Interlude 5
For Whose Sake?
I stand alone in a bleached white void. Shibuya has melted around me and all is still. You, too, begin to fade, our mingling blood sliding down to our elbows and pooling on the ground, a beautiful rose against stark, blinding brightness. Soon, like the city, you are gone. I do not know what to feel. I do not feel anything, except the heat of the blood that has snaked its way down my arm. From it, something rises. It is me. But it is not me. It is ethereal, graceful, a body of swirling reds and blacks and greys. It hovers before me like a spirit whilst it rises from the womb my wound has birthed. When it finally opens its eyes to greet me, there is nothing behind them. It is wonderful. It is terrifying. It is myself, in complete totality. And still I feel nothing.
"I've waited a long time to meet you," it mocks, in my voice. I do not respond because it does not anger me. "Do you even know who I am?"
"I do," I respond, "But I couldn't answer you." The figure in front of me raises a misty eyebrow and gives me a look somewhere between a smug smirk and a scowl.
"Well, that's disappointing. I thought you'd recognise your own face, you vain asshat." Its words mean nothing. "No response?" It asks me, almost curious.
"I don't know what to say." I tell me.
"Hasn't that been the case for a long time?" It says, approaching me with purposeful steps, no longer hovering off the ground. "Look into my eyes. What do you see?" I stare deep into my own eyes, but there's no life in them at all.
"My eyes are like yours," It assures me. "So what do you see?" It asks yet again.
"Nothing." I respond.
"And when I mock you, and belittle you, and tell you how worthless you are, what do you feel?" The phantom dances around me, gleefully whispering the question into my ear.
"Nothing." I respond.
"Do you feel that? That void in your mind. That lack of anger in your chest as someone spits on you. The lack of joy you feel when things go your way. Every waking moment spent in limbo. That nothingness. That's who we are." It tries to jab ill-defined fingers into my chest as it tells me this. Enunciating each word. I still don't feel anything, and it slowly fades away.
I can hear the blood from my fingers still dripping onto the floor. It has dried on my arm and feels uncomfortable when I try to move it. Or, I think it does. I can't really tell what discomfort feels like. I begin to wonder how that me formed. So I walk towards the pool of blood, kneel and thrust my head into it. I suppose I am not thinking straight. My heard finds itself submerged, however, and I open my eyes to stare at what is underwater. It is the below as above. A void. Stark white, even through the red liquid. I ask myself if I am even in any liquid at all. So I breathe in and instantly feel my mouth filled with the horrible, overwhelming taste of bitter, rusted metal and a harsh, acidic taste. I quickly bring my head back up to the surface and begin spitting out blood, lots of blood, more blood than I had swallowed. Pain wracks my body, returns to my exposed fingers, rushing heightened emotion and feelings I had not felt since the city had faded away. I feel nausea and discomfort at the globs of red I am coughing up in staccato breaths onto the floor. I feel shame at what the figure approximating had said before. I feel fear that this bizarre dream will not end. Slowly, the blood ceases flowing from my mouth and I stand up, dazed and out of breath. Everything hurts and I can feel my closed eyes becoming dry and crusty from the layer of crimson that covers my face rapidly drying. I wipe down some of it with my good hand and open my eyes. Before me stands myself, flesh and bone this time. I think he is attempting to look confused, but I know it is only an attempt because I know he feels nothing. I turn away from him and choose to wake up.