• What if we are trapped in an endless nightmare?
At 8:23 p.m., I was half-asleep when I was woken up by the sound of the middle-aged couple next door arguing. The sound of porcelain breaking seemed to explode right next to my ears.
The room was pitch black, and not a single star could be seen in the cramped courtyard outside the window. The silent houses across the way blended seamlessly into the murky night sky. My pupils moved aimlessly, unable to find focus.
My mind is still foggy, a complete blank, I have no idea what time it is. My phone screen lights up, I squint and glance at it. A boring notification.
It's 8:23 already. Is the day over?
After a moment of silence in the darkness, my mind gradually cleared. I slowly turned my head, groping around. Where are the headphones? Where are the headphones? Why aren't they here? Where are they? Ugh, I can't remember. A sudden surge of restlessness arose within me.
A faint sobbing sound came from next door. It was the little boy from that family.
Immediately following, the woman unleashed a barrage of curses, filled with hatred and resentment, like tiny needles piercing my ear canals and densely stabbing into my brain.
My entire scalp was tingling, and the widespread numbness temporarily rendered me unable to think.
Then suddenly it transformed into a nematode and burrowed deep into my brain, then turned into a clump of loose, long hair, densely and tangled together.
So I started to get anxious. Trying to pull that tangled mess of hair out of my head, I irritably rubbed my long, messy hair, then tore at it, pulling out handfuls of hair.
My head started to throb with pain, but all I could do was cover my head and clamp my ears shut. Those horrible lines kept drilling into my brain, gnawing away at my sanity.
Time flowed slowly, unnoticed. In a hazy state, I began to recall that shattered dream. A girl in a white dress, amidst broken walls and ivory-white, ornate European-style stone pillars, ran through these ruins. She passed through a doorway in the middle of the crumbling walls, leaped over collapsed pillars, and ran forward with all her might.
But no matter how hard I tried to recall the scene, I couldn't remember a single image. I just kept replaying the scene, trying to see something else.
I rubbed my eyes and opened them, which were a little dry. It was still pitch black.
A knock sounded on the door. I dragged my heavy steps and staggered to open it.
I opened the door. Nothing there. "Who is it?" Then I felt my trouser leg being tugged, and a little boy squatted down in front of me.
"What?" My tone was anything but friendly. But I was already incredibly annoyed.
He looked up at me, his eyes glistening with moisture. His pupils were dark and pure. Everything was understood without words. What would you do if a wet little dog sat in front of your door wagging its tail?
"Get out. Go back to your own home." I slammed the door shut.
I turned back to the drawer, rummaged through the medicine box, opened it, took out two white pills, poured myself a glass of water, and drank it all in one gulp. The icy liquid seeped into my gut. I shivered and shrank back into bed.
Lying in bed, I stared blankly at the white ceiling, and in a daze, I seemed to see a whole pile of pills. I thought, "Great, I don't need to buy medicine anymore."
When I counted to the thousandth or so pills, my world finally went dark.
I started dreaming again. Fragments of nonsensical images flashed by. I saw again the white dress running through the ruins. I tried to remember it all.
Behind the stone pillar, I saw another person, another running person. I chased after him, trying hard to see him clearly. He turned around; the light was a little blinding. He reached out his hand to me, as if wanting me to take it. I hesitated, wondering whether to see his face first or take his hand first.
Then, in an instant, the scene changed. A small dog was crouching in front of me, its round, black eyes large and bright. I stared into those eyes. The black parts grew larger and larger, eventually filling the entire eye socket and overflowing. Black tears fell in strings like broken beads. The whimpers in my ears grew louder and louder until they turned into screams.
She suddenly opened her eyes, grabbed the medicine box from the bedside table, and threw it on the floor. Sitting on the bed in a daze, she sighed deeply after a long while, buried her face in her hands, and then snuggled into the covers.
The voice continued, "I'll beat you to death. You've learned to lie at such a young age. Unbelievable..." The woman's voice was deep and sharp, making me want to vomit.
"Hey, is anyone abusing children? Shouldn't you do something about it?"
If carefully nurtured, can even suffering produce unrestrained flowers, which then drift away in the wind?