It was around Grade 6 or 7 I think, when I was expecting an expensive pair of sneakers on my birthday. At that time, I harbored the dream of becoming the world's greatest basketball player, a dream that I had to give up on after an accident.
It wasn't that big of a deal though. I was just another big fish in the cold-blooded ocean who had the fate of being eaten by larger fishes eventually. Fishes that could have eaten me mercilessly with determination.
Also, despite the accident, I continued playing basketball at the school level.
Anyway, I was quite shocked and disappointed on my birthday when my father presented me with a camera instead of sneakers, which I ended up liking but wasn't very fond of at first. Time acted as a glue in my relationship with the camera, however.
It was a Canon DSLR, but the me of that time didn't even know what the 'D' stood for. Ironically or unironically, taking pictures became my new hobby and something I got obsessed with. But, as expected, time made crevices in our relationship—the same element that had brought us together.
The more fields and hobbies I indulged in, the further away the camera drifted away.
Now, you may be wondering why I'm ranting about a hobby that I'd given up a long ago. Well, let me explain.
This camera spoke.
Obviously, the first thing I thought to myself when the camera spoke was that an actual ghost had possessed the camera as I'd never seen VISIONs talk but oh boy, I couldn't have been more wrong.
The reason it fell short of being a ghost was crystal clear. It exhibited three elementary VISION traits: firstly, it was visible and audible exclusively to me; secondly, it was confined to a specific location (namely, my camera); and thirdly, it exuded a malevolent aura.
Her words stung sharply, carrying a cruelty that seemed aimed solely at tarnishing my reputation. VISIONs like her usually had a piercing gaze, but I must have been living so pathetically that even a spirit from beyond the grave found it necessary to amplify the malice.
Conversely, her words were very honest, so much so that I almost became the student council president of my school.
Anyway, I still found it super annoying to be lectured by an eight-year-old dead girl.
Later, as I became good enough to stand on my own legs, the VISION completely stopped talking but she didn't vanish. She maintained her presence in the camera, audaciously and quietly. As if she didn't want to go away.
However, her not speaking made me lose interest in the camera completely. So, for the following year, I didn't even think of touching it. I was repulsed by it to the extent that I'd dug it deep inside the graveyard of my brain.
"Done with your inner monologue?" Johan asked interrupting my drill.
"How did you know!?" I asked an obligatory question to put up a surprised act.
"Guessed it."
"...Nuh uh, you read my mind."
"Oh, did I? Your face and brain almost look the same thing to me, so I can't differentiate."
"No, you're just reading my mind. Why are you like this, though?"
"Like what? Saying facts right onto your face? That's my habit for the record, so I can't stop being mean!"
"Whatever, I'm not hurt by your fake facts—I couldn't care less!"
"You don't look like you don't care," Johan was reading my mind, so he was right. I couldn't care more, I was hurt by his facts but I won't admit it.
He'll always have the upper hand because he could read me, my thoughts.
"...Hmm, I'm going to get the camera, it should be charged enough considering the time passed."
"Didn't you say you'll tell me what you're going to do with it after you came back?" Johan inquired.
"I had a change of mood and plans." I asserted as I took my leave.
It was slightly irritating, but having to go down three floors for every little thing was actually beneficial. If not for me, at least it was healthy for my parents.
Next up, I headed to the dining room and snagged the battery. With that in hand, I slotted the fully charged battery into its proper compartment at the base. A quick glance at the dining room clock revealed the time: 18:01.
I made another attempt to drink water, something the VISION had prevented me from doing earlier by freezing the glass.
As the water went down my throat, the camera beeped and opened itself. Surprisingly, the 8-year-old VISION hadn't vanished like the countless others. I hurriedly finished my drink, making sure not a drop of water remained in the glass, and rushed towards the camera.
What I saw on the camera's screen made my day a bit less unbearable. It was a child and that too a dead one.
Wait, I'm not suggesting that I'm happy to see a dead child, more like I was happy to see a child who was dead.
Whatever, that didn't make it sound any better.
What I saw on the camera wasn't a picture or a video but a dynamic being on the screen. She had a vile and vicious gaze in her eyes, a common sight among VISIONs like her, which brought me relief.
But she didn't speak. Her usual mean-spiritedness was only confined to her eyes, but I could sense what she was trying to say.
"You had the nerve to be repulsed by me! How dare you," was probably what her face narrated—it was how she spoke in my memories; I believe. But little did she know I was also repulsed by her absence despite being there all the time.
I'm also certain that she's well aware of the sudden disappearance of all VISIONs, including why she hasn't been taken away as well.
But it wasn't as if I could inquire about that. Our conversations in the past remained decidedly one-sided; she spoke, and the only thing I could do in response was listen. It wasn't a matter of lacking the courage to ask; she simply couldn't hear me. Probably she ignored my voice—or probably because there was no mike in the camera, she couldn't hear me.
To sum up, all our previous conversations were like a general commanding an officer—she controlled me with her words.
Therefore, having the eight-year-old around (yes, she made sure I knew her age) was really important, especially in this situation. But right now, there was only one way she could help me, and it happened to be the most efficient one.
Immediately after she came back to life, I rushed upstairs and opened the room where another VISION was waiting for my return.
Upon opening the room, I was attacked by warm sandstorm-like weather. Perhaps Johan was doing something passionate or risky. Why do I think something like that, you ask? It was because Johan's mood controlled the room's temperature. It was probably intrinsic to VISIONs, but I'm not very sure of it.
None of the VISIONs I encountered before were capable of doing that...
As I looked at Johan, I saw him lying on my bed, making too much himself at home. Not that I care, but there was something else he was doing, that may call for a death sentence.
He was reading my diaries! He committed a taboo!
A crime that deserves capital punishment. Plus, those diaries were carefully tucked away inside the closet—indicating that he likely probed my thoughts to locate them. How more life-threateningly audacious could he have been?
For a moment, I contemplated stabbing his heart with the scissors on my table. However, I quickly dismissed the thought, realizing how pointless such an action would have been. He was already dead, what more could have I done?
Ah, there was something other than killing I could do with the weapon I was holding.
He still hadn't noticed my presence, making it easy for me to act. I switched on the camera and held it right in front of him, as if I were preparing to shoot him down. Deliberately, I turned on the flash to intentionally leave a trace, making it clear that I wasn't hiding anymore.
"Click," the camera said, or rather the VISION. It appeared that 8YO (that's her name) wouldn't speak but would stay in character, repeating her catchphrase whenever I took a picture.
The moment he spotted me, Johan instinctively discarded any illicit belongings he had and immediately fired a question my way. "Oh, so you're back?" His voice remained as firm as before—displaying confidence.
He wasn't acting like a criminal who got caught red-handed, although that's exactly what he was.
"No, I haven't actually returned yet. What you're seeing is just an afterimage of mine."
"Wait, what? I didn't know you were that fast."
"Well, that's something new for you to learn because this afterimage has captured your declaration of war against me with this camera. The image of you reading my diaries..."
"No way, a camera could never capture a VISION... I mean I wasn't doing anything! What are you on about? Also, I am not declaring any war against a two-time junior karate champion, you know?" Was he denying and accepting my allegations at the same time?
Anyway, I make my way over to him with quick steps, not bothering to respond to his confused query. Grabbing him by the collar with a light touch – guess dying makes you weightless – I make him confront the undeniable proof on the screen. And let me tell you, the guy looks utterly baffled.
"Wow! This camera can take pictures, can't it?"
"I won't let you change the topic," I asserted. "It's just common sense not to read a girl's diary, or anyone's diary for that matter."
"...But I caved in to my curiosity," Johan mumbled, justifying his actions.
"Are you a cockroach, because I think you're. Only cockroaches like you dare to explore places where people least want them to be seen. Their curiosity of exploring places like that is what gets them stomped on."
"...But aren't things written to be read?" He argued.
"Only when you're allowed to. Unlawful reading of unpaid books can take you to the court."
"Huh... is that even true? Your book or should I say diary hasn't even been published yet," At some point in our debate, Johan's words solidified, as though he had found a cause to defend. His capacity for deceit grew more audacious and refined. From now on, I would show no leniency, I suppose.
"If the court fails to deliver justice, I'll resort to 'Rei's Rule of Law' to judge you. Moreover, as per Article 2, you are eligible for capital punishment."
"What!? When did such kind of law come to existence!?"
"16th July 2005, I must say."
"Whoa, way too specific!"
"After all, it was the day I was born."
Dammit, the conversation's going off track, and it's infuriating. I need to bring it back, or I'll lose my temper completely.
"That sounds pretentious. Anyway, what do you think we VISIONs, are? Of course, you know our features but what's your definition? I've some kind of VISION amnesia, so I want to understand more about my current self." Johan asked, in a new, polite tone.
"That amnesia is more of dementia, I guess. I don't expect dead people to have improved their cognitive skills after they die, you know?" I retorted.
"Hey, don't call us out like that. We VISIONs have better cognitive skills than you mortals do, at the very least." Johan's eyes narrowed, his voice carrying a subtle edge of frustration as he replied.
"Hmm, I see. So, it's worse than I expected."
"What's worse?" His tone continued to carry the frustration.
"Your life as a VISION, you're losing out on your comprehension skills..."
"Comprehension skills? Am not I making a proper conversation with you?" Johan questioned, his frustration transforming into concern.
"No, more than half of the words you use are completely different from what I do, that's the first sign of your comprehension deteriorating."
"For real? I can't believe such things are happening to me... wait, what—" Aha, he'd caught on to my deception! "What do you mean by the words I use are different from the ones you use? Isn't it like very normal in a conversation?"
"Yes, it's indeed. I was just trying to check how bad your comprehension skills have degraded, and here you have your results!"
"Damn you! I'd have never thought I'd fall for such easy traps. Should've read your mind." It's because you're a child you fell for it, Johan.
"Ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong!" The doorbell announced the food that I'd ordered around an hour ago.
These delivery companies suck, man. What if the food had gone cold? Plus, a lot of hassle just to get the food hot. This sucks.
"You ordered food? Don't you have a cook or something, or do your parents cook? Anyway, where are they?" Johan enquired.
"They're out for a business trip, I think they'll return in two weeks. And no, we don't have cooks—our family likes to minimize additional expenditure."
"What do you mean by 'think'?" Johan asked, disregarding everything I said after the first sentence. I think I should cease to be polite.
"They said the trip could be extended."
"They're quite ambiguous... Wait, what the hell? How could they leave someone like you alone?"
"Hmph, I'm more responsible than you think." I retorted.
"I'd completely disagree."
"Doesn't matter, anyway I'm going to get the food. Bye."
After my parting words, I hurried downstairs, not wanting to keep anyone waiting, especially at such a late hour. Despite the rush, however, I found our conversation enjoyable. Chit-chats like that were few and far between for me, usually limited to my talks with Pilo.
In haste, I approached the door, deliberately making loud footsteps to signal my hurried arrival. The ringing bell ceased instantly as I attempted to open the door.
"Hmm?" My sight lacked the delivery guy's presence but my food was there, lying just in front of my door
I couldn't believe it! If the door had opened outward, my meal would've been flattened under the immense weight of that gigantic door, not to mention my own force. It's just beyond irresponsible! But honestly, at that moment, my hunger was so overwhelming that I couldn't care less. I was so famished that I felt like I might collapse right then and there.
I picked up the cover—which felt warm enough for me to not get myself into a mess of warming up the food.
As I glanced inside the cover, a bunch of pamphlets greeted my eyes, and instinctively, I scanned through their contents. Among them was an advertisement for the monopolistic ice cream company—or should I say the multinational giant— "Frosty Appetite". Alongside it, I noticed an ad for the intriguingly named "Rude Café."
What a tasteless naming sense.
It felt so tasteless that I shut the door and slid the lock into place out of frustration.
I made my way back to my room, this time armed with a bottle, hoping it would be the last ascent up these clumsy stairs for the day.
To my surprise, the room's temperature was absolutely not abnormal, this time.
Looks like Johan's emotional state is holding up well. Perhaps, my diaries contained some great stuff that I don't remember writing.
I look at Johan, sitting on my bed once again reading classified information while listening to music on my laptop —wait, how did he even turn it on? What a hopeless guy.
But this time, I decided to not disturb him and do something I'd forgotten.
It was to inspect him.
So, this time, I gave Johan a close look, assessing him for a particular purpose. And let me tell you, the results weren't something to joke about.
My doubt was dead on. Johan hadn't died through murder or some accident. It had to be something else—probably a disease.
I mean, seriously, Johan had no scars at all, and his body looked unspoiled. You'd think a disease would have left some kind of mark. But nothing on his body showed signs of loss of weight—whatever illness he had, it didn't seem to have eaten away at any part of his body, as I could see from that thin shirt of his. It's like he died without a trace.
Well, for that matter, it's not like I found such marks on every VISION. Moreover, it'd be creepy if I tried to find them. I saw one or two, but most of them looked fairly unscathed. I think I probably noticed it for the first time because I was seeing a VISION so close (physically, because 8YO—the camera VISION, was virtual).
Enough analysis! I've to stop him from reading any further of my deepest of deepest secrets.
"T'ndluohs uoy," the light flickered as a string of random noise crawled through my ear.
Consequently, a mist of uneasiness filled my room, making it feel suffocating. I tried to call Johan but his silly ears were preoccupied with listening to music from my laptop, despite me supposedly having set a password on it.
Thankfully, some books were conveniently within my reach, and without a second thought, I gave them a mighty shove with full force to generate as much noise as possible.
"Wham!" The books tumbled down, startling Johan out of his musical session.
Johan looks at me with frustration, but then his expression changes like that of a chameleon when he sees my struggling face.
He reflexively sprang into action, jolting me out of my semi-trance-like state, and pushing me aside.
My head banged the cemented wall but I minimized the impact with my hands, putting them on a place like a cushion.
"Aaahh!" I couldn't help but let out a less-than-dignified scream. As if my day hadn't been painful enough! —Now that I think about it, my head has been the only target all day. So annoying, but hey, it's just another average day for me. No surprises there.
"I'm sorry," Johan said with brimming nervousness.
"I don't want to be apologized to by the guy who saved my life," It was a policy of mine to reject apologies. For me, they didn't make sense even a bit.
"I see, anyway, does that always happen with you? That crazy stuff?" He asked, changing his tone a one-eighty.
"Uh... no, it was the first time something like that had happened to me."
"Mm, I see."
"Hey, don't simply stand there. Help me get up." I request.
"M'kay."
At least my food was safe — that fact alone was enough to make me feel better for this bad of a day.