Chapter Text
As if crying dolphins swam in an endless dark water, heavier than air, striving to leap out of it and sinking, falling to the very bottom.
A boat drifting past stones. The stones are a hill on which lands grow, and among them a railway is laid. A freight train passes here at 12:45 of an ordinary time, an ordinary day, in one of those infinitely fast and infinitely prolonged moments of time, marked only by the change of landscape, by waiting and by life, without any possibility to distract oneself with something. The bored driver watches the time as well — there, a minute has passed, and at 13:30 or so he will already be at the next point, and then, at 15:40, he will arrive at the final station. Everything is known, yet every second is lived as if it were both the only one, and unnecessary, and there is no life outside these gentle, useless three hours.
— Rika? — Satoko asks timidly. Bubbling through the thickness of water. — Ri…ka?
Somewhere far away, very far away, a alien voice is heard. As if it matters to her who wants to disturb the sleepy ship, the train in the current, the deep waves.
— Rika. — Very close now, at her ear, making her flinch. A hand, aliens, Satoko’s hand, rests on Rika’s shoulder. — Rika? Do you feel unwell? — Satoko is worried. She is disturbed.
— Mii. — A smile, stretched across the entire face, meant to defend against her concern. — It’s all fine, right.
Satoko lifts her nose, gives a short, distrustful glance, frowns, and leaves the classroom.
World-waves drown yet another ship. Only the lighthouse, standing far away, was a safe place in the middle of a dangerous world. People with weapons roam everywhere, and in the distance are heard the sounds of falling shell casings, bursts of gunfire, and aggressive conversations, like the cries of wild, rabid animals. A half-ruined lighthouse, tilted like the Leaning Tower of Pisa, with its endlessly long staircase going almost into the sky, and moss-covered openings in the walls, looking out from which the earth gradually disappears. These were meant to be windows, but now, when everything is gone, only…
The bell rings for class.
The teacher — a pale figure, dissolving into grey-black, transparent, liquid shades — says something, the students listen — do they listen? None of this reaches either ears or meaning, because if you get distracted, you might be the next — the one who will be shot. The main thing is not to succumb to the syndrome. Even if it did not threaten her before, who knows from which side danger will come. Maybe she will miss the moment when happiness finally ends, everything will go to hell again and something irreparable will happen, and everything from the beginning, an endlessly new beginning.
— I-I’d like to drink some water. — She timidly raises her hand, leaves the classroom, seems to walk through formless space — it seems this is a corridor — stuffs her hands into her pockets, pulls them out, rubs her pale forehead, approaches the window and opens it, a fresh breeze blows, she goes toward the fresh breeze, her feet quickly touch the ground, she goes further, through the playground, enters a utility room and closes the door behind her.
Here no one will find her. No one will take her happiness here. She has confused all the tracks, like a wild cat, escaped the chase.
— W-what?
Formless faces, apparently having come for her soul, try to come closer, look at her, surround her. It is hard to tell who they are. Do they have weapons? It seems not. Probably left them at home. Now it will be her turn. No endless tower will save her, nor deep-deep waters.
They wave their hands in front of her, shake their heads.
— …not alright. — Someone’s voice concludes, barely familiar. Consciousness and the sense of presence slowly return. A grey-haired man seems to shake his head — the principal, probably. Memories fly away one after another, and it becomes hard to tell what is real reality and what is a dream of imagination.
— Mii. — A meaningless squeak in response.
— Rika-chan, what’s wrong with you? Everything’s fine! If something is bothering you, tell me! — a lively boyish voice, full of energy, wakes her consciousness even more.
— Keiichi, mii. — As if acknowledging his reality, Rika nods and leaves the cramped utility room.
— This has been happening more often. — Rika lowers her head.
— What do you feel in those moments? — Irie looks at the girl attentively.
Rika does not answer. The paper table in front of her folds in half and is drawn into a funnel in the middle of an ocean storm opening beneath them, a whirlpool pulling inside itself all animals, all people, trees, houses, and two hundred different images. Only the images scream, because there is no sound in this emptied life — unnecessary. Only a ringing in the ears.
— What you see, does it provoke any bad thoughts in you? Is that why you hide?
— No. I just want to protect myself.
A smile, unnatural, pale, bleeding in the extinguished room, flying either upward or downward.
— Irie, can this be treated? — she asks very loudly, because her ears are blocked. Irie says something, gestures heatedly, waves his hands in front of her, but hearing fails, gives up — only fish-like bubbling is heard. They touch her, but the body becomes distant, and strong pushes are perceived as if underwater.
Someone knocks loudly on the door. Rika finds herself lying under a blanket in her home. Satoko is watching her.
— They say they have to take you away. I don’t want that. — Satoko says quietly.
— Who is knocking there? — The knocking grows stronger, they knock loudly, insistently, pound with a fist, threateningly, as if that fist could pass through the door, through the blanket, and make a hole in her stomach, like it did dozens of times.
— No one is knocking. Sleep, please, rest, Rika. The medicine should work soon.
But the door kept knocking, several times it came off its hinges, and the door kept knocking, and again it came off its hinges, and again it came off its hinges, and again they knocked, sometimes loudly, sometimes quietly, sometimes insistently, sometimes obsessively.
In half-sleep the knocking gradually died down.
But the dead waves, in which civilization drowned, and rose again when the water level fell, and the sounds of the surrounding world disappeared again, cities collapsed, survivors began everything anew.
Everything anew. Winter of despair gave way to spring. Perhaps the water will recede.