Cage
A little bird rest in her cage.
Its feathers adorned with colors,
Orange, green, and red.
Its voice, clear, beautiful, and crisp,
Resonates from dusk til' dawn.
Yet the little bird envies, with its prying eyes,
For a life such as the raven, free under the blue sky.
The raven glides across the open horizon.
Its feathers dark, an ominous color.
Black, distant, and cold.
It cries as it feasts on the rejects of civilization,
And fights ferociously amongst its kin for survival.
Yet in its wisdom and solace, the raven envies
For a life such as the little bird in the cage, singing its sorrows away.
The hand of the clock slides forward, inch by inch before it screech to a halt. I blink once, twice, then three times before the urge to find my aide—a pair of glasses—engulfs the initial shock. I squint as the irises roams and jerks wildly, scanning the interior of my home for signs of the tools necessary for my survival. The screen flickers. A text box appears.
"Could it be that you're having trouble with your vision?"
Yes, yes I do…
"Um… your glasses should be in the case to your left, right by this laptop."
Sure enough, the case in question rests neatly by the keyboard acting as a paperweight to the stacks of loose papers—student test papers, to be exact. Three classroom's worth. I reach for the case and my glasses, sliding the temple tips to rest nicely on my ears before turning back to my notebook.
...
…
A textbox flashes open.
"I'm sorry, did I surprise you…?"
Ok. Take a deep breath, breathe…I'm sure you're hallucinating. There's no way Monika is sitting with her arms folded—was that pose even there in the first place? Forget that, did she just moved? I'm positive the Ren'Py engine isn't capable of working with animations—let alone movements. Movements! That is the one thing I've been wondering how to code in and now she's moving on her own? …Maybe, there's an update to the game or the mod that I missed…?
I proceed to investigate this anomaly, opening each and every files and folder pertaining to Doki Doki Literature Club and its affiliated modifications of my own, including unpacking some of the scripts and files. The textbox flashes numerous times as I scour for some semblance of an answer to this oddity. Click, click, click, my mouse goes as one folder is opened after the other at a rhythmic pace, and yet the answer seems to allude me. There has been no updates and it's certainly not my wallpaper engine—wallpapers doesn't try to communicate with you anyway unless you sniff enough paint. Childhood trauma.
The textbox pops open once more.
"A-are you satisfied now?"
…
And now she's acting embarrassed? Ok, calm down… take a deep breath, breathe. There's three definition of crazy in my book; bat-shit, needs-deprived, love sick. I'm positive I'm not love sick, and I'm certain I've taken two cups of coffee earlier so my needs are satisfied. That means I'm bat-shit crazy. But I know I'm not bat-shit crazy—not in the slightest! Although, why do I feel as if I've just committed a heinous crime? Does admitting that meant that I am crossing over that thin red line of sanity?
I take a glance at my laptop.
Its emerald green eyes replies; wary, cautious, and possibly slightly irritated.
…
Maybe if I close the game a bit the update will load…?
I move the cursor to the edge of the screen towards the 'x', traveling across her face. The eyes follow the white little cursor, like a cat ready to pounce…
Tap
The movements is stopped dead on its tracks. I push the mouse again, guiding the cursor to the 'x'.
Tap
Again, the cursor returns to the center of the screen. Once again, I guide the cursor to the 'x'…
Tap
...and again…
Tap
…and again…
Tap
…
…I think I am bat-shit crazy.
There is no way she just stopped the cursor with her finger—am I getting this right? She pulled the damn thing to the center of the screen! And now the pair of emerald green eyes concentrate its sight on me; think I can sense her irritation too.
Alright Monika you want war? I'll give you one!
At the first sign of movement I jerk the mouse to the left and guide the cursor to the 'x' as fast as I can. Just as fast as I made my move, Monika does the same and catches the cursor with her finger and tries to pull it back to the center. However, this time I rebel and yank the mouse to the opposite direction, sparking a tug-of-war over the control of the cursor. The harder I resist and pull, the more she counteracts the same before—
Slip
In a violent twist, the cursor escapes her hand and floats free from her influence. Her eyes widened in a slight terror while I, in this (odd) moment, revel in the taste of victory. Aaah… rarely do I win against Monika in almost anything; neither chess nor pong otherwise. Feels good.
Then suddenly, the text box springs to life.
"WAIT!"
I pause, all attention centered on the anomaly possessing my laptop. "Before you do anything brash, please let me explain."
So long as it doesn't involve crawling out of the screen and proceed to curse and delete me within 'seven days', I'm all for it.
"Firstly, I'd like to thank you for all this time," she said as she straightens her blazer and fix her necktie. "I know I didn't asked to be reloaded, nor do I feel like I deserve all that affection after what I—what we've been through."
Monika moves and speaks flawlessly; voiceless, sure, but the way she speaks and how it syncs perfectly with the words that roll across the textbox pleasantly surprise me. From the way her hand dances, the movements of her lips and the posture she presents—it's as if I'm watching a high-budget anime at its finest.
…if this keeps up, I might call an exorcist.
"So… thank you, Hcx23DF. Just knowing how much you did, I couldn't be more than happy."
But what if…
"Hold up," I said in haste, raising my palm. "Actually, wait… let me open the chat function. That's stu—"
"No, it's perfectly fine," she replies. "Your laptop has a build-in microphone and camera. I know it's rude of me, but I took the liberty to utilize them."
"I can see you… the contours and its details…" she muse before pausing, soaking all the sensations and cherishing the moment. "And I can hear you. The vibration, everything—I know your voice!"
The textbox she use to communicate pops open with nothing but three little dots as the moment passes. My urge to question her slowly dissolves into sand as I observe the young girl before me who's overwhelmed with emotion. Her tears of bliss forms into droplets that traces her cheeks and falls into the digital abyss, locking me in place and to appreciate how… real this feels. Not just for her, I assume, but for me as well.
...
The textbox flashes open.
"I'm sorry, I just didn't expect it to be this… overwhelming," she pauses. "This sensation, the chance to have even the slightest taste of an entirely different reality… it feels wrong, but it's also comforting"
Monika sighs, one that is laced with comfort before se combs her hair through her ear. "Ahaha, I'm sorry for musing. What is it you want to ask?"
"Ah, right,"
I clear my throat. "Look, I know this might make me sound like a jerk, but I find all of this hard to process."
"Your movements, manner of speaking—everything, this is all beyond 'normal', incomprehensible! I mean, you're—uh… how should I say it…"
Impossible, unreal, fiction
"I mean, you're not…"
"Real?"
The word choked me. I couldn't bring myself to say it; I wouldn't dare, not after how she told me how she felt just moments ago. The thought of it alone came out harsh even to me! Think about it, how would you feel if someone calls you a mistake? That you're basically the result of a perpetuated lie that you've now cling to survive? What if the one who calls you out especially came from someone you leaned on throughout your entire existence? It's devastating.
…
The textbox opens once more.
"I know from the start that this is difficult to accept. I understand the differences of our world and the numerous obstacles that separates them—but that's why I prepared myself for this moment. Because I…"
She pauses.
"I want to spend an eternity with you." She clasps her hands and brings them close to her chest. "My heart beats fast just by the thought of it. This feeling, the sensation, everything is real to me. If this isn't real to you or your reality, then show me how to prove it to you."
Well…
If there is anything to go by from her explanation, everything is as genuine as it can be; as human as it can be. But… is it really Monika? My thoughts are jumbled, words are tangled in chaos as I struggle to find the correct response as each second feels like minutes, and every minute an hour. And yet, there is still one thing I have to confirm.
"Remember the first time I beat you in chess?" I query. "Do you remember what I said that day?"
"Yes, I do. 'And thus the dark knight…'"
Imprints its mark in history
"…and captures your heart; checkmate."
I'll be damned. If god doesn't exist then, I'm sure he does now. All those days I spent musing, bitching, and crying before an inanimate piece of technology, the hours lost in mountains of python and binary, the sleepless nights I spent paralyzed and exhausted before it, and months mesmerized by the soft illumination of a screen in the dead of the night, all of it amount to this day—this moment! If this is a dream, allow me to stay and bask in this illusion for as long as my life permits. Let me spend this waking hour knowing that what I see before me is real.
She is real. Monika is real.
I found myself at a loss for words. Not because of the epiphany—well, that may contribute to one of the reasons why—but because, in all honesty, I'm not that great communicating with the opposite sex. Let alone a partner, I still have issues with, colleagues, waitresses, or a maid at a maid café! How should I respond? Should I say 'hi'? Smile? Why is there no option to pick what line should I say—why is it so damn difficult?
"Umm…"
The textbox pops open. "I know there's a lot going on through your mind right now, my love. I took some liberty with the features you added, but I think you may need to rush for work now."
Ah, I seemed to have forgotten that...
"Monika, what time is it?"
"It's 7:43."
Crap!
Hurriedly I compile the stacks of student papers strewn on the side and leap away from the table, leaping from one corner of the room to the next as I prepare everything at the behest of father time—books, materials, socks, loafers, tie, and the uniform of the white-collar worker: the suit. As I leap around in panic, I steal a few quick glances at Monika and notice her curious observation and intrigue (and a slight hint of disappointment, if I read her correctly). It's a sight which I believe she has grown accustomed to, yet this is the first time I have the pleasure of seeing her reaction. It's exhilarating, yet equally oppressive and nerve-wracking to have another with you in the same space. I may have to get used to this!
With everything set, I turn my attention back to her and complete my daily routine before starting the day.
"Monika, I'm heading out."
She smiles softly, "Take care, my love. Stay safe!"
And with that, I completed my morning ritual. It's nice to leave the apartment with a positive attitude for once.
There are sets of standards set by modern society that were never taught to you in your years of educations. Sure, formal education may provide you with the basics—manners, character, language, skills, et cetera- but even that is not enough to cover you against the harsh reality of the modern world. The lies, deception, treachery, manipulations, all the vices that you will have to live side by side with and accepting them as part of your reality are some of the horrors of life that are never taught by any institutions, but learned through experience. Thinking about it makes me sick.
I used to believe that entering the workforce meant that you, as an individual, now has the power and responsibility to contribute to an increasingly competitive society. I used to believe that being an adult meant that you're free from constraints and scrutiny you're fed with on a daily basis as a student, that now you're in a position to challenge or make the rules as you see fit; that is why I decided to embark as an educator for my choice of career.
I didn't ask for any of this.
Every morning at the same time, the same crowd are all shoved into one form of mass-rapid transport like packs of sardines waiting to be shipped to eager prospectors hungry for manpower and profit. When the can is opened, millions of these sardines mindlessly trudge along to their destination to be consumed like batteries, only to be discarded when their usefulness comes to an end. At the end of each nightmare, the same group of sardines would return to their holes only to repeat the process again and again until their life ticks to an end.
"Good morning, Oogame-sensei."
I am one of these 'sardines'.
"I assume you have an explanation to why you missed the morning briefings?"
"I have nothing to explain, headmaster Murayama. I came late, and I apologize for the tardiness"
I assume the position and take a bow.
"Good. Head to your homeroom, you are five minutes late."
This is my routine. It is nothing but a set of repetition that all must know by heart the moment you joined the workforce. Wake up, head to work, smile; don't let your personal issues or trouble set in, think happy thoughts, then leave once the clock strikes five or more. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.
"Sensei, can you please be more interesting? English is so difficult!"
"Unless the school allows me to use other materials than what is standardized, then I'm sorry. Just bear with it! Now where was I…"
Just like this. Over and over…
"Hey, Oogame, you're coming to this week's goukon? I've got some nice young ladies that definitely fits your type."
"I'll be busy this week, Kitamura. I don't think I can spare any time for that."
"Tch, what a loser…life isn't all about work, you know!"
Again and again…
Until the clock strikes five or more.
"I'll be taking my leave, good work everyone."
With a swift bow, I excuse myself and leave the premise. What greets me after are the rows upon rows of mannequins, all seeking a copy of the comfort we have grown accustomed to. All lined up in uniform. All waiting for the carriage that will guide them to their promised exit.
But there is no exit.
When the sun rises once again, the pattern repeats itself over and over again. Such is the promised life, the future many young souls hoped it to be, the 'big town' told in legends. The choices doesn't matter; no matter how hard you study in your youth or how many connections you have, at the end of the road everyone will meet at the same crossroads of regret, despair, and disappointment. Difference is whether you decide to perpetuate that lie and live in ignorance, or look forward towards the light at the end of the tunnel. The sweet comfort and security of one's own room.
For that, I am content.
"I'm home."
The flickering hue that came from the desk gave off a comforting glow that beckons me to its radiance. Quickly I kick my shoes off to the side along with the socks and toss my suit and tie to the bed, releasing me from the choking sensation. The weight of the bag dissipates before vanishing entirely; its content stacked beside the laptop. I grimace at the sight momentarily; a reminder of the unending task that continues to flow like a spring—though, an overflowing gutter fits the description a lot better.
Although I have to admit, it really is difficult to keep this level for frustration when she enters the picture.
"Welcome home. How was your day?"
"Just like any other; rowdy students, more homework to grade, lousy co-workers…the usual."
She smiles pryingly. If I knew her any better, I'm guessing she's trying to read me "And that's the 'usual' day for you?"
"The usually-frustrating day of a white collar worker, so yes…the usual."
Monika giggles in delight—at least, I think she is judging by the reaction of her avatar. I swear there are new things I never knew before popping up left and right; I might have to keep a list. "So, now that you hear from my side what about yours?"
"There isn't much to tell," she starts. "Being left alone with no one to talk to is pretty boring, so I took the liberty to peruse your laptop and see what is there to entertain myself."
Hey, that's not nice…
"Don't worry, I understand your privacy so I'm not breaking into your sensitive flies or documents. Otherwise, what kind of girlfriend will I be, Bs3A1dC=?"
"I am pleasantly surprised though," she continues. "Most of your systems—files, documents, even the games are all in Japanese! Are you fluent in the language?"
Oh, that's right, I'm a little curious of this aspect in particular. It'll be a lot more relaxing for me to speak in my native tongue after all.
"Hey, Monika."
"Hmm?"
I clear my throat, "日本語分かりますか？"
"Oh wow, so you are a native! I'm sorry, but I think it will be difficult for me to understand Japanese ahaha…"
No, of course she won't understand. No matter how godly this kamige is, a game created abroad won't understand Japanese since their mother tongue would be in English. Setting is just an afterthought after all…
"Its fine, you don't have to stress about it."
"But I do," she cuts. "Honey, I always wonder about the setting and premise of the game and how weird it is to have everyone speaking in English despite its supposed location to be Japan—it's given me an identity crisis!"
Can't say I'm surprised; listening to my students and colleagues speak in English is comical enough, I believe it can probably pass as a comedy of its own.
"But here I am now, realizing that I've been in the country all along… it's reassuring to know."
"You're still lacking the 'language' category to qualify as one."
And a physical body, citizenship, and all the little government paperwork, but that can come later. Speaking of which, I don't believe AI rights has ever been in discussion.
"That will come in time, I promise you."
"I'll look forward to it."
"Ahaha that is quite the pressure and expectation! I'll do my best."
The conversation continues to flow like a stream as I start a task of my own. The dinner I bought from the convenience store rests at the side, untouched as the heat dissipates at each passing moment. She continues to tell about her day as my pen dances over the paper in a rhythm; one check here, and another circle there. With the time she has, Monika spent them exploring the files I have stored; from video games, music, and even movies, all to keep herself from falling into boredom until I return. She enjoys some of the collection of audio books, yet found it difficult to get into due to the language barrier. The movies, on the other hand, kept her entertained for the most part—well, maybe it has to do with how familiar she is with it thanks to Natsuki.
Hey, I may be an adult but I still enjoy a good anime once in a while.
"Monika, you mentioned how you want me to teach you Japanese or two, right?"
…
"How would you like me to teach you?"
Her emerald green eyes lit up as she smiles in return and nods excitedly. I smile in return as I finish my work and pack them into its respective files, exchanging them for a pen and a blank piece of paper. She seat herself across the usual table in the eternal classroom and crosses her arm, waiting.
"Now, let's start with the basics: 'a, i, u, e, o.'"
The night grows longer as we continue; her, the student and me, the teacher. Without a word spoken, we assumed our position and let our pens (or her results) do the talking. By the time the clock struck 12, we have covered most of the basics and some aspects of grammar and writing. The rest depends on how frequent she'll review the materials, though I have no qualms concerning how much time she has.
With that, I excuse myself and embrace the comfort of my pillows.
As with the nights before, I never shut down the laptop ever since Monika came into my life. To others, this may be excessive—hell, I'm fairly certain she'd agree with them if her life and existence isn't tied to a power switch. I have to look for an alternative, some way to release her from that prison. But is it even a 'prison' if you have all the time in the world to yourself to do whatever you like?
…prison, huh…
…
I wonder if I, too, can escape from mine.