That Girl and This Vision

I forced my eyes open, escaping a nightmare darker than my own life. The intense beams of light that greeted me overwhelmed my senses, and it took a moment to adjust. 

"An unfamiliar ceiling," I muttered when my eyes adapted to the new scenery. After a bit of looking here and there, I suddenly realized that I had been carried to the school infirmary after losing consciousness. Since it was my first time being there, I didn't recognize it instantly, however, the lingering smell of chlorine was what gave it off. 

I peeked from the curtains shielding my bed to see if someone other than me was lurking in the room. "...Ah, there's no one," I let these words slip out of my mouth. 

After thinking it over for a bit, I decided to just stay put on the bed. There really wasn't anything urgent that needed my attention, if I was right.

I lay on the soft bed, feeling the sharp discomfort it whispered into my body.

"I hope we won the tournament," I whispered, trying to assure myself that I had done nothing wrong by being distracted. Tears streamed down my face like an avalanche washing away my fragile attempts at composure.

"I can't take this anymore." 

"I can't act strong anymore."

  "I can't accept this reality." 

"I can't be illusioned by my own strength."

My whimpers echoed across the empty room, despite being too minimal to be noticed. 

Isn't it ironic? A few moments back, I was griping about my teammates' incompetence, and now here I am, whining meaninglessly. 

"Um... lay off from soaking the bed with your salty tears, plus I bet it's completely useless now as your team won, regardless of you becoming completely useless, that is." I heard these words—a personal attack to such an extent that they became saving words for me, from my left. It was the same boy who was standing outside the court and was also dead.

So, they won, huh? That's too good to sound true. 

Either way, I instantly sprang up and regained a temporary mental fortitude, which was a usual reaction of mine against unusual elements like him. I also clutched the bedsheet, using it as a barrier between him and me.

I was intrigued by his interesting choice of words though—especially using 'salty' to describe me as if I were a person who'd cry if I lost a match or two. Not to say, I wasn't doing the exact thing a few moments ago.

"Wh-Why are you able to talk to me!?" I asked, my voice lacking the usual deceiving briskness—also skipping the typical 'who are you' as I already had a hint of who he was. 

A VISION, of course. Invisible and dead—on top of that, but not for me.

Nonetheless, aside from his blatant announcement of my remarks for the team about being incapable of winning the match without me being inaccurate, I had never thought of the possibility of being capable of holding a conversation with any of my VISIONs. Their eternally shut mouths had discouraged every single one of my attempts to communicate with them, let alone interrogate them—like I was doing right now. 

"...A-Answer me!" I raised my voice, but the VISION procrastinated his answer with a smile. A flat grin to be precise.

What was his dead empty head even pondering? Am I some sort of camera that prioritizes people to smile—or even laugh at me?

I may have a beautiful face, but that doesn't make it funny, you know? After all, my dictionary doesn't possess the quality of 'how to be a source of amusement.'

"Unknown souls led me to you." He finally replied, breaking the moment of silence.

"...Huh? Unknown Souls? Why?" I blurt out without giving it a thought. 

"'Cos you're the only person who can see me out of the billions living." He said, justifying his approach to me.

This time his words were dead serious, even with his uncanny way of talking.

Perhaps, Unknown Souls are some sort of a VISION who could talk.

"...Okay, and why would you need me, exactly?" I asked, avoiding the "Unknown Souls" part. Honestly, I didn't want to hear anything about VISIONs who gave away my details to some riff-raffs.

  I'm not a fan of irresponsible VISIONs, you know?

After taking a small pause, he replied. "It's time, or to be exact the day and age we're present in. I'm unable to grasp it. I basically want to find out how long ago I died." The mysterious VISION said.

"Mm... do you know the exact date of your death?" I asked a question that I thought I'd never be able to ask one of my VISIONs. It was because the only time I'd ever talked to a VISION was on 30th February of this year.

"...Yes, I do. What kind of a dead person doesn't remember their death day?"

"Hmm. So, when is it? The exact day of your death—or should I say your death day?" I asked, not bothering about being considerate. The question in itself was pretty precise as I couldn't care less for a VISION's feelings. I've got a stone-cold heart when it comes to such matters.

"...Let's see, if I'm right I died on the midnight of 1st January of this year," Johan replied, seemingly comfortable. Not I reaction I wished for, honestly.

However, dying on New Year's is really hilarious if not unfortunate. 

"Oh, today's [redacted], so you should've died around [redacted] months and [redacted] days ago. It's been quite a while since you've died. Now, I hope, you can peacefully leave this world for good!" I announced the results he awaited as lightly as possible to make such uncanny words feel natural coming out of my mouth. 

He shot back an unfamiliar expression. "Pardon? I can't understand what you're trying to imply by saying [redacted]?"

I tried to interpret the random noise of "[redacted]" in my brain, but it seemed like a far-fetched dream for me to understand a multidimensional word like such.

"...Huh? What do you mean by [redacted]? I'm just trying to inform you of the date. There's nothing else I'm trying to imply or hide..." I asserted.

He took a bit of time to figure out things in his rotten brain and then replied.

"Guess, ghosts like me can't perceive the concept of time. To put it simply, till now I've employed every imaginable method and maneuver to lure out the exact moment of my presence but failed with every single attempt." He answered.

"Not even once, huh? That seems quite a handful situation." I retorted.

So, according to my interpretation, if this VISION isn't able to interpret the concept of time itself, then perhaps VISIONs didn't belong to any of the known dimensions, they are beyond those three.

  A fourth-dimensional creature, not a fourth-wall one though.

Their otherworldliness is inhumane.

"...Yep." 

  "So, in other words, you're a fourth-dimensional creature, a time manipulator, or a time controller," I reply, intending to tease him. 

"4th dimensional? ...Mm probably something like that, but I don't think I'm capable of manipulating time or so. Such ridiculousness is beyond my comprehension." His words weren't as firm as before—I'm pretty sure he doesn't understand such terminology. 

"But you're already dead. What's holding you back? Do you, by any chance, hold regrets?"

"Don't ask." He replied in a passively aggressive tone.

I felt like I'd touched his sensitive spot as his tone of reply was completely defensive compared to earlier when I tried to make him uncomfortable.

You may think I'm plainly sadistic to attack his weak spots, but no! I was just retaliating for the damage inflicted on me by his rude words. 

I will, however, argue against the allegation that I possess no sadistic tendencies at all.

Following his reply, an awkward silence settled in the infirmary. We looked at each other yet didn't utter a single word, and to be honest I didn't like the feeling of it.

  As the sunlight hid under the screens of clouds, I felt nauseously cold and repulsed by the silence. The lingering pain in my nose also persisted, however, I could surely endure it for now. 

Quiet cold tried to strangle me but in an attempt to evade it, I returned a burning reply. "Sit there," feeling fairly frustrated. I threw the bedsheet aside and sat in a stiffer position, trying to be assertive.

"...Okay, I'll," he said, taking careful steps. 

He sat in the corner of the bed, his eyes reflecting a melancholic expression I rarely witnessed in others. 

"What's your name?" I asked calmly, murdering my frustration for effective communication. 

"Johan, my name is." He replied oddly.

"What's your age?" 

"Fifteen."

"Hmph... So, roughly one year younger than me or even less." I sighed, "Is your only goal to find how long ago you died or is there anything else you wanna accomplish?" I asked, with a deep tone—lacking the usual glass-breaking pitch I use for communication. 

"Now that you mention it, I want to return home—but before that, I want to know 'bout this city, as I've at last moved away from that shattered town," Johan said, fidgeting. He was perhaps not used to this way of interrogation. 

Anyway, what could he mean by 'shattered'? I suppose something like a natural disaster, or the possibilities are endless. As the person—or rather, the town in discussion is that of humans after all.

"If you don't like it, why would you want to return?" I asked intently.

"That's 'cos it's my home," Johan replied, his eyes shining with blazing homesickness.

"Ah... I—" My words stuck in my throat and subsequently gulped down.

Unable to vocalize them, I realized at that moment that his innocent words were nothing more than an attempt at a lost child trying to find his way back home.

A child who was left to suffer endlessly where he couldn't even attain peace. Let alone peace, he still held regrets, what a troublesome guy.

All I could do was support him, so I tried to vocalize my thoughts properly this time...

"I'll help you." I declared boldly, attempting to console him as I held one of his hands, a gesture I could perform even though he was a VISION. "I'll definitely help you return home."

His face contorted like a jigsaw puzzle, trying to grasp what I had done. He snatched his hand away from me—most probably out of embarrassment. What a cute guy.

"T-Thanks, I'll look forward to that..." He said, his almost cracking but still maintaining his odd composure.  "Oh! I forgot to mention one thing you might not be very fond of. Partially at least—I can read your thoughts," he said whimsically, to which I could only respond with a surprised, "Ah..." 

Whaaaat... so, all that time he could read my mind? He didn't seem that cute of a guy anymore. Despite my disapproval, however, with that, Johan, the VISION, faded away from the school infirmary.