James just got out of the public restroom.

The first thing that his eyes saw were the colours: they were obviously in the wrong places. The grass was supposed to be green, but it was white instead, and the roads, supposed to be dark grey, were bloody red.

James thought that he must have a fever, and that's why his brain was confused. Or maybe he stayed in the dark public restroom for too long, and his eyes deceive when they have contact with the sunlight.

But, speaking of sunlight--

"Why is it blue?"

James walked out from the small building and was met with a bright green sky and a bright sun. The sun was so big, it took up almost half of James' sight when he looked up. Bizarrely, his eyes didn't seem to hurt.

He panicked when a random woman came up to him. She shouted, "why are you grey?" and ran away, leaving James confused and shocked.

James looked at his hands and saw that they were pearl white, like the grass.

The same thing happened with his clothes. His shirt was white, his pants were white, his shoes were white, and even his underwear was white.

It's not a pretty sight, let me tell you.

James' stomach growled, but he just went to the washroom. He decided to eat some snacks, so he walked over to the closest cafe.

That's when James saw the weirdest thing: people with skin of all kinds of colours. Some of them were usually seen; some of them didn't really change much, keeping the original colour of human skin; some of them were just weird, and James couldn't really tell what it was.

James looked back at the restaurant. There were lots of people inside, and most of them had grey skin.

"Are they sick?" James asked himself, but there was no one to answer, "Or am I sick? Nobody seems to know what is going on, except for that lady."

James sat down on the bench and took out his phone. His phone's bright pink.

James turned it off.

He turned it back on, and it turned back to the colour when he first bought it. And then when James looked up from his screen, everything too went back to normal.

"Oh," James said, "I must have had illusions–dreams, that's it." Though he still felt weird–not physically, but what it was he couldn't tell–he moved on. Days went just as they were, nothing special.

Or, James thought it would.

It was the third day after James saw the colour-mismatching incident. He walked on the streets as usual, hoping to find something for lunch… "Something cheap, yes," he muttered to himself. He loved muttering to himself.

James took a turn near Glitzen road, and then his sight was filled with colours. All of them were in the wrong places, similar to what he saw three days ago. But the difference was: everyone now saw how bizarre their world was.

There's this theory James once read on a blog: when there were only few people that had seen unnatural things, others would see it as disease, because the things those few have encountered were beyond cognition; but when everyone encountered unusual things, it would be seen as a new discovery, a new experience, something worthy of great attention.

However, this "new discovery" always comes with a wide range of panicking.

And that is exactly what is happening now.

James saw a man being chased after by a woman, screaming. He couldn't hear what the two said because he was far away, but he could tell that they were probably talking about skin colours.

There are also people who are trying to take photos of things that are weird, and James is one of them. James thought it was funny, so he took out his phone and tried to take a picture of a random tree.

Right when he had his camera aimed at the tree, he looked at the screen and saw people on the streets being confused, being scared, their faces telling James that they had just got out from a cinema playing horror films. They sweat too much, their clothes looked like they were grabbed out of a swimming pool–or, they themselves were grabbed out of a swimming pool.

"What is going on?" one asked, waiting to hear something but no one answered. Someone screamed, as if he saw the most terrifying thing in his entire life. WIth a start, the whole street, the whole city, the whole country, the whole world screamed, yelled, contacted the local government through their hotline hoping to get an answer. People on the streets came to each other and started shouting "Bro you're pink!" and "Why are you black–were you black?"

The whole street's a mess. With the colours changing every seven seconds, children yelled their lungs out, while the parents stood still, being too quail and thus forgetting to comfort their new born babies. The elderly stared at the riotous street with fear in their eyes, muttering something like "The end of the world!" under their breath.

James realised that the society was panicking. He ran home. He had to hide from the panic-stricken citizens, but he couldn't help but feel scared himself.

He decided to surf the internet. The lovely internet! The place where he could watch funny things, laugh, be mad and curse people online, and just lay in his blanket. He could stay in this state for a whole day!

He opened a blog app, and all of the posts were about the colour-changing incident that was still going on. No one knew how long it would last, and the problem of "what would happen after this" was just a lot more scary.

James scrolled through the app. Looking at these posts almost drove him crazy. So he thought that maybe he could just sleep it off, and then his world would be back to normal.

But, that didn't happen.

He couldn't even close his eyes. When he did he would remember everything in detail: how the pigeons flew at ease in crimson; how the river water flew for eternity while being orchid; how a random kid ran by but his skin was indigo.

He couldn't close his eyes, so rather than sleep he instead sat up and turned on his phone, opened the blog app, and kept surfing.

He then saw theories.

A lot–no, not just "a lot". Hordes, piles, millions of theories overcrowded the app. Most of them were just guesses without much proof. Some of them looked novel and attractive at first sight, like what James read during his midnight internet tour.

The blog post said:"I think our world is not real. It is made of codes, a simulator! That is why the colours are changing–it's a glitch. The code somehow went wrong. Maybe there were bugs, maybe the program is being hacked, and so it affects our world's colour system!

And we are the victims.

We are not humans. We are just a bunch of characters, letters, and numbers."

It was an interesting theory. James' worldview collapsed in just seconds, he never thought that the place where he had lived for 22 years–it also could have been existing for thousands of millenia–is artificial. "It is just a theory, James," he muttered to himself, "It is a theory made by normal people–citizens, just to feel safe…everything is under control, James!

"I am real, I am not a bunch of numbers, I am and will always be James!"

He scrolled through the rolls of theories, one that also catches his eyes: "On May 25th our largest and most advanced astronomical telescope detected a flash 113 lightyears away from our lovely planet. After checking we, the National Observatory, are sure that the flash came from the explosion of a supernova.

113 lightyears may sound long to you, but for the light and radiation the supernova creates this distance is just as short as the distance between your toilet to your sink. The radiation may cause certain amounts of unpredictable aftereffects, just like what we are seeing today: the colours being at the wrong places. This could be explained that the radiation affects the light created by our sun, causing the spectrum to be mismatched.

However, this won't last for long. It may be like this for several days, or months, but eventually it will slowly lose its effects and fade, then our lives will turn back to normal."

Posted by the National Observatory's academician, Steve Hornel, the theory was accepted by most people. Having much proof and evidence, this theory was even accepted by the government and the president. But, somehow, James sensed a bit of weirdness in this incident. To him, this isn't just a case of supernovas.

He searched for the creator of the first theory he liked. The poster of this blog has nothing special about him, but what he wrote about the theory was eye-catching: "Look at this! A joke from an old fuddy-duddy."

 "A random guy who thinks this is funny, huh?" James pressed on the screen of his phone, the page then led to another person's post.

"Let me see, this is... wait, the director of the National Academy of Sciences, Gordon Dawson? Isn't that blog post a malicious joke from the Internet?"

James looked at the photo of the old man with very little hair on his phone, and for a moment he didn't know whether to believe in his own self-hypnosis and mumbling, or the academic authority of the country.

In the end, James chose to believe in his motherland. After all, he is the dean of the Research Institute! When he was a child, he admired this person and even dreamed of becoming a scientist..

"But," James thought, "if the world was built with a supercomputer and a lot of codes, doesn't that mean there really is a Creator of this world?"

"My God, I don't know...what is true and what is not? Should I believe the accurate report of the Astronomical Observation Bureau, or should I believe what I think is correct, the 'world false theory'?"

"Maybe I should talk to someone… Yes! Talk to someone. But, who should I… maybe I should go try to find Gordon Dawson, and see if he can give me some answers."

The next day, James made a phone call to the National Academy of Sciences. When the person on the other end answered the phone, he obviously didn't expect that someone would be so idle that he wanted to talk to the dean of the Academy of Sciences instead of a psychological counsellor.

"No, sir, we are busy right now, and…seriously I can't let you do that. Mr. Dawson…sir, if you keep calling us we would call the police. Please hang–why wouldn't you talk to someone else? The theory? But–oh, alright…"

Finally, after James's unremitting efforts of persuasion, the man on the other side of the phone agreed to hand over the phone to the academician so that the two of them could talk.

"Who is this, may I ask?" a sound of an old man came through the phone. He sounded like a castle centuries old, but still stood up high, telling travellers who came by stories that were told not: of how the bricks were touched, of how the bells rang, of how the earth was stepped on.

"A fan…of your theory, sir," this is how James replied.

"Oh, yes, my theory…it doesn't make much sense, doesn't it? The National Observatory posted something a lot more convincing," Gordon Dawson's voice became a little bit impatient.

"No, no! Sir, I believe in your theory, I believe in your hypothesis. That is, although the Observatory's report is more convincing, I feel in my heart that the world is not what most people think. Maybe this came from my instinct, but I just felt strange that the wrong arrangement of colours had nothing to do with the supernova explosion."

"Alright, young lad. I believe you then. And, I'll be honest with you, I feel the same way as you do. I'm just as confused as you are and I'm just as clueless as you are. But, kid, listen: when your point of view is different from most people, it does not mean that you are wrong; on the contrary, your point of view may be correct. Even if you cannot prove your point of view now, you should try your best to prove it until the truth emerges. Follow your heart, son, follow your heart."

"Follow my heart, you say…"

"Yes, my lad. I'm also doing experiments to prove my hypothesis, and it's anything but successful. Though I couldn't see where the theory would lead me, but…every possibility to find the truth is necessary.

If I could just unsee those comments…ah, follow your heart, "

"Yes, yes…thank you, sir!"

"You're welcome," and then Gordon hung up.

After James talked to Gordon Dawson, and accepted the "false world theory", he felt a heavy sense of powerlessness and insecurity: the world is false. If one day someone turns off the big computer running the "world", or appears if there is a computer virus, doesn't it mean that their world is coming to an end?

He didn't want to think about these things that make him feel uneasy anymore. No, with a world like this, everyone would die, including him. James did not want to die, he wanted to change the fate of the world's ending!

James stood up with enthusiasm, and then soon realised: "How do I know when the end will come?"

Mortals know nothing, while gods are indifferent. James knew nothing, but his desire to live told him that he should keep searching for the answer. The key of survival, the key of life!

"Now, I can only try those ancient magic rituals first, because, well, there is a 'God', and there should be something in the past that has things to do with him–or her... It is obviously a world composed of codes, but I have to use magic to communicate with 'God'! That's funny…"

He went outside and ran to the district library at lightning speed and borrowed all the books on magical rituals he could borrow. Things like "Alchemy of Anlare", "Ritual of Seventeen Star Transshipment", "Handbook of Summoning Occult Creatures", "Comprehensive Interpretation of Divination Cards" and so on. He even borrowed a book called "Scientific Model of Magic", but when he got home and opened it, it turned out to be an old romance novel. He threw that book on to his desk and had not touched it since then.

He returned home as fast as strong gusts of wind and opened a book about divination with stones. Although this seemed very unreliable and kind of funny, since there was no better way to get close to the "Creator", he could only try it first.

Of course, he failed, after nearly 30 books of attemption.

"Damn it! Divination doesn't work, transmutation rituals don't work, psychic games don't work, and alchemy doesn't work either! Where can I find pure peridot for those damn charms?"

"If I follow this idea, I will inevitably encounter a dead end. I still need to find one more way, a way to contact 'God'..."

James sat on the sofa, resting his chin on the back of his hand, thinking of unrealistic solutions in his mind. Should I make a field circle? No, I would be arrested if I did it...Should I go protest in the streets? I can't find neither a reason nor a companion, so I can't do it too... dance to the gods in the People's Square? A lot more absurd than the last! I guess I'll be treated like a lunatic...

What else can be done? "Think, James, think!" he murmured to himself. "The colour confusion in this world means that there is a problem with its system. You must find a way to survive. Think, James!"

He hit his forehead over and over again to keep himself awake. His head was already covered with beads of sweat, and a few were sliding down his cheeks. His eyes were closed tightly and his face was pale.

"System error, system error, system...eh? System, computer, Internet...Internet...blog, blo–yes, right, blogs. I can post a blog! I shall post a blog and try to get the 'creator' to see it! But, how? Add tags? Maybe, that should do…and the content of it…yes, this is the only way I could think of…"

James quickly came to his desk and laptop. He opened the blog software he was accustomed to, and then began to write a "letter", a "letter" written to the "Creator". James didn't know if the "Creator" would see it, but at least he still had a faint hope by doing so: there was hope for survival!

After writing, James pressed the "publish" button. "One letter may not be enough, so I must write more in the following days, so that I still have a chance to be noticed by the 'Creator '," he muttered to himself, his voice now in great determination, his eyes had light in it, as if there was a candle flickering in his black pupils. It was uncertain, however, if the candle could be lighted forever.

It had been seven days since the first blog to "God" was posted. During this period, he sent 5 more "letters", none of which received a reply from the "Creator", and none of them received the response that James imagined. He had previously thought that even if the "Creator" did not see these "letters," other netizens might ignore them, or they might be spread by some "believers of God" who were just as desperate as him and also trusted the "world false theory". They may see this as a chance to contact "God", telling him or her to fix the errors of this code-made world.

The first comment of the series of letters, in fact, was this: "hahahahahaha".

Then more came to the posts. Most of them were just laughing, while some others tried to convince James that "God" is not real; the world is not a bunch of codes, the colours changed only because the planet was affected by a supernova explosion which happened 113 lightyears away. More came to comment, more came to like and subscribe as they thought this would be funny to see. "It's like reading a novel! I won't be bored during class now," one commented below the letters.

 James saw that his posts and himself went viral.

"What did I see?" James whispered, "What did I see!" His face instantly rushed to the computer screen, his nose almost being squished by the glowing rectangle.

"Why are they laughing at me? Why don't they think there's something wrong with the world? Damn it, there's a big problem here, and those ignorant, stupid people just think it can all be attributed to a damn supernova explosion!

"Vulgar! Insensitive! Brain-damaged! Brainless savages! Idiots who follow what everyone else says! Beasts! Dogs! Stupid tentacle monsters! Fire-spitting iguanas! Short and weak–ah, nevermind…As long as I keep sending the 'letters', they shall see who's correct all along."

Days passed by, and soon it had been a month since the first letter was posted. "James the Wisher", as the others called him, was now rejecting calls about putting him on a TV show.

"I told you earlier this morning that I do not have the will to go on your show…no, no thank you, I–oh I'm hanging."

"Are you sure, Mr. Watson? We offer great oppor–"

"No, no thank you…don't call me again…"

He lied on his sofa, his face filled with tiredness and misery. Looking at his blog posts and the mocking comments, and his own rebuts ("Idiotic parrots!"), the urge to rest had felt much more stronger than before.

"This path of solving the problem is rather funny! Ha! I sent 'God' blog posts!"he laughed at himself. How funny, but what else could he do? This is the only way he could find to prove that the world is fake, but all he received were pure taunts. Thinking about the comments, and those behind the words made James' brain feel painful.

His eyes started to close. The sounds of the cars outside and the sound of his fan in the room started to blur together, as if someone took a paint brush and slowly swiped it on a canvas. The paint was a soft red, the kind you would find in a nursery. The brush was the wind, the colour of the paint was the noise.

Then, James's eyes had fully shut. His breath was long and peaceful. As the roads' and fan's noise merged into a single sound, James' mind started to dream.

But the dream wasn't a pleasant one.

He dreamed of a plain of grass. Only consisted of grass, and a bright, warm sun shone through the bright blue sky without a sign of cloud, but a door-shaped dark hole unexpectedly appeared in the middle of the scene; He dreamed of three balls of light orbited around a ball of dirt irregularly, in a vast room of black; he dreamed of a man wearing a suit, sitting in front of a piano, performing. The lyrics of his song was the most absurd thing James had ever heard, but he could not recall the details of it; he dreamed of a clown, with brightly coloured clothing, laughing and dancing on staircases...that made James think of those uncomfortable comments.

"Retarded irregular mugs!"

James's dream ended there. His body twitched once, twice, and the third time James woke up, shouting nonsense.

"Ah...I feel terrible," he said as he sat up, his voice was hoarse and his face looked like a dried out prune.

"It's all because of those bastards who keep making fun of me...ah, but, then what should I do?

That is the question: what should I do now? The blog posts don't work...of course they don't...there isn't any way that gives evidence on the existence of god and--the world is a simulator...

Am I wrong? But Dawson said I should follow my heart..."

James just sat there for a long moment. He did not notice the time flow past his fingers, nor the alarm clock he set for buying the morning posts.

He just sat there, thinking.

He thought, and thought, and thought. He thought so much his brain hurt. The thoughts were all jumbled up and confused, but he was still thinking.

Then, suddenly, he remembered. He remembered the day he first found out the world's wrong colours, the day when he went into the public washroom.

James ran to his bathroom and opened the tap. He cupped his hands together, collecting the running water, and then splashed the cold water onto his face. He felt a sudden jolt of cold, and his body shivered a bit.

"Ah...that's more like it!"

James was finally awake. He felt a sense of chillness running down from his face.He turned off the tap, walked out of the bathroom, and took a glass and a bottle of mineral water from the fridge. He poured the cold water into the cup and drank.

"It's cold, refreshing, and...a little tasteless, but that's what happens when you have been sleeping for so long.

"The world...I'd leave that problem for now. The world is ending! Why not enjoy the rest of my life living happily! Who cares if the world is fake, who cares if the world is a simulation, the world is my life, and I will live it to the fullest! I would...oh, yes, I would go on a TV show!"

And that is what he did. He took the offers of numerous night shows, just talking about how he had the idea of those "letters".

"I do believe that the world is fake," said James, pretending that he is still reaching for "God", "I am scared! Ooh, there are bugs in here, I can't fix them!"

He acted exaggeratedly, his arms reached out, as if hugging something extraordinarily big, and his eyes opened wide.

"The world is fake! Ah, no, please, don't delete my account..."

James's acting is not very good, but the audience, the audience loves him. The host and the other guests are also laughing, and some even started clapping.

"You are very good, Mr. Watson, I'd give you an A++."

"Oh, thanks," James said, "you are a lot more professional than me."

"Of course, this is my job," the host smiled, "now, next question, would you kindly tell us what you are planning to do, and where your inspiration came from?"

"Inspiration, huh..." James repeated, "to be honest, it came from an old friend. He said that the world was not what we thought it was, and one day, the 'creator' will see our message. I guess it was him who got the idea first."

"I see," said the host, "what do you think will happen to the world?"

"I don't know, but I hope it is not something too horrible. I'm just an ordinary person, you see..."

****

Gordon Dawson was watching the show during his break from all the failed experiments he had done for the past months.

"This is him, isn't he? That boy who phoned me about my theories…

"Well, it seems that he is lost…and so do I…" Dawson muttered slowly. Then,he picked up the phone on his desk and dialled a number.

 "Hello, this is Gordon Dawson.

"Yes, hello. Would you please put a message on the National Observatory's website for me?

"It's quite simple: 'I was wrong, it's all about the supernova'.

"Thank you… Yes, good evening to you, sir."

And he went to bed after doing so.

It was the next morning, when a beautiful sunrise, much more beautiful than usual, that Gordon Dawson died. His family found him lying on his bed, breathless. He had a peaceful look on his face, as if he was a baby sleeping, but deep down in his mask of death is the bitter scent of sorrowness. None of his family members could understand his pain. To them, it was a mere loss for the country's scientific field.

****

When James opened his eyes, he didn't see the colourful, ever changing ceiling he expected to see in his bizarre dreams, but a plain white one. He was still lying on his sofa, but the room was darker, and he could hear the sound of the rain.

He looked outside, and saw the city lights dimmed, the streets were empty, and the rain poured. The wind blew and the trees bent. James' room was silent, save for the sound of the rain and the wind.

This was peaceful, James thought.

The world was still running, the theories had not moved the great vast earth one single bit. People lived without the fear of the world's end. James felt that he wouldn't mind anything about the misplaced colours from now on.

"It's all just my imagination, a ridiculous conjecture that was not real. There is no Creator, the world is real, and there are no problems, and there's nothing to worry about...

"Yes, yes, let me just enjoy the rain."

And James closed his eyes and slept once more.

That was the last time James saw how beautiful the colours were.

The next morning, there was no sun.

In fact, there was no sky. The whole space which had been azure blue was now pure black. No sign of the glowing fire orb was seen anywhere. The sky disappeared.

However, if James ignored the sky, everything looked perfectly normal: things still casted a shadow; flowers still bloomed; the body still felt warm when the visible sunlight touched his skin; there was still a reflection of light, but the origins of all these had disappeared. It felt like it was always there, but the canvas above was filled with black.

People on the streets raised their heads, faces slowly melted with panic, fear, and other negative feelings mashed together. Cars stopped in the middle of the road. People squeezed through the gap of other people, trying to get home. Kids cried as the sound of everything started to blare. There was no room left in the churches, everybody came to pray for help.

Suddenly, the noises vanished. Not a single breath could be heard.

James tried to shout. It was useless.

The next second, all visible objects were removed. Not a single dust could be seen.

James could not feel his own body. His mind began to go numb. He wanted to shed a tear, he wanted to feel sad, but…

What is "sad"?

The world turned black.