I am naked, don't read
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A clear, radiant sky, like a blue fragment of paradise, captivated her senses, as if it were the most exalted creation descended from heaven—a glassy sheet enclosing the supreme light. Suddenly, a dark cloud gathered, merging into a dense mass like a thicket in a forest untouched by human feet. The sun appeared small and pale, curled in on itself, marring the pure blue. Then the rain began to fall—its drops a crimson red that terrified the eternal air, carrying the scent of sin. The sky wept blood, and paradise mourned its own transgressions.
Her legs resumed their movement, and then she broke into a run, fleeing from the blood raining down upon her, staining her soul and weighing it with filth. Exhausted, she collapsed to the ground like a lifeless body. She looked upward, pleading, as the blood poured down, drenching her. She tried to rise, but found herself stuck—ensnared, as if something clung to her. It felt like frail hands with long fingers and rotting nails were pulling her into the earth, dragging her toward the depths of hell.
The falling blood transformed into small, laughing human heads, oozing pus and rot from their mouths. They tumbled into her lap, hitting and crushing her skull. She screamed in vain, her voice stifled, while the heads laughed, and the blood enveloped her.
Then, a shadow approached, its features unclear. It knelt beside her, wiping the crimson from her face and shielding her from the heads with an umbrella of flame. In a soft, soothing voice that brought her a fleeting warmth, it whispered as it took her hand in its fingers:
"Give me your soul."
She burst into tears, sobbing, begging him:
"Save me, my lord. Relieve me and purify me from the darkness that dwells within me."
Part of his face emerged from the shadow, revealing long, yellowed fangs forming a grotesque smile. Then, with a terrifying laugh, he drove his claws deep into her throat.
"You have surrendered to the devil!"
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I opened my eyes, but all I could see was the color of sin and the thick liquid dripping from the ceiling of my room. I sat silently, feeling the wretched souls surrounding me, pleading with me to accompany them to a purifying torment. But what about her?
I sighed, and my soul melted with longing at the thought of her. In a hoarse voice, I muttered,
"Day four."
The cold air slapped me, and I exhaled angrily. A harsh, blinding light flooded the room. I got out of bed, stepping on the nails I had deliberately scattered the night before. Some sank into my feet, while the rest scattered in terror. I slammed the window shut, shattering its glass—some shards fell on me, while others escaped outside, fleeing from me.
I closed the curtains so that my heart and the room could share the same darkness. I gazed around; it felt warm, and warmth invites comfort, and comfort leads to love—something dangerous.
I don't want this place to cling to me. It resembles me—dark, disgusting, and cold. And I don't even want myself.
Lately, I've been forming too many connections, and I can't handle it. I can't even bear this room. The crimson curtains are irritating, the bed is unnecessary, the walls are pitch black, and the large wardrobe looms ominously. The bookshelf is filled with books I dislike. I hate reading.
Why do people read? To escape their filthy world? I want to rot in it.
From the heavens, a solution came to me—I will burn the room.
I don't need anything, and nothing needs me. Not even myself.
Then I saw the blue corner of the room, and nostalgia hit me like a storm—this glowing dot in the darkness, my spark of faith in a world full of lies.
Her desk, her essence. This was where she used to dream, live with passion, and work on making the world a better place. She was beautiful, radiant, a beacon of light that I lost.
The universe refuses to surrender, and the sky shows no intention of crashing down on the earth. Humanity keeps multiplying, and my hatred for the world only grows. This won't be suicide—I'm doing it willingly, without interference. And this won't be death—because the dead don't try again.
I opened the drawer of her battered desk and took out the blue lighter, turning it over in my hands as if the heavens were cradled between my palms. My breath halted, the universe crumbled, and my soul soared toward its Creator. The blue flame was in my grasp.
I approached the curtains—the crimson, the blood, my unforgivable sin. I tore them down violently, and they fell to the floor. I flicked the lighter, igniting the blue flame, hoping its glow would fade.
Suddenly, footsteps echoed, running toward me, fleeing from something—from the world—and rushing toward me!
The lighter slipped from my hand. I grabbed it frantically, only for it to fall again. The blue did not want me. I trembled. The room was warm, but I wanted to burn it. I felt cold, and I wanted to set myself on fire.
"Rina! What are you doing?!"
She screamed, stomping on the lighter—crushing the blue! She kicked it with her feet, and her eyes poured out water like a flood. I collapsed to the ground, tearing at what was left of my hair, screaming, and Rina screamed too. All three of us screamed.
"You shattered the blue! You shattered the blue!"
She slapped her cheeks, furiously wiping the tears off them, shrieking in panic, "Anthony! The girl's gone mad! We're losing her! For the love of what you worship, come save her—our daughter's lost her mind!"
I clung to her arms, digging my nails into her, screaming, pleading, and dying inside.
"Madness? Isn't madness not to feel anything? I'm falling, mother, I'm breaking apart! I crave madness—I need it, mother!"
He yanked me away from her by the hair as I screamed, "Mother, don't leave me! Please! Hold me, mother!"
He slapped me, pulling my hair, pointing at the fallen curtains, the glass shards beside them, and the scattered nails. He kept slapping me, but I couldn't feel it. He shouted, but I couldn't hear him. He stood right before me, but I couldn't see him.
He crushed the blue! He shattered the blue!
"Rina, I'm speaking to you!"
I convulsed in terror, gasping, struggling for breath, until something was shoved into my mouth. She pressed it down, and air returned to my lungs—yet I wasn't alive. Rina wasn't there.
I saw the syringe in my arm and tried to cry out, but my voice was strangled, as if a truck had run over my throat.
"I am Arachne!"
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"Mrs. Rogers, violence will only make things worse, and you shouldn't have left her alone. It's true that the switch happens every week, as she said, but exceptions always occur. And as you know, recently it seems Rina has lost her strength, and Arachne has taken full control over her.
So, I'll ask her a few questions after she wakes up. You can wait in my office."
I shake my head at what I just heard. Dr. Hanson is lying—I don't control Rina. Rina wants to abandon me. She wants to leave me behind, to run away like she always does—like everyone does.
I yank the IV out of my arm violently, stumbling out of bed. My body feels numb, and everything around me is blurry, like a nightmare. Are these the same nightmares Rina sees? Or are hers even worse?
Everything feels like an illusion. Are we living in a lie?
I make my way toward the open door, but every step feels heavy, as if I'm moving forward while the world pulls me backward—or maybe I've been walking in reverse all along. I fall to the ground, rise, then fall again, only to stand once more.
Hanson sees me, rushes to support me, and yells,
"Why did you leave the bed, Arachne?"
I stare at her, taking in every inch of her face, then look away before meeting her gaze again. "You're beautiful, Dr. Hanson, but I want Rina!"
She smiles, steadying me and guiding me back to the bed. I lie down, and she reconnects the IV to my arm. She takes my hand in hers, but I pull away, glaring at her with anger—only Rina deserves my touch.
"Arachne, dear, tell me everything you did yesterday—for Rina's sake, please."
I smile faintly, lost in thought as I gaze out the window. Night has fallen, a bright, moonlit night—just the way Rina likes it. Dr. Hanson touches me, and I flinch, exhaling with frustration. She repeats her question with a soft smile. After a few seconds, I finally answer, "I slept all day to be full of energy for her."
She hums thoughtfully, her gaze distant as she studies my face. I exhale in annoyance—how I wish I could draw on her face, but Rina doesn't like drawing on people.
"What about the nails? Why did you put them by your bed? And why did you break the window?"
I suppress my anger, clenching my fists to keep from hitting her. I swing my legs irritably, the urge to strike growing stronger. "I wanted to provoke Rina, to make her return faster. The window... that was an accident."
Her eyes widen, and she places a hand over her chest, whispering,
"By hurting yourself? Don't you feel pain?"
I grin widely, letting out a quiet chuckle, then lie down, staring at the ceiling without seeing it.
"Pain? What is that?"
She nods and murmurs with pity, trying to sound gentle, though it's all fake.
"A feeling... a sensation. That's what makes us human."
I jolt upright, my eyes wide, as the ceiling crumbles above me. My defenses collapse, and my legs betray me. I fall to the ground, screaming in terror, and she shrinks back in fear.
"Is that what makes a person human? What about me? Am I human? But my mother says I'm just an object that feels nothing.
What am I?
Who are we?"
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I watch my reflection in the mirror. The walls scratch at me, and the light from the lamps pierces me like sharp arrows driving me away. The corners of the room drip with blood, and the air is stifling, heavy with the scent of damp grass. The floor is rotting, twisted like a piece of hardened flesh. Everything is filthy—even my soul.
I lower my head, watching the ground, exhaling breaths that suffocate the frightened air. A minute passes, two, ten. When I raise my head, the items are neatly arranged, the floor is clean, and the air smells of lavender.
Again, I'm hallucinating...
"Rina... I mean, Arachne. Your father and I spoke to Dr. Hanson, and she said there's something we can do to ease your condition. You know your father works in a distant city, and this house is suffocating, so—"
I look away from her, busying myself by counting the stars in Rina's corner.
"I heard her. We can move."
Her brown eyes widen, and she places a hand on my shoulder. I take a step back.
"You have no idea how happy I am that you agreed!"
I take a deep breath and exhale through my nose, mocking her.
"We move every year. My opinion changes nothing."
She gasps, placing her hand over her chest, her eyebrows knitting together as she yells,
"Move? We do this for treatment! For Rina's treatment!"
I flinch, screaming, lunging at her throat as if to choke her. She gasps for breath—
I flinch, scream—nothing happened.
"Rina doesn't want to be treated from me! Rina wants me!"
She slaps me, shouting as my legs turn to jelly, and my vision blurs.
"Rina doesn't want you! She wants a normal life, a normal person! You are a disease! You're a parasite feeding on my daughter! You are a demon!"
I clutch my hair, sobbing, writhing on the floor as her feet press into my stomach.
Rina doesn't want me! I am a disease! I am a parasite!
"Anthony said you'll sleep with julia tonight—not in your room. We don't want to wake up and find the house burned down."
I am a disease! I am wicked! Crimson is wicked!
I am a disease! I am a demon!
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She paints her nails red, laughing with a vulgarity unbefitting a thirteen-year-old. She raises her index finger at me, looking down on me.
"Welcome back, sister! Lie on the floor, where you belong."
She's wearing Rina's pink nightgown. I smell her perfume and hear the melody of her laughter. She talks to me and smiles at me. She is in the sky, she is in the light, she is in the blue. Rina has always been here and everywhere.
"Arachne, look at yourself; you resemble a real spider!"
"Arachne, sing for me; I'm scared."
"Arachne, you look beautiful!"
"Arachne, you're a disease! You're a parasite trying to drain me!"
"No, no... Rina, don't say that."
"You insane girl, stop talking to your demons and just sleep."
I stare at her... she's wearing pink. I look around the room... it resembles her. I bring my gaze back to her, gasping; when did she grow up like this?
"What's today's date?"
"The end of August."
"But I feel cold!"
When did time pass? What is time? Where was I?
Days escaped me while I cried and complained. I lost my chance to chase after it, the ground below me crumbled, and all I could do was lie down and wish for eternal sleep.
Who am I? I remember that I had a name!
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