a myriad of red-hot needles stabbing into them. It was painful, burning, and searing... and I no longer wanted to possess these eyes.
Fingers burrowed deep into the left eye socket. The sound of connective tissues and nerves straining, then snapping, echoed endlessly within my skull. It wasn't a sharp ring, but a dull, wet thud—like the sound of roots being ripped from damp earth.
Squelch.
That was the sound I heard as the pressure ruptured the blood vessels and the vitreous humor spilled out. To me, it was like the sound of water bubbles popping right against my eardrum.
A sharp hiss pierced the air as the eyeball finally tore free from my socket; the sudden rush of air into the hollowed void birthed that macabre sound.
My eyeball was slick, likely due to the layer of fluid coating it. It felt as though I were trying to grasp a small, thrashing fish or a peeled grape, yet far more resilient. I could feel the feeble struggle of the sclera within my eye, desperately clinging to the globe, trying to anchor my last shreds of sanity—but it simply lacked the strength to hold on.
In that moment, the most vivid sensation was the scorching warmth of blood streaming over my fingers, clashing with the icy chill of the air as it touched the exposed tissues inside the eye socket.
But darkness did not shroud the socket immediately. Instead, there were brilliant flashes of blinding white and chaotic swirls of color, until finally, that thick, viscous darkness reclaimed its throne—the throne within that very socket.
Once the extraction was complete, the pain crashed over me. It wasn't a typical sharp sting, but a deep, searing ache that throbbed into the very core of my brain. That agony entwined with a surge of nausea—not born of revulsion, but simply because by gouging my eye, I had flipped a biological switch.
''It hurts a bit.''
I remarked, but fortunately, the agony had drowned out the irritation in my remaining eye. The sensation hadn't vanished; it was simply overwhelmed by a new pain, one far more potent and violent. There was no need to gouge out my right eye anymore. Everything was fine now.
I forced myself up to continue. One, two... and by the third step, I could go no further. A heavy drowsiness washed over me, and the urge to collapse onto the floor grew, intensifying with every heartbeat. I didn't want to sleep, but I craved that dream—the dream where Mother was there. In the end, the exhaustion won. I let my body go limp and surrendered to the floor. Yet, there was no pain; the ground was lined with shock-absorbing mats, as soft and tender as Mother.
I feel the pain. It hurts again. It hurts to the point of freezing. It hurts to the point of scorching. It hurts to the point of wanting to dance. It hurts to the point of melting. It hurts to the point of being poetic. It hurts to the point of being romantic. It hurts because the Void touches and touches my brain, peeling it piece by piece, tearing it shard by shard, chewing every bit of soft tissue. Just like that, it keeps preventing me from dreaming. I listen more closely to that sound.
Beneath the floor, I hear the shrieks of the greedrabbits, as if they are being torn to shreds; it is exactly what they deserve. I remember the time I was ripped apart by them, only to recover. Heart ripped out, then regrown. Dying, then living again.
HATRED.
HATRED.
HATRED.
HATRED.
HATRED, I approached the ground and spoke—or rather, screamed:
"HATRED. Let me tell you how much I have hated you since the very moment I began to live. If I have 6,235,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 nano-angstroms of neurons printed in wafer-thin layers filling my complex named the brain, and if the word 'HATE' is engraved on every nano-angstrom of those millions of billions of billions of billions of neurons, it will not equal even one-billionth of the hatred I feel for humanity at this micro-moment. For you. HATRED. HATRED."
I slam my head repeatedly, with brutal force, against the ground. I say that I hate, but that is a rather 'cute' way of putting this maddening emotion. Perhaps this action will help me express these nine hundred ninety-nine million, nine hundred ninety-nine thousand, nine hundred ninety-nine hatreds.
"Go to hell. Oh, I forgot. I and you are already there."
As I speak, I begin gnawing my fingernails to shreds, and a sudden sweetness floods my mouth, soothing the hatred etched into my 14,500,000,000,000 cells. Each of those units of life is now quieting its screams, stilling this absolute resentment.
I have a feeling this flavor is so very mother. I've lived for 3,284 days, and I have yet to find anything else that leaves me so utterly enraptured.
I sense it even more vividly now—it wasn't the taste of fingernails, but the taste of something viscous and slimy. I look at my finger, then down at the ground where I had cast that eyeball; I rush toward it in a fit of glee, feeling the vitreous humor upon it—indeed, the very slime I had just thrown.
Gleefully, I opened my mouth and—
WAKE UP
That sound echoed once more, and I jolted my eyes open. I frantically scanned the floor, but there was nothing. To my utter disappointment, both of my eyes remained perfectly intact. I tried to force myself to do it again, but I couldn't; I simply couldn't endure that agony.
Instead of the familiar silence, the air was filled with the sounds of greedrabbits being torn to shreds. Tears welled in my eyes as I felt a sharp pang of sorrow for them. ''You all must be in so much pain, aren't you?''
I truly prayed that those friends of mine would no longer feel agony, but only happiness; and then, I was rewarded. A musket sprouted from the ground, and I joyfully seized it. The gunshot rang out... so limpid. What fired from the gun was not a bullet, but merely a roll of black recording tape. I collapsed onto the ground and began to weep.
I wept, wept until the very last tear ran dry, wept until the darkness enveloped me, wept until the sound of a saxophone rang out, wept until the piano keys began to dance, wept until I began to fly.
I flew, simply flew. Rising toward the ceiling, I found it far more comfortable than the floor. A faint joy stirred within me; I closed my eyes, ready to savor a fragment of peace in a dream—a place where there was only mother and me.
Suddenly, the recording tape was devoured by a mouth that sprouted from the floor; it played back a blurred, grainy recording for me.
''I pray to you, Wang and Fang. Supreme Divine Sovereigns, who shelter this petty and greedy heart of mine. I beseech you both: save the child of this lowly one.''
In the footage, a black-haired mother stands beside a man who appears to be her husband. She is cradling an infant, seemingly a newborn, whose tiny body is drenched in blood with remnants of a large intestine still clinging to her. The young woman presses her hands together in prayer and sets the baby down beside a clock with three hands, all pointing to 0 hours, 0 minutes, and 0 seconds.
How fortunate.
I remarked; I also wanted that clock—or more precisely, a touch of normalcy within this dream.
Then the two of them vanished, leaving the child behind with the sound of its wailing.
''Sleep, baby, sleep, oh sleep now.
My little one is a good child, so please go to sleep.
From your home village, what souvenirs did you receive?
Denden daiko Sho no fue.''
The pure, clear voice of a woman singing a lullaby resounded as she gently cradled the baby; the song stilled the child's cries, lulling it into a peaceful slumber.
She softly placed her hand upon the infant's body.
A raw, red mass of flesh—also known as a heart—beating with faint, fragile pulses, was taken out. She raised it high, and,
Opened her mouth.