I'm breathing hard, barely able to keep myself steady, the frustration boiling up in my veins like poison. It's maddening—how they all just drift around, oblivious, blind to the edges fraying at the world's seams.
But she—she has a name. A real name. She's the one who stands behind the counter, always with that same, placid expression, always calling out to people like clockwork. I'd seen her smile, wave, make small talk. She's different, important somehow. If anyone can see past the blankness, it has to be her.
I storm into the dim shop, pushing past a line of other [ ]s who barely acknowledge my presence, their heads still turned toward the endless loop of chatter around us.
She looks up, her smile twitching just a bit, eyes narrowing as I step toward her, frantic. "Can I help you with—?"
"Tell me you see it," I gasp, gripping the counter to keep from shaking. "Please. You must see it. You've got a name, a real role. At least tell me you know something."
She stares at me, bewildered. "What on earth are you talking about?"
"You know what I'm talking about!" My voice rises, jagged and desperate. I slam my hands down on the counter, and the force makes her flinch. "This world. It's… it's not right, don't you feel it? Doesn't it seem fake to you? Like it's just made to look real, made to look… normal?"
She laughs, though it's more nervous than amused. "Have you lost it? Look, I've seen you around—you're [ ], right? No offense, but you're talking nonsense. Maybe you should… rest or something."
But I can't stop. I'm leaning over the counter now, gripping her shoulders, desperate for her to hear me. "You have a name!" I almost shout, my fingers digging into her sleeves. "You're not like the others! Please, tell me you see it. Tell me you know something—anything!"
She winces, trying to push me away, her eyes now wide and panicked. "What the hell are you on about? What does my name have to do with anything?"
"What do you mean, what does your name have to do with it?" My voice cracks, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. "You have a name. You're meant to be seen, noticed, remembered. You're not just a placeholder. You must have some reason, some awareness of what this place really is!"
She jerks back, twisting out of my grip with a scowl. "Look, I don't know what you're rambling about, but maybe you should stop scaring people and go… I don't know, get some pills or something.."
I stumble back, my hands falling to my sides as her words echo in my head. Is she just like the others?! Is her name and purpose just a placeholder too?!
Her lips press together, anger simmering behind her stare. "If you don't want trouble, maybe stop harassing me."
It hits me like a punch to the gut. Stand out. That's exactly what I'm not supposed to do. The whole point of being [ ] is to remain in the shadows, never making a ripple, never asking questions. Maybe she's right. Maybe I should just… stop. Fade back into the background. Be a good [ ] and let myself forget.
But as I stare at her—at the way she stands there, scowling, name badge glinting in the dim light—a bitter laugh slips from my mouth.
"Yeah?" I murmur, my voice rough. "I'm trying to hold onto whatever sanity I've got left, and you're worried about me 'standing out'? You have a name. You're part of his story. You can pretend this is all real, but I can't."
She's backing away now, like I'm some lunatic who wandered in off the streets. Maybe I am. Maybe I'm everything she thinks I am and worse. But in this twisted world, I'm the only one who's awake enough to feel the weight of it pressing down, crushing me inch by inch.
"Forget it," I mutter, shoulders slumping as I turn away from her, feeling the emptiness spread through me again. "Keep living in your fake little world."
I step out of the shop, leaving her stunned silence behind, knowing it won't matter. She'll go on, just like everyone else, smiling and waving, playing her part in this stage made of shadows.
And me? I'm just [ ], trapped here, forever watching, forever knowing, and never able to escape.
I could cry. Cry until my voice was raw, until my chest was hollow and empty. But no one would care. The [ ]s would keep drifting by, hollow-eyed, blind, and the ones with names, the "real" ones—they'd just shake their heads, dismiss me as a lunatic, insane for seeing the cracks they ignore. Or maybe… maybe I could just lie here, curl up, and let myself become nothing. Just fade away and let someone else, some other [ ], take my place.
So I do. I sink down, curling up in the middle of the street, feeling the cold, gritty stones beneath me. Just another [ ], slumped in the dirt, no different from the rest. Maybe if I stay here long enough, I'll finally disappear. Fade back into the backdrop, just like I was made to.
But then, I feel it—cold, hard metal tapping against my side. I don't have to look up to know who it is. The metallic weight of those boots, the cold press of steel, the faint, bitter scent of blood. It's him. The knight. The one with the hollow eyes, the one who moves through this world like a blade, killing anyone who stands in his path.
I look up slowly, meeting his gaze. He's staring down at me, his face shadowed, eyes dark and empty. But there's something else there, something twisted, something that makes my skin crawl. "Where is she?" His voice is low, almost a growl, his words dripping with that familiar madness, that obsessive hunger. "Where is she?"
I don't answer. I just stare back, feeling the weight of his gaze press down on me like a stone. I don't know where she is. I don't know who she is. I don't even know why he keeps asking me, why he keeps coming back to me, why he keeps… killing me.
"Leave me alone," I whisper, my voice barely a breath. I'm too tired to fight. Too tired to care.
But he doesn't move. He just stares at me, his face twisting with disgust, like I'm nothing, like I'm less than nothing. "Then, you're useless."
The words hit me, dull and empty. I know I am. I was made to be. Just a blank face in the crowd, a nameless, faceless background character, here only to fill the spaces, to make him look good, to make him look real. But I still flinch as he raises his sword, the blade glinting in the dim light.
I close my eyes, feeling the cold bite of the blade as it cuts through me, swift and merciless. Pain blooms, sharp and searing, spreading through me like fire. And as I crumble, as everything fades, as the world slips away into darkness… I know I'll be back.
I'll wake up again, somewhere in this twisted, false world, just another [ ] waiting to be killed. And he'll still be looking for her, still chasing his illusion, still leaving a trail of bodies in his wake.
And I'll still be here, trapped, knowing it's all a lie but never able to escape.
I woke up again. In… my house. What is a house? Just some random words like [House], slapped together with no meaning. A collection of letters, stuck in place, pretending to be something real.
Yeah, sure. An amazing house. A clump of letters on the floor. A vague idea of walls and windows, but all I see is just empty, like everything else around here. Every time I open my eyes, I'm back here. I can feel the repetition gnawing at my sanity, like the world itself is mocking me.
Yeah, amazing. Not even my house got a better treatment than this...
I drag myself to my feet, the usual aching emptiness settling over me like a heavy blanket. I blink, the fog in my brain lifting just enough for me to remember where I am, and why I'm here. What is here, though? I don't know. It's like… it's like this place doesn't even exist. Or maybe it's that it exists, but it's just... words. A background. A placeholder. Nothing more. Not even a house. Just a lie built on a collection of empty words.
"Would you like to come to my house?" I hear a voice—one of the [ ]s. One of the ones who doesn't even notice what's wrong with this place. They don't get it, do they? They think it's all real. They think the world is a real thing, with houses and people and roles. They don't see the cracks, the seams, the twisting, fraying edges of reality.
And they think my "house" is a place to visit, something to invite someone into? Like this void could be something worth showing off.
I stare at the floor beneath me. Words. Just words. They don't even feel like words. They don't even feel like a house. They don't feel like anything.
"Hey, come on! You've been standing there for a while," the voice says again. But the [ ] never sees it. They never see the wrongness, the emptiness. They just keep playing their parts, following their scripts, moving through this dead world like it matters.
I grit my teeth and step forward, my foot hitting the floor with a hollow echo. Nothing but space, nothing but letters sprawled on the ground, like the town is trying to make up some kind of reality. But there's nothing here. There's no place. No people. No house.
This part of town—this empty, abandoned street—where no one's supposed to be. Because there's nothing here. Not a damn thing. Just… emptiness.
I move through it, slowly. What am I doing here? What is this place? What am I? All I feel is this constant weight pressing down on me, like I'm some kind of puppet, and I'm not even sure if I have a string to cut to end it.
Everything's just so fucking fake. So hollow. And I'm stuck in it. Over and over. Like some damn glitch.
I pause for a moment, looking around, trying to understand why this is all happening, or if it's just some kind of trap. But I know the answer. I'm not supposed to know. I'm not supposed to feel the emptiness. I'm just supposed to play along.
But I can't. I won't. Every time I wake up, I see it for what it is. And I'll keep seeing it, because… because I'm the only one who does.
I laugh, the sound harsh and empty, echoing in the void.
"Yeah, amazing," I mutter bitterly, kicking a chunk of [ ] out of my way. "What a fucking house."