I felt much more tired than usual, which was normal after the night I'd had. I didn't want to walk at that moment; I couldn't stop thinking about the funeral, and I felt guilty for not going.
Ironically, it didn't take long for me to completely ignore the situation, and by the time I was back home, the weight I felt from running away had lifted.
I had already accepted the choice I made, and since I was never going to be sorry enough to turn back, I let go of everything.
It was almost time for lunch, so when I got home, I heated up some instant noodles in the microwave.
For the first time, I felt bad eating alone.
I wish this were a romance or a "Slice of Life," so any random event would happen that would make my life more interesting, since I can't do anything about it on my own.
I say this because, as usual, after eating I thought about what to do.
Go for a walk? I don't have the energy to go outside. Read something? I'll be distracted. Play a game? I don't feel like it.
The excuses are becoming more and more generic. I don't want to because I'm lazy. I don't want to because I don't want to.
Maybe it's just that I don't feel like doing anything. I should take a nap, but my mind just wants to "do something." Something fun, though, because sleeping is boring.
After wandering around the house like a kid at Christmas, I decided to change my clothes. I guess I've gotten used to wearing a suit at some point, although considering how expensive it will be, I'd better save it.
I couldn't miss rummaging through ^[Ç+?'s closet, as if it were a custom, and stealing some pajamas.
This closet feels like a sacred relic, my savior. Although every time I open it, for a moment everything seems red.
Already in my pajamas, I finished breaking into his closet to steal his bed.
I expected to lie uselessly for hours and hours without achieving anything, but I managed to fall asleep quickly.
That time, I did dream.
The bad part about this is how ambiguous everything felt. Nothing was defined. Everything was made up of abstract shapes and colors, which meant nothing to me.
They had no value, even though they seemed familiar to me. When I moved, however slowly or slightly, they changed along with my movement. They didn't blend; they danced with each other, without influencing each other's space. It was an indefinite dance, a nonexistent dance.
The only consistent things within that sea of colors were a white light, excessively far from where I was, and also, eyes.
They were few, almost scarce, but those who were there looked at me. I didn't feel uncomfortable, I felt disgusted; it was like seeing a rotting corpse with rats eating the flesh.
Every time I saw one, I tried to get rid of it, any way I could. When I did, they would explode, leaving behind a faint laugh, just as disgusting as their stares.
Squeezing and squashing any eye that stared at me, I decided to focus on the white spot at the end, and go for it.
The further I walked, the paler the colors became, and the more eyes appeared in my path. It got to the point where it was more worthwhile to ignore them and move on than to focus on getting rid of them one by one.
The further I walked, the more I thought there was someone waiting for me at the very end, in the white light. But I couldn't see anyone. Not a silhouette, not a shadow. Nothing.
The colors had become the same light I'd been chasing before, though the change was barely noticeable due to the number of eyes around me. All of them staring at me.
I couldn't stand them, but I couldn't stop them, so I was the one who closed their eyes. Even though I closed them, I decided to keep going.
But, I didn't have the slightest chance to take the first step in closing them, because as soon as I did, the dream ended.
I didn't wake up on my own. It wasn't an alarm, it wasn't the cold coming from the ground.
And I wish, I wish, it had been her.
END OF THE FIRST VOLUME