9: Dreams Speak
Nullus wandered through the city streets, observing the tightly packed buildings and the grimy billboards while the streetlights flickered due to frequent power outages. The place wasn't entirely unfamiliar to him, yet he felt like an intruder within these walls that did not know him. In his pocket, he carried the wallet he had taken from John, the body he now inhabited. Inside, there was money and an ID card—he wasn't sure if it would save him or lead him into trouble.
He began his search in the central districts but quickly realized that the prices were too high compared to the cash he had. He didn't need anything luxurious, just a small room to keep him hidden from prying eyes. After hours of searching and rejection, his path led him to an old district at the city's outskirts, where the alleys were narrow and the buildings worn down by time.
In one of the alleys, he found a small handwritten sign indicating a "Room for Rent." The building was dilapidated, its walls cracked, and it smelled of years of dampness. He decided to try his luck and knocked on the door.
An elderly woman with narrow eyes opened it. She seemed hesitant as she gave him a quick scan. She didn't ask many questions, merely stated the price and handed him the key when he paid in advance.
The room was cramped, barely enough to fit a wooden bed and a rickety desk beside a small window overlooking an alley filled with garbage and stray cats. It wasn't a comfortable place, but it was enough. He sat on the bed, staring at the decayed walls, thinking about the months ahead, the next step, and the meaning of being here… free, even if only temporarily.
---
Nullus sat on the bed, staring at the cracked walls without any real concern for their appearance. He didn't ponder whether the room was good or bad, beautiful or ugly—such concepts had no meaning to him. What mattered was that it met his basic needs: a place to sleep, a roof to shield him from the rain, and walls to separate him from the outside world. That was all he needed—nothing more.
He didn't understand why humans cared about beauty. He saw no value in choosing a comfortable place when a functional one was sufficient. Old furniture? No problem. A musty smell? Irrelevant. All he wanted was a space where he could close his eyes without worrying about being watched.
He took another quick look around the room. There was nothing in it that made him feel anything in particular. He wasn't seeking comfort, nor a sense of security. Just a corner to hide in until the time for the next step arrived.
---
When night fell, Nullus left his room, even though he didn't feel hunger. However, he knew his body needed constant energy to keep functioning and thinking. He walked through the dark streets, where rundown food carts offered simple meals that tempted no one unless they were desperate. He picked something quick—appearance and taste didn't matter, only that he could put it in his stomach and move on.
On his way back to his room, he passed by an alley entrance. A loud voice caught his attention, making him pause. The landlady, the elderly woman, was yelling at a short man, seemingly arguing over something. The man didn't seem to care about her words, standing stiffly, his eyes radiating indifference.
Nullus felt no need to interfere; such conflicts were meaningless to him. He had no time to get involved in other people's problems. Yet, he realized these conflicts were part of human reality—a series of small tensions that filled their days, perhaps giving them a sense of truly living.
He continued walking toward his room, leaving the scene behind. Once inside, he locked the door. On the bed, the meal he had bought had grown cold. He didn't care. He ate quickly, a strange sensation of fullness spreading through his body without sparking any real interest. After a few moments, he decided it was time to sleep.
Lying down, he let his thoughts scatter in his mind like distant memories. These moments of quiet were all he needed now—to close his eyes and sink into the void of sleep. There was nothing to worry about, and no one expected anything from him.
Nullus was just another passing entity in this world, still searching for something he might not yet understand.
As he lay there, exhaustion overtook his body, and he plunged into the depths of a surreal dream…
---
The Dream Was Breathing…
At first, there was the sound of dripping water, rhythmic, as if time itself was falling drop by drop. He stood in a familiar street—or perhaps it was never familiar at all. The buildings were breathing. How did he know they were breathing? He just knew—they were slumbering creatures. The neon lights flickering beside them trembled, changing colors rapidly before transforming into glowing red eyes staring at him from behind the glass.
A man with blurred features sat on a staircase shaped like a cockroach's body. The man lit a cigarette, its glow an unnatural blue.
"You don't understand," the man said, his voice layered with many others—some human, some not. They sounded like whispering screams. How could a scream whisper? He just knew. "Traveling on a journey across the world will not let you taste the flavor of bread."
Before he could respond, the scene tore open like a page ripped from an old book, shifting him elsewhere.
---
There was a small hand holding his.
A child laughed, running through green grass. But he knew the grass wasn't grass—it was the green hair of tiny creatures crawling beneath it. She was chasing a butterfly, but the butterfly wasn't a butterfly—it was a floating eye staring at them without blinking.
"Daddy, why don't you fly too?" the girl asked, but he had no answer.
Then he looked up at the sky and saw the stars dying before his eyes, shattering like broken glass, while planets collapsed as if something far greater was devouring them. There was no center to this universe, only an expanding void, slowly swallowing everything.
---
Then, he was in a small room.
Sitting at a wooden table, a woman sat across from him, holding a cup filled with blood. Her eyes were lost in a distance he couldn't reach.
"You were always absent," she said. "And unfortunately, I can't keep raising our daughter like this."
But when he looked into the cup, he saw his reflection—and it wasn't his face. It wasn't even a face at all.
Then, the wall behind her split open—not as if it had cracked naturally, but as though it had never been a wall at all, merely skin stretched over something greater, trying to emerge. Long black fingers extended from it, searching for something.
The woman didn't see it. She simply continued speaking about matters he couldn't hear, as if the world itself was divided into layers he couldn't perceive all at once.
---
Then, he was floating…
Between stars that had no light, among beings that had no shape, surrounded by voices that had no source. There was no up or down, only ceaseless movement, an infinite expanse.
Symbols appeared—circles within circles, lines bending at impossible angles. A voice whispered—not into his ear, but directly into his mind:
"There is no escape, there is no escape, there is no escape."
And beneath it all, he heard a familiar sound—a child's laughter, and a man's voice saying:
"The world is bigger than you imagine, and it is not for people like you."
Then, he woke up.