After finding out that the building I had woken up in was just one of the tenant buildings for Sector 8, I walked along the crowded streets of Tokyo. It always seemed to be nighttime. I never got to enjoy the day. The day was like peace for me. Although I have no preferences as to day and night, the sun on my face is like an Advil for a headache.
I turned at the corner and crossed the street into a park. The grass was dirty and trash littered the sidewalk like snow during a blizzard. This city is falling apart; this city…my home; my inhabitants; my friend.
People, oblivious people, passed by me on the streets and looked as if nothing in the world were wrong. I had an urge to scream at them for ruining the only place they would ever see for their entire pathetic little lives. Humans are so ignorant. "Ignorance is bliss," said that poet. I sneered. What bullshit. Ignorance is a pathetic way of blocking out the cold truth, which sits in everyone's mind waiting to be discovered. And when discovered, the human will react coldly: denying it and pushing it to the back of their mind only to forget about it and move on. A weak way of dealing with reality!
I walked on and gazed at a lake as if I had never seen one before. Lake's are interesting things. They remind me of blood. During WWIII, there was a lake of blood. I remember even now, how I stood out during sunset and stared at the banks of the blood washed lake. The wind blew on my face and sent stray hairs going everywhere. I stepped into the blood and washed my naked body in the souls of the dead. I dirtied my metallic body…with the blood of the fallen. The metallic taste on my tongue gave me relief, as it does now. The red liquid caressed my skin and welcomed me like the darkness. It embraced me like a mother would a child. And I loved it. I loved every drop that touched my skin. I felt like I was a God. It felt as if the blood symbolized all the lives that I had in the palm of my hand: all the lives that I could crush in the palm of my hand. I had laughed and smiled with pure joy. But now, I think of the lives that the lake had taken to become red. Red: the color of passion. The lake, it had a yearning, a passion to become red. And the humans had succumbed to its passion. The humans had succumbed to their fear of death: no, not their fear of death. But their fear of what comes after death. Humans are not afraid of death literally; they are afraid of what might come after death. Heaven; Hell; Neither…But if neither, then what? Ah, one of the many unsolved questions. Human are made up of molecules, they can't just disappear. Those molecules get soaked into the ground after leaving the human body. Then what? Then neurons in a human head shut down when the heart stops, but does that mean that all consciousness is lost? "Cogito, ergo sum." I think; therefore I am. Does that apply to the human consciousness or only to the human's consciousness of being aware of being alive?
As I walked around the lake I closed my eyes and smiled slightly, humming a slow melodic tune I had heard long, long ago. The tune came deep and rich from my non-existent heart. Almost like singing the mournful ballad of a requiescere to honor that blood. Almost…
