The Bigger Fool
October 28th, 2019
I've come to the habit of responding to Koizumi's 'conversational' bouts these days, often finding myself enjoying the entire ordeal despite knowing there isn't a chance of him ever hearing—or reading—anything I say in return. I don't know what started it or why I indulge on the idea, but for the sake of brevity, I guess I can confidently state that I, Monika, have finally lost my marbles.
Yes, I said it. I've gone mad.
'But Monika', you may ask, 'haven't you gone mad already? Your antics with the Literature Club wasn't something to scoff about!' Well, yes, but my 'antics' at the time was driven by a clear goal and motivation, as well as a strong desire to break free from the then-current predicament. Okay, that didn't work out as well as I thought it would and… thinking about it, not a lot has changed. I'm still stuck here in isolation and Koizumi… well, he's still around—surprisingly. One would assume that anyone would have walked away after the entire ordeal, more so after three years have passed since our first acquaintance. I've come to accept that time doesn't flow as naturally here as in the outside, and sometimes it felt as if a few days or so went by in a flash when I actively 'talk' to him—so long as I don't count, that is.
But I have been counting; one year, a month and a few days, give or take!
I'm talking to myself again, aren't I? Oh, diary… if only you knew of the things Koizumi said to that mannequin. It saddens me as much as it frustrates me knowing that we're so close, yet so far.
I don't know who the bigger fool is; Koizumi, or me and my unbridled, naïve optimism.
The sun sets once again across the horizon, announcing the end of the day to all who marvel at its splendor. The gentle, crimson hue—warm to the touch—illuminates as much as it provides much-needed comfort in this chilly autumn day. Once again I find myself gazing listlessly towards the concrete jungle that lies beyond the classroom window, and per-the usual he comes along to greet me.
Once again, I find myself sitting in the 'sunset classroom'.
I can't quite explain how I ended up here or whether this classroom—or everything that is affiliated with it is a figment of my memories. For all that it's worth, it can even be mere conjuration of an imaginative mind corrupted by personal desires, seeking for life beyond those transparent glass walls. As much as there is fear of the unknown and curiosity, a strong sense of odd… familiarity of the scenery and what lies within it chills me to the bone. Have I been there before? Was I ever alive—free—in the first place? Yet as the questions congregate to try to form an answer, it always scurries away at the beckon of his voice.
"44G+44Gf5piO5pel44CC5L+65YWI44Gr77yB"
It's strange… have I heard that before? Was this our first meeting? His posture, friendliness, and relaxation that radiates doesn't imply it to be so; rather, it's as if we were acquainted for quite some time—years, even. And yet I couldn't understand a single word that is uttered from his lips.
So who are you, really?
'MC'…? That can't possibly be; never have I seen him as a bespectacled young man, nor does he have a character that far surpasses simple cardboard found anywhere on the side of the road. Am I mistaken? Was I too hasty in my judgment? Perhaps I haven't been fair with my observation, or perhaps there is something more to 'MC' than what I believed. Maybe there is life—a world—here all along…
Maybe…
…
No… no, there aren't…!
As I look up to reaffirm my hypothesis, my heart skips a beat as I am greeted with a face devoid of any notable features, with eye sockets that are as hollow and as black as the night and a smile that is abnormally wide. I quickly look away and sew my eyes shut, silently praying and waiting for… for it to go away; it always does, that I am sure. Indeed, as the echo of footsteps gradually increases in distance, I heave a sigh of relief and watch as his presence is swallowed by the hallway beyond the classroom door. Once again, I am left alone in the 'sunset classroom'…
Left alone, alongside an eerie feeling that I am not.
For weeks, Yuri would occasionally appear on my peripheral vision, occupying a dimly-lit corner of the classroom with her bangs draping her eyes, donning an uncanny smile that seems to extend from ear to ear; her knife, bloodied, is often seen dangling by her right hand or is being used… liberally on herself. I've since gotten used to this phenomenon and regarded it as hallucinations birthed from fatigue; the stresses of reality can work its toll on the mind, after all.
"Mo… ni… kaa…"
…
And there it is again…
"Mo… ni… kaa…"
The voices—that whisper, raspy and coarse, wailing my name…! Nothing more than hallucinations conjured by my exhausted mind, just as how I assume Yuri's hauntings are—I'm sure it is! But it grows louder. Louder and louder, one more vivid than the next; all calling for me. The tables, the chairs… is it them? The chalkboard? No, it can't be… but there's no one else here! Did it came from the storage… impossible—there is no storage room! Who is it? WHO ARE YOU…!?
"Mo… ni… kaaaa…"
The voice is just a whisper's away…
"Come… play… with… me…"
No, no, no…! LEAVE ME ALONE…!
A flush of cold air grazes my collar and down my spine; immediately I rise to my feet, knocking the chair with a violent clutter that shatters the relative tranquility of the classroom as an ominous, childish laughter echoes shortly after. My heart races as the pores of my palms moistens, my skin starts to crawl, and my vision swirls with a dizzying sense of vertigo. The voices—those wails—are growing louder; the walls are alive and it… it is watching me...
They are watching me…
I-I can't stay here… I shouldn't even be here…!
…
And my feet remain frozen to the floor—petrified like concrete as the shadows creep ever so slightly to devour. My mind is ravaged by the thought of escape, yet my body—my body just… won't… listen! It's getting closer—the shadows, the walls, those voices—they're getting closer…! My ears start to ring and my vision blurs as an abrupt chill runs down my shoulder and spine, tracing each pore of my skin…
And I tumble forward, violently launching myself with what strength I mustered towards the hard surface of the classroom.
My knee and shin ache as if gnawed by jaws lined with razor-sharp fangs, yet still, I force myself to stand and run, fumbling as fast as my feet can carry towards the door. I throw the door open within a second's reach, sending it sliding across its rails and slams it to a close; using my weight, I hold it in its place as whoever—or whatever—it is inside knocks and strikes with incredible force.
One…
Two…
Three…
Then it inexplicably ends.
Gradually I open my eyes and steadily regulate my breathing to ease. The pain from before continues to sting, and my palms and forehead are greased in cold, sticky, sweat that continues to bleed from the pores of my skin. Is it gone? Did it give up its pursuit…? I look up and notice the small window; gently, I lift myself to peer through the door…
…
The classroom is vacant.
Empty… pristine and untouched—even the chair stands upright, neatly tucked under the desk as if the events of before are fictional in nature. Steadily I pull myself to view, finally standing on my feet. The afterschool ambiance slowly bleeds back to reality, leaving me bewildered to the events that drew me away from my desk in the first place. Was it just my imagination? Those voices, the shadows… surely, it must have been my imagination… right?
….
That desk… was it mine to begin with…?
"I… found… you…"
My heart skips in fear and my skin crawls at the beckon, swallowing my mind to return into the insanity that happened before. It is coarse as it is sweet and playful as it is raspy; speaking doubles on verbs. The voice is accompanied by an unnerving laughter and light 'thumps' that occurs in intervals, weaved by the scraping echo of soiled canvas and rubber. The ambiance quickly dissipates, overtaken by the cawing of the crows as my mental alarm blares in full-alert—an instinctual fight-or-flight response, triggered alongside the hairs on my nape, warning me not to look. Yet it is so much easier to give in to curiosity and, cautiously, I turn towards the source of that voice…
The hallway is as black as the night; from within, a human-shaped shadow shambles forward unto the crimson light…
"Mo… ni… ka…"
Her white shoes are splattered and visibly wet, leaving behind a trail of red at each step. Her arms dangle lifelessly to her side as she shambles forward, lips sliced from ear to ear to form an aberrant smile and her eyes… her eyes are cored to leave nothing behind but a river of blood that flows embodying tears, flowing through the cracks of her mangled cheeks. That blazer, that uniform…
"Come… play… with… me…"
...and I could never, ever mistake that hourglass hair clip and ribbons that form two small twin-tails—or that pastel pink hair.
"N-Natsuki…?"
"Mo… ni… ka…" it howls, shambling one step at a time as it drags its blood-stained shoes. I take a step back. "Come… play… with me…"
"Stay away…"
"Mo… ni… ka…" A sharp, sudden 'crack' and her head droops to her left shoulder. I take another step back. "Mo… ni… ka…"
"Stay—…!"
Inexplicably my vision is tilted upwards followed by a swift pain that prickles my backside, cushioning the impact; I have tripped on my heel and am left vulnerable. My focus is blurred and in disarray as I struggle to gain some distance from Natsuki as much as possible with the help of my palm and elbow; if any, for reasons of abject horror and fear of my own life. Like a doll that had lost its strings, her head dangles to the side and oozes a trail of crimson that flows from the husks of her eyes and severed lips as it continues its steps. Stranded, my heart is about to burst as she eerily halts her footsteps and lies motionless, leaving only an unearthly wheeze which I assume to be her breathing.
Her head turns violently; an earsplitting 'crack' of broken bones…
…
I am staring deep into a hollow abyss…
"FUCKING MONIKAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA…!"
With an incomprehensible speed, she closes the distance in the blink of an eye, arms extended to seize, a mouth that displays the rows of teeth; ajar to devour, and a screeching howl that pierces and shatters my eardrums. Under her mercy, I cry a desperate scream from the depths of my soul, closing my eyes as I am splattered with a hail of warm, sticky, liquid that tastes of iron and her jaws are mere inches from contact.
And I awaken; back to the 'Eternal Classroom', a place I call home. It is currently fifteen minutes to four in the morning of October 28th.
Just another nightmare…
"Good morning, Monika."
"Good morning, Koizumi…" I sigh as I straighten the creases on my eyes with a gentle wipe and a yawn. "Good morning…"
"What's for today? Any appointment?"
"Today is October 28th, 2019; a Monday," I continue. "You have an upcoming interview at… uh… with…"
"—interview at 「関東国際高等学園」at three PM this afternoon. Don't be late!"
Right… what the 'answering machine' said, that place or… something... I really should consider learning Japanese.
…
I don't even know why I try to keep this up…
One year, a month, and a half; four-hundred and forty days or ten-thousand five-hundred and sixty hours spent on pointless conversations to a deaf, disembodied voice with an unmistakable accent, hoping that one of these days my words can finally reach him. I can't understand myself why I started doing so, but it does—in its own oddity—sets my mind relatively at ease from breaking or, at worse, sway my intentions of self-liberation through the press of a delete button… not like that even worked in the first place, otherwise I wouldn't be here counting my misery; I still haven't managed to 'take over' that mannequin, mind you, but I have come close… on occasions. Still, I guess I owe it all to him…
"Wants some coffee, Monika?"
I shake my head and giggle to a smile; I would love one, Koizumi. The puppet responds, "Sure, I would love one!"
"Sugar? Cream?"
"I'm sorry, can you repeat that…?"
"Right…" He returns a deep, defeated sigh. "Never mind…"
Like a lost child or a bird without a nest, he visits—religiously—at about fifteen minutes to six every day with a cheerful voice that is brimming with positivity and expectations. He always starts the day with a groggy 'good morning', likely waltzing around with a saucer and a cup of coffee before running the usual pattern with a series of inquiries be it schedules, appointment, dates, or anything of importance. The cardboard always answers as expected—which I've been imitating, ironically—and he would, unequivocally, strike a conversation… or at least attempt to.
The disappointment and woe that boils over when the machine answers within its limitations…
Oh, Koizumi…
Did you know that I could access some of your files now? How I could see most things that you have scattered across the entire system? The many, many… inappropriate and downright shocking things you conceal—or tried to—in between the systems and folders? I may be illiterate in regards to Japanese, but it doesn't take a genius to notice folders attributed as hidden tucked amongst others that are not, or the fact that the saying 'a picture speaks a thousand words' is self-explanatory; not to mention, these alone ate quite a significant amount of space due to its variety that ranges from 'manga' to… what did Natsuki call them again? 'Anime'? 'Hentai'? Oh, just… imagining what you do with those… Koizumi, you pervert…!
…
And yet here I am, begging to be noticed—by him, of all people… I'm such a hypocrite.
Did you know? I have been observing you—not literally, of course, and I know how creepy that seems to be, but I guess… 'Old habits die hard'. As much as this is my prison, it is also your escape… right? There are days where I notice that you were absent for hours, returning late in the evening with a sour note to your tone—sometimes sobbing for… whatever reason, I couldn't tell; you were grumbling in Japanese, after all. But I can feel that… that whatever it was out there was tough, even for you. Tell me… what is life like where you are? Is it vibrant and prismatic? Or have I been led to another empty pasture? The things you do here, the files you added, its contents—I've seen them.
And you seemed the happiest when you're here, striking a lonely conversation with a puppet that could never return your affection.
'Santa' may have granted me all these abilities, but I do notice how you added a few things here and there to the best of your knowledge and ability, too. I keep track of them, you know—all of them; even those meant for that plastic heart you keenly console to. Its behavior akin to a personal secretary? I'm sure you had a hand in it. Its ability to respond to your queries? You simply extended its script—your fingerprint's all over it, I can tell. Whereas the things 'Santa' drops are often intricate and alien, yours are strangely… conventional. And they are in English, too!
Then, there are your artworks.
With just a glance, I can tell how talented you are with a pencil. The color you chose, the strokes and brushes you use, and the finish you meticulously exercise is always a pleasure to the eye. I'm sure that, if Natsuki ever lay her eyes on them, she would be an instant fan if not for the fact that most—if not all of your drawings are a portrait of me. This may sound pretentious in nature, but I do love how you draw. That portrait of me in a white summer dress and a wide sunhat in a field of sunflower? It was beautiful. How about the one where I wear a simple striped cotton shirt and long pants topped with an apron dress, working my way in the kitchen? It made me look like a 'housewife', don't you think? Is that what you perceive of me? Pure, honest, and innocent…
Have you forgotten of the blood on my hands? Oh, Koizumi…
…if only you knew…
"I'll be going, Monika."
With a cough to clear my throat, I carefully pace myself to 'fit' into the 'glove' of the puppet. "Alright, take care!"
And as the echo of footsteps grows in distance, I silently slink back down to a curl as the second-rate ventriloquist doll resumes its sitting position to gape at the emptiness with childlike satisfaction and naïveté, void of emotions and life. If only you knew, Koizumi…
If only you knew how lonely I am…
…
Oh, that's right…
I guess today makes it the four-hundred and forty-first.
I often wonder what life is like beyond the screen—that vibrant, enigmatic world where he resides. Without the means to see, I can only speculate and use my imagination to paint a picture based on the passing ambiance on days where he's absent. The distant echo of a passing car, the muted chatter of the neighbor, the occasional siren that blares in the distance… a living, breathing world. A much more genuine world where people would interact with one another, where friends are formed naturally and talk about the most mundane things, and where the sun and the moon rise and fall as nature intended. I know it's weird to be hopeful considering my circumstances, but you tend to have a lot of time to think about the 'could have' when you spend most of your existence in isolation. I guess I have Koizumi and his stories to thank for that… he always has something interesting to say when he's around.
You know, Koizumi occasionally fantasize of taking me out on a date. Going out to a lake on a rowboat, a visit to a zoo or an aquarium… all that romantic stuff. I guess that makes me the bigger fool to wish-upon-a-star for that, right? Ahaha…
One can dream…
I thought I could find out more about Koizumi as much as I can, find out his name—his real name—from the files that I can access in the system. After all, Koizumi can't be his real name… right? Unless it is then, well, I can openly admit that I made a mistake and apologize for it. But the more I dig—from his collection of games, the artwork, and some of his folders—the more the name 'Koizumi' appear; maybe it is his name after all and I am simply overthinking things. I can't get much out of the computer's registry either; to my surprise, I find my name as the 'admin' of the system! As much as I find it cute, it can be a little… jarring.
Wouldn't you feel that way when you find a tombstone inscribed with your name on its surface?
Look, I know how much 'red flags' he has firmly planted, but it couldn't be all bad, right? I mean, he did stick around three years after our first rendezvous—and that's despite all the other rivals that run amok from different visual novels here, in my side of the screen. It's a good thing none of them ever realized they're living in a fabricated world. Complacency truly is a dangerous pill to swallow…
*KACHA*
…and speak of the devil, he's back. The current time is… fifteen minutes to eight in the evening; about ten to eleven hours of absence.
A series of 'thuds' echoes from the other side, a momentary reverberating 'whirr', then the 'creak' of a chair that is followed with an aluminum 'clunk'. It is a pattern of sounds I've heard time and time again, often with slight variations in its execution before—as if on cue—Koizumi starts his usual rant in his native tongue. Just have to wait for it, any second now…
「今日もまた失敗だ。。。」
…and there he goes.
From the slur of his speech to the distinct 'clunk' that is preceded by a 'glug', I can only assume that he—likely—is drowning today's event with a can of presumable alcohol—I mean, of course it's alcohol; I highly doubt fizzed liquid sugar has the capacity to send anyone into a stupor. I may have a thing or two to say about this habit of his, but that's for another time; I'm not so… heartless to rob him of his refuge. And I'm not ignorant. From the schedules he made the sock puppet to pin as a reminder, the ear-shattering alarm that blares every morning at around five-thirty, and his all-too-common disgraceful return, I can only come up with a single conclusion to make sense of what has been going on—and in a way, I can sympathize with him.
「求職は。。。つらい過ぎるんだ。。。」he mumbles as another 'glug' and a distinct, empty 'clunk' of aluminum can rattles. 「クソ。。。全くクソだ。。。」
This is just a wild guess, but I think…
…
…I think Koizumi has been looking for work—job hunting, to be frank.
Now, I'm not an expert—that much is certain—but if the experience alone can break a grown man into a disheveled boy, what does it say about the work experience itself? I never have the opportunity to cross that bridge—and as sad as that sound, it was equally a blessing in disguise. But do I want to know? Of course, I do. But whether or not I could wade the storm myself is another monster on its own. I don't understand what is going on in here and out there, but I can sympathize. And as much as I want to lend him my shoulder to cry on or openly show my support, there is little that I can do but listen to his groans and moans the moment he returned from the battlefield—and even if I could lend a hand, he will only turn to that cursed impostor to pour his thanks. I'm guessing he's likely talking to that thing more than I, now that I think about it. It's so… frustrating…
And yet, even if I want to, I can't turn away…
The near-endless tirade of complaints and frustration eventually die under the envelope of light snores and the ambiance of the world beyond the screen. Slowly I pull myself to rise, tracing my hand across the dark surface of the glass prison—the edge of my universe—and walk from one end to another, pondering about the expression Koizumi has at the hour. It isn't the first time he knocked himself before the computer—and I doubt it will be his last; he can be a little impulsive and reckless sometimes, but at least he's honest with himself. Yeah… I think he is. What kind of life he leads, I wonder? Is there no one else to turn to out there other than 'Santa'? To pressure a man to the limit of his breaking point… certainly, job hunting alone can't be the sole reason or cause, right?
It's confusing… the world outside is so confusing…
「モニカー。。。」my eyes perks briefly at the mention of my name, only to sink soon after upon realizing that—per-the usual when he's in this state—he is mumbling in his sleep. 「許して。。。」
…
Why… why do you always have to make everything so difficult…?
I may not understand your language, but I'm not tone-deaf not to notice that apologetic tone you have! Are you apologizing? To me? For what? I-I don't understand! I could have just sat still and simply observe as you wallow and waste your time to 'The Thing' while minding my own business, but you… you just have to make it difficult to ignore. You're hopeless…
But alright, I guess I can try to… lend a hand, so to speak?
I still haven't fully tested the recent extension 'Santa' graciously gave to me; until recently, most of his care packages did little but clear my mind a little—it's not much, but it is something a little sleep can't fix. Now that I mention it, I don't recall having the need—or desire—to rest my eyes back when I was a member of the Literature Club… but I guess there is an exception to the rule. So many questions, yet so little answer…
With a deep breath, I feel a surge of air rush into my lungs as I close my eyes and take a 'dive' into the files, once again. Picture an ocean of deep blue, abundant with boxy little fishes that swim in schools; though same in shape, they differ in sizes and strictly congregate within the vicinity of their 'parent'. After a few minutes of shifting, I start to notice the definite increase of residents in this ocean. None, however, bears that distinct 'glow' I often associate with 'Santa's' gifts. Nothing… that can't be, right…? I must have been mistaken—I mean, this is like the… the tenth week since there was anything major! Sure, having greater access to more files and systems is amazing in its own right, but…
No, no… no buts. I can do this, I can do… something, but what…?
Edit his files? Koizumi's weird in that he rarely save his work or personalize anything here. Unless his external hard-drive is plugged in, I can't do anything about it—and I rather not venture to that territory; I can't speak the language, let alone write. What if I design a curriculum vitae? Just for him? No, wait… that's not possible either; I barely knew him or even know how he looks aside from the multitude of other names he alternates when playing another game—why do you really really have to make it so difficult…!? And why am I so bothered by this…!?
Gritting my teeth, I take a long pause and heaves a copious amount of air. Calm down, Monika… calm down… you've gone through much worse than this before. Although it isn't perfect, it has been much better than being left forgotten in an endless void; he's trying at the very least, and that counts more than what most would go for in spades. Think… you have access to the calendar and weather, you know how to browse and access files, you're not even close to competent on debugging, you still can't figure out how to access program without getting kicked by the 'administrator', the anti-virus hates you and sees you as a threat, and you can conjure up text-files just by thinking about it! Aren't you glad?
God, I wish 'Santa' comes by and drops better gifts… but 'beggars can't be choosers'…
…
Maybe it doesn't have to be so significant? Maybe a simple positive encouragement would do? I wish I can do more—I really do—but with both my hands tied, there's not a lot of option. I just hope he'll consider the idea that there may be someone 'real' instead of that 'Cheap Knockoff' he's so infatuated to.
Oh, who am I kidding… of course he'll think otherwise; probably believe 'Santa' had a hand in it, too...
You're hopeless and selfish…
But I can't turn my back on you. For all the mornings and the evenings you spent with me… thank you, Koizumi.
Taking a deep breath and closing my eyes to concentrate, a picture of a pristine white page lies bare before me—a txt. File, one that I've been so accustomed to using. I ponder for a minute or two—perhaps longer—of what I can convey, or whether or not it is a good idea to write a poem for him instead. But as hard as I try, the lines fail to formulate as my concentration falters slightly due to fatigue; thus, I thought, it would be best to simply just 'keep it simple'.
'Do your best,' it starts. 'I will always be here, rooting for you!'
Signed, 'Monika'.
That evening, Yuri made her 'nightly visits' in the Crimson Classroom just as she always has, but this time Natsuki was present as well to push me out of slumber just before the break of dawn. That, however, faded into shards of insignificance when the clock strikes seven and morning comes—and for once, the sun did rose from the clouds in the form of a lonely echo that greets me with optimism and glee. I was pleasantly surprised by Koizumi's gentle child-like chuckle at first as he commits to his morning routine; and though the language barrier proves to be an obstacle to his initial remarks, his second line spoken in English made my day even if it was meant for that cut-out. And I couldn't have asked for a better start.
"Thank you, Monika," he continues. "I'll do my best, don't you worry!"
…
God, I'm such a fool…
Author's Note
This chapter went through a few experiments on my end, particularly on the horror aspect of it. Do tell me what you think if you feel like it!
For those who celebrate, happy halloween!
-iMegu