Chapter 2: Why am I alone?

MELODY


For as long as I can remember, my voice has been the only thing keeping me company. Singing made me feel real, as if the world could finally hear me, even if I couldn’t touch it.

But even if I could sing all day… who would ever listen?

Why am I the only one in this world?

I sit on top of a pale white building, overlooking the wintry city of Hoshivalle. The streets below glimmer faintly under the frost, lights flickering in rhythm with the soft wind.

I’ve been everywhere, Russia, America, Italy, the United Kingdom, Brazil, Nigeria, Germany, China, Australia, Philippines,Japan. I’ve crossed oceans and continents, drifted through every city I could find. Yet no matter where I go, nothing ever changes. I’m still alone.

I used to be afraid of heights. But now, I don’t fear falling anymore.

Because I can’t die. Is not that I wanted to

I learned that the hard way. I once fell from a skyscraper, but instead of plummeting to the ground, the wind itself caught me, a gust woven with melodies and symphonies, carrying me safely to earth.

That was the day I realized I wasn’t normal.

The day I realized I was trapped here.

So I live, forever standing between life and death, between sound and silence.

I couldn’t understand why I was here or what "people" truly were. All I knew was the emptiness, the endless stillness of a world that never answered back.

And so, for all my life, I have been living alone in this mysterious place, a world that feels like a dream I can’t wake from.
I walked through the city, and as always, everything around me danced. Streetlights swayed in rhythm, windows twinkled like percussion, and instead of noise, there were symphonies drifting through the air.

There weren’t any single animals, whatsoever.

When I was little, I had wandered into a small shop and seen mannequins moving as if they were alive. At first, I thought they were humans, but they only danced. Always dancing. Always just out of reach.

Near a fountain, two mannequins caught my eyes. They were dancing intimately, lost in their own world. My chest ached with a strange mixture of wonder and longing. One wore a suit, the other a flowing dress, and together they moved with perfect grace. I had never been held like that, never been part of such a connection. For a moment, I was jealous, not of them, exactly, but of the possibility of being seen, being touched, being alive in someone else’s eyes.

I had tried talking to mannequins back then, reaching out with trembling hands. But they only danced. Always dancing. Always just out of reach.

As I wandered the streets now, TV screens lined the avenues, showcasing musicals. People sang and danced, and spectators cheered. Watching them, I felt the same pang I had felt as a child. I had always longed for someone to witness me, or for me to witness someone else singing, someone real, breathing, alive.

The streets eventually led me into a narrow alley, where a small, curious bar caught my attention. Its name made me giggle: "Winehouse… but we don’t have wine."

I pushed open the door. Inside, it felt like a cross between a record store and a coffee shop. True to its name, there was no wine in sight. The space was small, cluttered with records, posters, and the warm aroma of coffee, but somehow it felt alive, popular, familiar, yet strangely intimate.

On a round metal table, a piece of paper caught my eye. I leaned closer. It was a concert announcement: students from the Amadeus Academy would be performing in a town called Willowmori.

A concert?

A pang of envy twisted inside me again. I wondered if there was someone there… someone singing, someone I could finally hear. Someone I could see.

For the first time in a long while, my heart stirred with the hope that maybe, just maybe, I wouldn’t be entirely alone.
Without further ado, I flew toward the town.

It sat on a giant island, connected to the mainland by a long, sweeping bridge.

You might think flying is strange, but here, all it takes is singing, a note, a hum, and your body floats. I had been planning to soar across the bridge, letting the wind carry me, until I noticed a subway snaking beneath it.

Despite the streets being empty, everything around me still worked on its own. The subway glided forward, unpiloted, as if it had a life of its own. I slipped inside and sat down, gazing out the window. Beneath me, the river stretched wide and luminous, reflecting the sky and the city’s distant lights. It was beautiful… and yet, when I turned away, the emptiness reminded me sharply: I was still alone.

It’s hard to enjoy anything when no one shares it with you.

Every day, I tried to balance my thoughts. I reminded myself to be positive, to notice beauty, to cherish moments like this. And every day, the negative thoughts found a way to creep in, whispering the truth I couldn’t escape.

I still held the poster in my hands, the announcement for the Amadeus Academy concert. My fingers traced its edges as I asked myself the question I had been asking every day for as long as I could remember: Why am I alone?
When I arrived, the sun was already setting. The town was large, wider than I expected, yet, like always, the streets were empty. Objects moved around me as if alive, dancing softly in the orange twilight.

I searched for the concert, wandering through the quiet streets and echoing alleys, but nothing seemed familiar. I didn’t even know where to start.

Then, after a while, I found myself by the beach.

There, in the distance, stood a stage, half-built, lights still unstrung, speakers resting by their cables. The concert was still in preparation. Yet one light, a single spotlight, had already been turned on, beaming directly at the center of the stage.

Drawn to it, I walked down the wooden pathway and climbed onto the stage. The spotlight washed over me, warm and pale.

I turned slowly, then closed my eyes. I could almost see them, rows of spectators, faces bright with anticipation. I could hear the applause, the excitement, the hum of life. In my mind, I was singing again. And this time, everyone was listening.

When I opened my eyes, the illusion faded.

Silence. Empty seats. The sound of waves.
Reality, my reality.

I stepped down from the stage and wandered toward a nearby bench. Sitting there, I lowered my gaze for a moment, then lifted it again to the full moon blooming in the sky. Its light reflected over the calm sea, gentle and endless.

I was about to leave the town when I suddenly felt it, a faint tremor in the air, the presence of the Hollows.

It had been a long time since I sensed them. Their energy was unmistakable, cold and heavy, pressing against my chest.

Before I left this place, I knew I had to deal with them.

I hummed softly and rose into the air. The melody carried me upward as I floated above the sleeping town, scanning the horizon. Then, in the distance, I saw it, a dark aura, swirling around an abandoned structure on a hill beyond the forest.

Without hesitation, I flew toward it.
It was a strange four floor structure, it was an abandoned radio station. Such a shame that this place was left in this condition. I wonder why was it made like this? It was sosmehtijg that I noticed in other countries, despite having a white color, I could tell that it wasn’t in a great condition. Missing walls, windows, roofs or pavements.
It’s like there people who built this structure and then broke it into pieces for no reasons. And left it abanonded in this broke conditions. Why would they do such a thing?
I don’t have time to dwell in it I have to take care of the Hollow before it worsens.
When I entered inside, the color white of the structure doesn’t illuminate much, it was still dark, but darkness alone wouldn’t affect me. I’ve been living all by myself, so nothing scares me like darkness.
I walked around, and could feel the Hollow’s presence growing closer.
I could feel its self hate, the aura of self harm, the aura of depression I could sense that it’s slowly increasing as I got closer to it.
I then found it one of the rooms, instead of the common white, it was jet black dark. The first time remember witnessing this presence, it’s like a deep black ink was smeared across the places, and it moved. It felt alive, it’s lil a living creature, however they are bad news. Because when I got closer to them, I could feel, the feelings of self harm.
The only way I could get rid of it, it’s this.
"Mmm… ahh…
Sing, little hummingbird…
Even if you forget,
the song remembers you.
Mmm… ahh…"
The Hollow hates symphonies, hates musics, hates melodies. That is how I got my name. Melody.
After that brief singing, the Hollow disappeared. Leaving no trace of its self hated essence.
This has been my whole life. I used my singing to get rid of this unknown creature. But for what cause? And why me?
Unfortunately, it seems this question would be left unanswered.Right now, I didn’t have any reason to stay in this place. I was about to leave—
until I heard something.

"Still find their way…"

I froze.

What?
Was that… a voice?

"Through all the things I cannot say…"

It couldn’t be. A TV? A radio? No… impossible. This place had been abandoned for years. Nothing should be working here.

"I’m not a rebel. I’m not a shame.
I just don’t fit their silent frame."

My heart raced. Someone was singing. A real voice, human, raw, and alive.

"I want to make them proud someday,
In my own light, not theirs, but gray."

That song… I’d never heard it before. But I could feel it. The ache behind the words, the honesty in the tone. Whoever this was, they were singing from a place I understood too well.

The voice came from above. The rooftop.

"Not perfect white,
Not surgeon clean,
Just messy, flawed and true to me."

I floated upward, carried by the pull of that sound, until the rooftop came into view—
and then I saw him.

A person.

A real, living person.

After all this time… I wasn’t alone.

"Maybe there’s someone who’ll hear,
A voice like mine, and draw it near.
Someone who knows how silence sings,
And dares to strum these muted strings…"

I stepped closer, slowly, my heart trembling. His voice wrapped around the night like light breaking through the dark.

"Not a doctor, not a king…
Just someone real, who makes me sing…
Through… muted strings."

He finished, his final chord lingering in the air like a heartbeat refusing to fade.

I stood there, barely breathing. Was this real? Or another illusion, a cruel dream my mind had conjured from loneliness?

But he was there. I could feel him, his warmth, his breath, his presence.

I hesitated, then took a deep breath and let the words fall softly from my lips.

"Hello? Are you my Running Man?"