W@K3 4P
That familiar voice, yet it sounds so utterly weary. Wake up? How tedious. Isn't a dream always more beautiful than this reality?
I won't, I won't wake up. Just let me dream. I want to dream, I want to dream, I want to dream.
The flames of this world "hurt so much", the light "hurts so much", tomorrow "hurts so much".
"...Better to be a candle burning out in the wind / Than embers growing cold in the dead of a winter night."
"This author is quite crafty, Akusha-chan," Mr. Rabbit tilted its head. Its glittering, crimson eyes were nothing like the pitch-black, lifeless things I called my own eyeballs. "Standing resilient is merely the surface theme. As you can see, he keeps repeating the words 'other people' with such criticism, as if venting all his frustration onto those who choose to give up."
Then Mr. Rabbit stepped closer, its high-pitched voice suddenly dropping low: "Wasn't it you who dragged me into small talk about these verses in the first place? Why are you yawning like that already? Do I sound that much like a literature teacher?"
Mr. Rabbit burst out laughing: "If that's the case, you must be a professor or a grand scholar by now!"
I broke free from my dreamy state at your question—or more accurately, I had to force myself to open my eyes once more. The surrounding space was still familiar, boring, bored, unfollow-able, redundant, weary, listless, dull, tedious, monotonous, humdrum, bland, mind-numbing, silly, goofy, naive, clueless, gullible, stupid, dumb, foolish, idiotic, brainless, witless, dense, ignorant, tsumaranai, mendokusai, kuso, baka, aho, uzai, saitei: it was still that same suffocating maze, still me with my doubts about my very own existence, still Rabbit Friend, still those mindless flowers painted on the wall, and still your high-pitched voice ringing in my ears.
I looked at Mr. Rabbit . Looked into your glittering eyes, crimson as blood; looked at your playfully tilted head; looked at the pure, 'snow-white' of your fur; looked at your tiny feet; and then, looked at the strange little horn on your forehead.
Does color have a temperature? Emma and Officer Luka would certainly say yes. And right now, so do I, because I can feel just how warm your shade of white is. Perhaps, I am exactly the kind of 'other people' that the author in that poem is mercilessly criticizing. Because at this very moment, I don't want to do anything at all. I just want to kick and scream like a child who lost their candy (Did you take their candy? A reader should just read, don't bully a child like that. Give it back, okay?) and hold Mr. Rabbit close. I want to lie down, I want to close my eyes. "It" doesn't see me, and I don't see it, so surely it—all this pain—will disappear, right? Such a tiny, lazy, and sinful desire of mine.
Hooray, then I should reward myself with a strawberry cake.
"Mr. Rabbit, come here to me."
Mr. Rabbit slowly stepped closer. I squatted down, opening my arms wide to welcome him into my embrace. Lying on my side on the ground, I held him tightly against my chest, burying my chin in the snow-white fur that fit perfectly within my arms, searching for a bit of the "temperature" radiating from him. It was a gentle, floating, beautiful, and illusory warmth, much like moonlight.
My eyes drifted into the distance, watching the boats swimming past... Um, why are there boats here anyway? Whatever, it's not half as absurd as the reason why I still haven't been allowed to fly yet. The sailors on board are wooden puppets, bowing deeply to greet me.
I wonder if they have strawberry cake?
''Oh, my dear Akusha-chan, I already agreed to stop looking for it just so we could chat, but why do you want to just lie right down here now?' you said with a gentle smile. 'You shouldn't take advantage of this little bunny's kindness like that, you know.''
'I'm... sorry.'
I held you tighter, I didn't even know why, as if you would fly away the moment I let go. You and I didn't say another word, letting the silence completely take over the room. Yet, I could still hear a sob, a cry coming from somewhere very close by—strangely close, even closer than whispers in my ear. The distance between me and that sound was perhaps less than zero, even more absurd than the thoughts of the demon who created functions.
[Author's Note: I swear I have no problem with functions]
''Hey Akusha-chan, my hearing is pretty bad, so even if someone were to hold me and cry, I wouldn't even know.''
I opened my eyes, yet it wasn't waking up.
The heavy feeling from earlier was entirely gone, replaced only by a sensation of not being able to feel that I was feeling anything at all; it was strange in its own peculiar way. Looking around, I saw them—the whales.
Right in the middle of that billowing sea of clouds, a giant pod of whales was sleeping—their own peculiar, characteristic vertical sleeping stance.
They just sleep, doing nothing, but why do they look so much like mirrors? Because I see the reflection of my own image cast within them. A pathetic Akusha. The whales expose themselves in the light of the clouds, and the clouds are dyed amber by the sun.
Calls resonated, bearing a frequency that was unusually high compared to whales in the wild. Oh, but I've never actually encountered a whale in the wild to begin with, have I? I've only read accounts in books about their 10 Hz frequency, and I am certain 10 Hz does not sound like this. This must be exactly 5.2 times higher than the 10 Hz specified in those textbooks.
Truly lonely creatures. How pathetic, just like the guy sitting right here, listening to them cry.
We feel pain—so if we could no longer feel anything at all, we would always be happy, wouldn't we? This nameless thing, unseen, unsmelled, unheard, unfelt, untasted, which I am experiencing right now... it is so beautiful, so poetic, and so ethereal that it makes one want to weep.
I suppose this is nothingness, for it holds nothing at all. And if this is indeed nothingness, then it is the most exquisite cotton candy I have ever tasted in my life.
A meadow—I am sitting in a meadow. And in the center, a silver bell chimes to the pulse of the wind. Flanking it on either side stands the figure of a crane, balancing on one leg atop the back of a tortoise.
I have a vague recollection that in certain cultures, this symbol of the crane and tortoise holds immense importance, as if it were an indispensable fragment of their world. But why can I remember nothing now? It is not forgetting—it is more like a fog.
The sound of the wind echoes so clearly; I wish I had a Catherine to keep me company. Oh wait, I have Bunny, don't I? It's just that they aren't here right now.
Dear readers, do you think this is a dream? I certainly do, because it is just too beautiful. Reality is never this beautiful. Absolutely not. But then again, what's the harm in a little lie?
This 'reality'—which is certainly not a dream—is truly beautiful. Aside from those Akushas sleeping up in the sky, there are also three red butterflies.
One small, one medium, one large.
They rest on my hand. It makes me so happy to now have three Catherines keeping me company. I lie down on the grass, letting each gust of wind caress me. And letting go of all that exhaustion and pain, I no longer want to care about them anymore.
We don't do anything. We are happy.
I close my eyes. Usually, time in dreams flows very differently from the outside world—sometimes slower, sometimes faster. But sadly, this is a "reality" that is certainly not a dream, so perhaps I won't get to experience this peace for very long.
But before I could enjoy this sweetness for long, the bell began to ring. Its chime was clear, yet so weary. I don't want to open my eyes. I want to let this darkness embrace me.
But amidst the ringing echoes of the silver bell, I also heard voices calling my name.
I suppose I will take a gamble and open my eyes. I count silently, bracing myself for a moment that is utterly terrifying to me.
"1... 2... 3. Open your eyes!"
I was so reckless to gamble away all the little happiness I had just for a single call. But surely, every good child would answer the call of an adult, right?
Fortunately, what stood before my eyes was not that cruel reality. Instead, it was three brave young girls. One seemed to be roughly my size, another was a head taller than me, and the last one was so tall that I probably only came up to her waist.
Fortunately, what stood before my eyes was not that cruel reality. Instead, it was three brave young girls. One seemed to be about my size, another was a head taller than me, and as for the last one, I probably only came up to her waist.
They truly were brave young girls, for they didn't know what it meant to fear the cold. Although this scenery was dyed in golden sunshine, the chill of November was still there, continuously tearing into me. Freezing needles constantly pierced through my flesh, no matter how long my clothing was.
Looking at the clothes they were wearing made me wonder if black rabbits actually existed in this world. Those large rabbit ears didn't match them at all, because I could catch a glimpse of human-shaped ears peeking out from beneath their silver-and-red hair. So those things must surely be accessories, right?
Their deltoids, trapezius, rotator cuff group, pectoralis major, brachial plexus, subclavian vascular system, ARMPITS, and lymph nodes were so pitiful. They were covered only by a delicate layer of skin beneath the freezing weather. Although I am wearing a coat, unfortunately, I only have a single one, so there is no way I can soothe all the cold enveloping them.
Trousers should have legs, and skirts should have hems. Yet, how pitiful it was that they lacked both. Their white sleeves, neatly rolled, swayed gently in the wind. They were quite slender, almost gaunt. Yet, save for the girl of my own stature, the remaining two—despite their slenderness—were somehow... "fat." It eluded my understanding how two such contradictory adjectives could coexist within a single individual; nonetheless, they harbored an abundance of fat, and they were utilizing it in an entirely impractical manner.
Their abdominal region was entirely unadapted for the purpose of survival: storing excess energy in this area provides the body with the finest equilibrium when moving, fleeing, or hunting. The abdomen houses a multitude of vital organs—the liver, kidneys, stomach, and intestines—yet it lies completely bare, utterly lacking in skeletal support. Visceral fat ought to have enveloped these organs to serve as a shock absorber, to conserve warmth, and to shield them from external physical trauma.
This should have been the most adipose-dense region, yet they reserved that fat store for entirely unrelated and far less efficient functions. Their legs, or more precisely, their thighs, possessed an excess of fat that would surely hinder locomotion or hunting, while leaving the vital organs above utterly unprotected. Most peculiar of all, they bore two immense deposits of fatty tissue situated near their shoulders; yet, from what I could observe, the duties of maternal childcare were hardly a necessity for them at such a stage.
Though life had been neither gentle nor warm to them, they still retained a certain 'taste of innocence' that emanated from their smiles. Then, their gaze fell upon me—eyes that bore an uncanny resemblance to Bunny's. Yet, it was only fitting; they were 'black rabbits,' after all. The three of them approached where I sat, and the girl who stood a head taller than me spoke:
"Hello, Akusha."
Their silhouettes drew closer to me, or was it perhaps myself drifting ever closer to them? I harbored a sensation that this body of mine was more ethereal than ever before, as if I could truly soar among the stars.
Closer. Closer. Closer. Closer. And closer still.
Now, before me were their three sharply defined features, as though they knew how bewildered and weary I was. The girl who stood a head taller than me extended her hand:
"I shall give you a way to resolve your suffering."
"Aren't you going to call him 'junior'?" the smallest girl said, her voice tinged with a hint of teasing.
"J... 'junior'? What does that mean?"
I asked her, but instead of a true answer, I was met only with a smile:
"I only wish to receive a 'yes' or 'no'—any other answer would be cheating!"
I wanted to ask; I wanted to ask about the way to erase the suffering they had just spoken of, to ask why I was their junior, to ask for their names, to ask if they were cold... and I wanted to ask if they could... hold me, just for a little while.
Yet perhaps all my questions now were superfluous compared to her answer. One hesitates only when torn between right and wrong, but now, everything was perfectly clear.
"I want to know the method you spoke of. Or perhaps, should I address you as 'senior' now?"
"Take my hand, my sweet little junior."
Those hands were so pure, akin to the lies of rabbits. What did I just write?
If this were a lie, it was beautiful. If this were the truth, it was beautiful.
I extended my hand, trying to touch the salvation of the angels. But this sensation, this sense of nothingness clung to me relentlessly, trying to say something that these ears of mine could never hear.
The closer the distance drew, the harder it became to extend my hand.
Streaks of black and white flickered incessantly, like a malfunctioning screen.
My hand felt as though jolted by electricity—or rather, it was wracked with pain.
Golden embers of sunlight poured forth without pause.
Yet, a wind began to stir.
And the pain was drawing near its final chapter.
A place of freedom, a field of corn, Where children play from dusk till morn. No fear of being lonely, no lack of glee, For laughter comes so easily to me. I laugh at a name that I left behind, My lovely friend, so sweet and kind.
We're so different from the days gone by, No right or wrong, no blame, no sigh. We each have a role to play in this life, My lovely friend, through joy and strife. But this is where the story should end, I'm so sorry, as the dark descends, For I still have work tomorrow, my friend.
Someone, though mouthless, is screaming at me:
Pain for salvation.
Pain for salvation.
Pain for salvation.
Pain for salvation.
Pain for salvation.
I heard it, yet this agony paled in comparison to the torment of opening my eyes. With a burning heart, with weeping eyes, with hands raw and bleeding, I trusted her for no reason at all. Yet I trusted her—trusted the one who called herself 'senior.'
The golden rays of sunlight are dyeing the sky a color more radiant than ever before. The silver bells are clearer than even the breezes. The crane on the tortoise... remains the same.
And I have, I have, I have, I have, I have, I have, I have, I have, I have, I have, I have, I have, I have, I have, I have, I have, I have, I have, I have, I have, I have, I have, I have, I have, I have. I have opened my eyes.
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I was slapped.
Woke up.
Looked around.
Only the rabbit.
A rabbit certainly couldn't slap me.
I don't know, I don't care.