Out of the Purple

My name is Sato Kugo. I’m 18 years old, and until two days ago, I lived in Tokyo, Japan. Ever since I was a kid, I’ve been hearing a voice inside my head. It calls itself Allister Twain.

When I was 6 years old, my parents overheard me having a conversation with myself. When they confronted me about it and I told them I was speaking with a man in my brain, they freaked out. They brought me to a psychiatric hospital, where I had extensive tests and evaluations performed on me. I was soon diagnosed as a schizophrenic.

As a result, I grew up scared and paranoid. After my diagnosis, I felt I couldn’t trust anything around me, including my own senses.

When I was born, I my parents gifted me a teddy bear, which I named Shinichi. He became my best and only friend. However, when I was 12 years old, I began to suspect that Shinichi was the source of the voice. I maintained my distance from him from thereon out.

But he kept calling to me. He didn't actually say anything, but I knew he wanted me to look at him...

One night, I stabbed Shinichi to death and slashed his throat for good measure. His stuffing flew everywhere. I hid under my covers and waited for the police to arrive. Surely, I was in trouble, right? I mean, I had just killed someone...

I didn’t hear the voice for the rest of the night.

It returned when I awoke. "Good morning, Kugo," it had told me.

The only consequence of my murder was my parents' anger, when they found out I had destroyed a piece of my history.

The voice never stopped insisting it was real, but I knew better. It was an inescapable illusion. I guess all this craziness made me look really strange to the outside world, because I was bullied severely in elementary and middle school. My peers thought I was a freak and said I talked to perverts in my head. As a result of the bullying, I became a recluse during my early teen years. My parents tried everything to get me to go outside.

Nothing worked.

I spent my days cooped up inside my room, working through textbooks, playing video games and solving puzzles. My hair grew long and my skin pale.

I may not have attended school, but I had an insatiable thirst for knowledge. When I was 15, I made the decision to join high school. By that point, I was far more advanced than the average student.

Now, at 18, life was going pretty well. I could speak five languages, and I was about to graduate with a 4.0 GPA. Plus, I’d already received a preliminary acceptance to the University of Tokyo, to study economics. But, best of all: none of my peers knew about the voice.

Oh, and my hair was short again.

So, why did I say I lived in Tokyo until two days ago?  Well, here's what happened...

The classroom was silent, though you could almost hear the anticipation. A man lumbered around the room. You’d think him a god of death, the way everyone looked at him. But to me, he was my hero; and eventually, my hero stood before me. Mr. Matsumoto, my homeroom teacher, was here to free me from high school. He slapped some papers onto my desk, with all the vigour of a man whose wife hadn’t slept with him in years.

Finally, the last exam of my school career. I read the cover:

Mathematics

80 minutes

No Calculator

Student name:

/100

I hadn’t been this excited to turn a page since… two hours ago, when I'd been sitting in front of my English final.

“You may begin,” Mr. Matsumoto signalled.

I signed my name on the cover. Sato Kugo. Flawless start.

As I was quadruple checking my test, Mr. Matsumoto called time. “Everybody, drop your pencils and close your exams!”

I bolted as soon as we were allowed to leave, ignoring the rest of my classmates. It's not like I was friends with any of them, anyways. After all the pain I had been subjected to, I knew not to trust people. It could take the smallest oddity or detail for them to turn on you.

During my walk home, it spoke.

"What are you going to do now?"

The voice I had once dreaded, had become a source of comfort during high school. It still sometimes infuriated me, but I enjoyed having someone to talk to about whatever I wanted.

What do you mean? I responded.

"Well, now that you’ve graduated, what’s next? Hopefully something fun for a change."

I don’t know. There aren’t many goals a person can even have. Wealth, fame, power and family. That’s about it. I used to dream about waking up one morning and discovering I have superpowers. But even that doesn’t make any sense. Once the excitement wears off, I’d have no more use for them, than to chase the same exact goals I’d be chasing without them. The only way anything I do or obtain could even matter, is if the reason matters.

"You’re very self-pitying for a guy with loving parents and good grades."

You know, what, Allister? Today's a good day, so I don't even want to talk to you-

And just like that, I vanished.

I lurched forward, falling to my hands and knees. I nearly puked. I rubbed the sudden, inexplicable blurriness out of my eyes. Still on all-fours, I got a good look at the pavement. It wasn't the grey asphalt or brick roads that I knew; rather the floor was a dirty, cobblestone pathway. I looked up. The pale Tokyo sky had been replaced by a clear blue. Scanning my surroundings, I couldn’t help but ogle at the white and brown, medieval-looking houses. Clearly, I was no longer where I had just been a heartbeat earlier. So, where was I? Somewhere in Europe? I focused on the people around me. The sea of suits and uniforms had been replaced by clothes I didn’t recognise. Ill-fitted waistcoats, corsets, dresses and strange jackets. All in black and gold. Furthermore, they wore all sorts of accessories: goggles, canes, pocket watches and even swords. Oh, and I have to mention the impressive assortment of hats. Under those hats, I could see natural blonde, ginger and all shades of brown hair. It looked like I’d stumbled into some gothic-medieval-steampunk cosplay event. I slowly stood up.

A horseman wearing a long, black trench coat and a white top hat yelled out to the people crowding the streets. “Move!”

Why was he on a horse...?

Actually, there'd been something seriously bothering me. Through all the gawking I’d been doing, I had yet to see a single car, smartphone or neon street sign.

Allister, what do you make of all this?

I expected a snarky remark reminding me how I'd just told him I didn’t want to speak to him. Instead, I heard nothing.

Helloooo? Allister? Mr. Twain, are you there?

Had there ever been a time I called upon him and he didn’t answer?

Dude, come on, say something. What the hell’s going on here?

Maybe I was dreaming? I reached behind me to make sure my backpack was still there. I sighed in relief when I confirmed that it was.

Hold on…

What language had the horseback rider spoken in? I ran through all of the languages I speak. Japanese, English, Mandarin, German and French. No, no, no, no and no. Yet, somehow, I had understood him. Come to think of it, I was no longer even thinking in any language I knew!

I spotted a caped, young man sitting on a barrel across the street. He was observing me. Had he been staring this whole time? I forced myself forward; I couldn't remain shocked all day. I crossed the street and walked up to the man. He seemed to be watching me approach through his darkened goggles. Right as I opened my mouth to speak, he held up a finger.

“You’re an outsider, aren’t you? I can tell by your clothes,” he remarked. I couldn't help but notice his wide mouth.

“Yes. Where-”

“Follow me, my friend,” he said. The man jumped up, revealing himself to be exactly my height. He turned around and disappeared into an alleyway. Now, on normal days, I don’t follow strange men into alleys. But then again, on normal days, I don’t teleport. I hesitated but hurried to catch up. At the end of the alley was a rusty gate. It creaked loudly as the man opened it. We emerged from the alleyway, onto an enclosed public patio. There were several small, white tables with matching chairs in an open area. The patio was bordered by a restaurant to my left and a wooden fence to my right. The men loitering around didn't make use of the chairs, opting instead to sit on the stairs or lean against walls. They all looked affiliated and unfriendly.

“Did you just bring me to a gang hideout?” I hissed to my caped companion. He gave me a thumbs up. Up ahead sat a chubby, bearded man. He wore brown pants, a yellow polo shirt, and a brown bowler hat. The coin he was tossing up and down cut through his cigar smoke. He caught it, then launched it straight at us. I leaped out of the way. My mysterious guide casually caught the coin with one hand. Then, he saluted me, before wordlessly slinking off. I heard the gate close behind me.

So, I found myself alone with a bunch of scary looking strangers in a strange land. None of them said or did anything. They simply stared at me, smoking and chewing.

“Hello,” I said, my voice shaking with nerves.

“Good morning,” replied the bearded man. He sounded much friendlier than I'd expected. “What do you need?”

Probably nothing you’re selling, I thought to myself. “I just have some questions. Uh, I don’t know where-”

“Questions? What are you, a city guard?” one of them aggressively interrupted. They all tensed up. Only the bearded man remained unperturbed.

“No! No, I don’t even know what that is. Like, a cop?”

“A what?”

“Never mind. Listen, I just found myself in this place about two minutes ago and I’d like to know where I am,” I explained. “What country is this?”

“You’re in the city of Boneview in Ruhe,” he informed me.

Now, I know my countries, and Ruhe certainly isn’t one of them. Did I travel back in time? Is this a European country that no longer exists in my day?

Allister, I think I really am crazy. I just asked myself if I travelled back in time, without a hint of sarcasm.

Still no response from Allister.

“Do you maybe have a map of the world?” I asked the bearded man. To my surprise, he reached into his satchel and pulls out a folded, aged sheet of paper. He held it up, inviting me forward. I hesitantly approached. I reached out to take the map, but he pulled it back and grabbed my outstretched arm. All the other men sprang up and restrained me.

Immediately losing all sense of dignity, I screamed out. “Help!”

The bearded man rose from the stairs. He was a head taller than my 177cm. He placed his fingertips on my face.

“I’m not a city guard! I’m not a city guard!” I yelled, though something told me none of them thought I was. The man ignored my cries. Suddenly, his fingertips began to emit thin, white smoke. The smoke entered my ears, nose and mouth.

I lost consciousness…