Chapter IX

Welcome back, old friend. How did the date go? Didn't have one, hmm? Well, I guess I should have known you weren't ready for wife number two. Why not watch some TV? It's been calling for you ever since you left last time, come on, what bad can come from it? It's a great way to relax.

Let's see. Oh, the news, I just love the news. "Shinyo reaches six billion users…" did I say I finished reading, huh. "Yagero Yumi, 'We can no longer control…'," You did it again! Stop switching so fast. I can't keep up. Oooh, cage fighting; the natives have gotten so good at fighting each other recently, haven't they? At least people aren't getting hurt anymore, we can just sit back and watch some good old-fashioned deathmatches. Ah, what's that one's name? The new one, he's amazing: well built, calculating as he works them down, then animalistic for the finish; I don't think I've seen a fight he was in that the opponent wasn't killed, he knows how to satisfy the crowd, that's for sure; give him a few more years and he's a certain hall of famer.

Hey, don't turn off the TV, I didn't get to see anything because SOMEONE kept on switching the channels. You've always been indecisive – at least when it comes to TV – despite how you may seem, you don't accept beliefs that challenge your own, and your own are always changing. What was it your professor always called you: a fascist? He was probably right; but I'm not one to judge, you have your beliefs like I have mine, and we differ a lot, don't we?

By the way, the postman popped by early, you should check your mail, could be someone important, or not – it's usually not, but why not check, for the chance. What's that? An invitation for one of those fencing tournaments, or whatever it's called; some foreign name. You used to love those things, only because you were talented at them, that is, you were never genuinely motivated, were you? You had a rival back then, if I recall, can't quite remember the name, but his resemblance to you was striking; he could have said he was your relative and I'd have to believe him, even being who I am. He was the reason you quitted all those years ago, wasn't he? One loss too many and you retired at a very young age, sixteen, correct? So much potential wasted, all for him to lose in the finals; am I right in saying that he pulled out before the match took place, leaving little you watching as your potential final's opponent is handed the trophy for free. Who knows what kind of life you could be living right now? Maybe a couple awards, respect – you don't have either now, and, quite possibly, never will. What is for sure is that 'they' would envy you. You would love that, wouldn't you? To see their minds, melt as they beg at your feet; to see their eyes streak as they wish for mercy; to see their feet unable to support their guilt. That would have been your ideal life, the superstar you, the you with all he wanted, because he could mutter a few words and the world that he knew would beckon at his feet. Then you lost, and the fear withered away.

And you toss it, crumpled, into the second from the right. You could have shown its creator the body you raised, but instead you follow your syntax and hide your being from the creators. You would be a terrible father, not that you will ever be one that is, you could only exist as a burden on your family, let along as the provider of another. Also, I don't think that creator would want to see the crumpled body you would have left.

Ah yes, food; a vital ingredient for the continuation of life, you must be craving it after all that time in that false world; running from me is draining, isn't it? What have you decided on today, then? The classic I see, instant noodles. You use that microwave like a chef uses an oven, you do know how to mock achievers, don't you; to me it is amusing to see you attempt to look down on those o'so far above you. Even so, they are watching from a more rewarding point of view. Look to your right, you left them there on purpose; look at them, don't hide, look. You cannot bring yourself to look so instead a knife is thrown at the photo, how uncivilised of you. You hit that unnamed boy. Better to hurt the person you don't know rather than the one you do, I suppose. One thing I have always wondered is why it always rains inside when you look at that photo. No specific memories come to mind.

Across the room, your key to escape is crying, just like the TV, yet you attend its needs immediately, why? Why is it so important to you? Batteries seem to be required, just like the TV remote, yet you panic for the headpiece while to this day you use the buttons on the TV as if they never existed. Even being who I am, sometimes I feel as if I don't know you, the 'true' you, the one everyone else sees. Maybe that's why. Every personality you see is in that headpiece, correct? It must be, you haven't spoken to a real friend in months; you haven't had a real friend in years, and if you take family into account, the figure doesn't change.

This headpiece has a lock I see. The code 2504. So, you still care, don't you? Well, isn't that touching? A shame he will never care to know.

Well then, looks like you're off once again to journey in your mind; while you're there, soul searching, could you try something for me, just once; stop searching for a family where there isn't one to find, don't come back just to return, come back and search a bit here, on the other side. Ciao.