Shi began holding me, holding me close to her chest, even though I was a little bit afraid of this hug (Even though I don't know the name of this pain, a pain I still feel right now, as if it has never left my side), yet that embrace was somehow so, so soft.
So, so soft, just like my mom. Are all women so, so soft?
Then she began to loosen her embrace a bit, as if afraid of hurting me (once again). She asked:
"What are you doing, Akusha-chan?"
I answered hesitantly, trying to think of a reason for wanting to slit my throat and die earlier (actually, I still want to right now).
"I think... maybe... I'm just wandering around, I guess. Well, I'm not really sure myself."
"Akusha-chan! Where are you?"
It was Vassago calling out. But I didn't want to answer; a sliver of guilt was creeping into me. It choked up my throat, leaving me unable to make a sound. Something bewildering welled up inside my heart—bewildering because his words were still filled with a tenderness that shouldn't have been there.
I don't know anymore. Should I cry, should I feel guilty, should I feel remorse, should I feel humiliated, or should I feel uneasy? Because all these emotions—whether in the past, right now, or in the future—are so tangled; they are a what-is-it kind of thing that I just can't understand. Something beyond reason, yet so fragile.
Even all these rambling sentences you've just heard contain nothing at all—neither reason nor emotion. It isn't positive, isn't negative, isn't a decimal, isn't a composite number, nor a prime. Once again, it's far too chaotic, so I have no choice but to call it by the pronoun 'that what-is-it'.
Though calling it that feels a bit disrespectful, doesn't it? Should I call them 'What-is-it-chan', I wonder? Perhaps they're older than me, since this turmoil has existed for ages. Yet I feel like they're so deeply familiar to me, almost like a kindred spirit.
"What's wrong?"
"Maybe I'm okay... I guess."
Shi didn't reply; she just gently covered my eyes.
Even though my feet didn't move, "But if Humbert Humbert had a paradise of his own (a heaven with a sky tinged with the colors of hell), then surely I can have a 'Paradise' of my own too, right? ... Right?I felt the floor beneath them grow a little warmer, as if it were no longer cold concrete, but a warm, plush rug.
Then light seeped into my eyes once more. I was sitting in a kitchen where pink was the main color. I sat on a wooden chair.
I remember this kitchen so clearly, remember so clearly the pain it's hiding away. Falling into an illusion yet again isn't pleasant in the slightest.
There are no doors at all, only a few doorframes, but looking outside, there is only a blinding light. It feels as though this place is drifting in what ordinary people call 'Nothingness'. Or perhaps people would also call this 'Heaven'.
But if Humbert Humbert had a paradise of his own (a heaven with a sky tinged with the colors of hell), then surely I can have a 'Paradise' of my own too, right? ... Right?
After all, both are just as empty.
Time is passing so slowly (I hope it's moving, or at least exists in this place).
Are you readers wondering what's happening among all these characters that author guy is writing? Don't worry, so am I
More than half a chapter in, nearly seven hundred words, and this story is still going nowhere. I have no goal left (the author hasn't thought of one yet). What should I do now to make things less boring? When all I can do is wait, and wait. Perhaps waiting is happiness (someone said so, and I hope that's true). But why do I only feel such dullness?
Keeping me company in this dull loneliness is only the ticking of Clock-chan. She doesn't have any hour, minute, or second hands at all. In the world of clocks, would she be considered someone incomplete, I wonder?
Should I love her more? Surely, I should love her more.