Chapter 12:

Twilight Princess

Yesterhead

Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream…

Is there no end to this? One moment, life was a staircase. Long, unending- but all the same, linear- a sensible creation of progression. Made by man, for man. The school system. A gauntlet of trauma for all children who enter it, regardless of their intelligence or social standing. How unlucky I still was to fall short of possessing either.

Mine is a life of such shame.

Much time has passed. Has it been a year yet? Possibly. Maybe even more than one. Now, my days are spent in purgatory. I have no desires other than to be freed from this boring world. In that sense, nothing has changed. Like always, I’m too smart for my own good. Sane in a nonsensical world. I want to be free. I just don’t know what freedom is.

My friends, they all dragged me down. Made me less of myself and more of them. They provided a skeleton for my existence, but a skeleton marred with parasites- death, confusion, misunderstanding. To participate in a union with another human is to open oneself to the worst of punishment- for nothing permanent in return.

All one receives from such marriage is to be spared for a short while, distracted from this abstract torment of living as hyper-intelligent creatures in a world made for animals.

That is what I’ve sacrificed. The ability to live in the dream I created with those idiotic children. We played together in fantastical worlds through the use of our modern technology, imaging impossible things. I suppose that’s what childhood is, after all. Don’t you think so?

That makes me an adult now.

But adults distract themselves just as the children mentioned above. They play with their own friends- no longer able to dream, so they induce states of foolishness with drugs, alcohol, and sex. I suppose I have done all those things already, to some extent. Only, when a real adult cannot rely on these vices, they occupy their time with a job. Essentially a replacement for the same hell that was school, only now, without your parents’ love to satiate you, you must provide for yourself in their stead. It all equals out to the same experience in the end.

Maybe I’m overthinking all this.

With my back to my bed again, I more resemble a corpse than any living thing. You would see nothing more from the outside. But within me, my spirit rages. It has been one minute since I awoke and already these thoughts plague my restless mind. These constant screams ensure that I do not forget the few truths, the few constants of this world: Death. Taxes. Wishing you were anyone, or anywhere else than you are now- and, lastly- that none of this can ultimately be proven real. Every memory you have is false, constructed and reconstructed over and over again by a faulty and selfish internal system. When you finally recall that your accounts of past events conflict with the truth, you are left cowering- no longer able to form a persona or believe in any aspect of your perceived reality. Life becomes little more than an obsessive expression of regret.

I do not see what could possibly make such a life worth living.

My mother does not work today. She will talk to me when I go downstairs- about family, about my future- I do not know. It feels like I hardly know this old roommate of mine.

My door is heavy. The very air around me is suffocatingly weighty. Any action at all is an alien, uncomfortable thing- as I know it won’t result in anything of meaning. I don’t have anywhere to go outside of this house. I hardly have anywhere to go inside it. When my quiet life began, I would eat more than I once did- but now that this “freedom” has become normal, I consume little more than the same fiction I’ve always feasted on in times like this. Food grants me no pleasure, only the promise of having to shit later, thus getting up again. Days are hard to make out, but I must only eat once every pair of them.

I walk downstairs. There is no car in the driveway nor woman in the kitchen. Once again, despite my understanding of the world, I have been proven incorrect by a phony judge. I have no way of knowing if something has changed in the world, or only inside me. Either way, I’ve wound up wrong- because how could I possibly be right about anything in so subjective an existence? It is folly to imagine the capability of being well and truly right about any one thing or another.

I take this opportunity to scream in the living room. Some part of me is satiated for a time.

As I step to exit the room, however, I am proven wrong once again.

“Molly?” The woman speaks to me in a voice I don’t hardly recognize. “Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?”

I tell her no, though her guess is as good as mine. Maybe I really did hurt myself, and I just simply don’t recall the event. Don’t laugh, it’s a valid possibility. After all, how is my mother here right now, standing in front of me when her car was not present minutes ago? I do not ask her this inquiry, lest my mind is further rended by her explanation that could just as easily be a total fabrication her own brain has convinced her of.

Offering little more explanation than my single-syllable denial, I lean forwards to retreat to my room, only for my mother to stop me effortlessly with her working, well-nourished body.

“I’m getting you treatment soon.”

I don’t understand what she’s saying. “For what?” I want to ask, though I daren’t speak at such a potentially important moment in my life. So instead, I just answer- “soon?”

“Within the next week, we’ll… we’ll take you someplace. I got… a few people I’m looking at for appointments, and… and…”

So this is what happens when you go off script, huh?

The director comes in and does whatever possible to start up some new drama. No matter what you do in this world, it’s like you can’t escape that. Even if I locked myself up in a bunker underground, the asshole named fate would bomb my ass until I was nothing but ash and dirt.

I want to just say to her, “Sounds good.” And leave it at that. She’s easy to fool. Easy to please. If I don’t argue, she’ll leave me be for the day. But eventually, it’ll come back to bite me.

I don’t wanna go and talk to yet another human who’s just gonna make me feel worse than I already do. Just thinking these things all the time kills me. Saying them out loud would be torture. It’s funny how an extra dose of reality doesn’t help someone losing track of it one bit. If anything, all that would do to me is help my mind degrade even faster. What’ll a therapist even say to someone like me? I really can’t tell you for sure. What I do know is I do not want that right now. I’m just trying to live here, goddammit, not make things harder on myself. What I need is more fiction. I just need simple toys to keep my mind occupied as I hopefully grow out of this or something.

I yell at my mom for the first time. It’s easier, since my vocal cords are all warmed up. I tell her she doesn’t know the first thing about what’s going on with me, because she doesn’t. I’m so impressed with myself as I scream my head off at her. This should be so embarrassing, yet I don’t seem to give a single shit. Looks like I’ve grown a lot since school, huh?

She cries and yells and sends me to my room. Thanks for the reward, I guess. Immediately finding myself back on my bed, I still hear her weeping downstairs. Annoying bitch. I reach for my earbuds when I see my phone light up. This message is from a number I actually have registered.

Today 1:11 (Elaine)

YOU ARE HURTING

Today 1:11 (Elaine)

IM SENDING YOU TO A MENTAL HOSPITAL

Why is that whenever I get a text from my mom, it’s the worst thing in the fucking world…?

I cry into my pillow as my brain forces me to think through every detail of every possibility of being sent to a place like that. No matter where I look or what I do, all I start to see are white walls and fluorescent lights.

I just wanted to live a quiet life. Why does my mom have to come and fuck everything up? I was almost making it. I could’ve made it. I could’ve figured it out. I’m the smartest person I know. If I just had more time, I could work out an answer. But no. Time’s up, your tests are due, class! There’s just no escaping schoolyard bullshit, is there? Everything in life, all the way up to your very existence, is nothing more than a fucking due date.

I look around for an escape.

The cords covering my room are roots of long-dead trees. None of this can save me now- I’ve exhausted every last drop. The content I buy, I deplete in hours. The things I pirate- most of my collection now- seem to last even less time for some sick reason.

Months ago, I started up Valedictorian Chronicles 4 again. Joylessly, I played through the entire game up to the point I had previously, before beating it, only to feel no more emotional than I did when I deleted my save.

Used to, these devices were more than capable of throwing me for a loop, or at the very least lulling me to sleep. Today, they are old, broken toys- lost inside my own room.

I fondle up my mass of controllers, the worn buttons reminding me of well-used mechanical pencils.

I throw a shelf of disc cases to the ground, rolling in them like a pool of wet firewood.

I stare at my ugly reflection in my cracked TV, wishing the idiot staring at me would just up and disappear already.

Then, I knock it over.

I litter my carpet with piles of plastic shit. Strewing my cords about the lair, I create a piece of modern art. I intertwine myself with them, looking like a stop-motion segment from Tetsuo: The Iron Man. Eyes fixed to the unchanging ceiling, I start gnawing on the plugged-in cables, bullets of water silently forcing their way out of my furious eyes.

I don’t know how to kill myself like this, but I know wires are dangerous. I bite on them until my gums bleed, exposing the parts beneath.

Surely any minute now something will go wrong.

Something will shock me or catch fire or overload.

I just want out of this place.

I want an escape.

Please give me an escape.

Please

My eyes drift to the one thing I didn’t let myself touch.

My VISTA, old and abandoned. Fucking useless.

But it’s charged.

In my desperation, I force myself to pick it up.

Maybe I’ll destroy it. This piece of shit isn’t even good for suicide attempts.

But turning the lenses towards me, it seems to ask for forgiveness.

For one last chance.

Why, I don’t know.

But I plug it back into my PC in the ceiling.

I strap the uncomfortable fucking thing on my face, the feeling at least fading as it boots up and the chips, still installed, kick in.

I’m greeted by the same main menu. There’s not even any nostalgia to be found here- I’m just pissed off that it didn’t solve every problem in my life the second I booted it. That’s what technology is for, if you ask me. The least you could do is make me feel better. Broken piece of shit.

“VRchat: Update Finished Downloading.”

Oh, fuck me. You mean to tell me this thing’s been connected to the internet this whole time? Even when I’m not bothering it, the device finds ways to inconvenience me. Whatever, I’ll play your game. Let’s see what new and exciting improvements you made to the game that ruined my life.

As soon as I open it, it puts me back in the fucking temple again.

I want to throw this thing out my window. I guess I set this as my homeworld, but it still makes me mad just to see it again.

I walk around the place, but it only makes me more angry.

Maybe I should use the Breakchip to go join Gormage.

No, I should take this thing off right now and at least die in a better way than that fat fuck.

Will it change anything?

Shit, it better not. When I’m dead in a few minutes, I better wind up in a black void, completely unconscious. If there’s the smallest hint of afterlife bullshit I swear to god I’ll kill myself a second time.

I walk up to the center of the temple. I’ve embarrassed myself more here than anywhere in the real world. If I don’t destroy this fucking thing, I’m at least deleting this sorry excuse for a level design. I approach the central altar where I used to worship.

The map suddenly and abruptly crashes, along with the entire headset.

Piece of dogshit.

I just sit there for a few hours. Looking at the black screens pressed to my eyes, I try to convince myself I’m already dead. This might be the closest I get. Like a coward like me has the guts to kill herself. Screaming at my mom is the most courageous I’ll ever get.

Once enough time has passed, the overpriced children’s toy starts to hurt my face. My forehead is numbing and I’m sure I have marks by now. If I tear this sucker off, I’ll bet some skin comes off with it.

…

That might be fun, actually.

I rip it off as hard as I can, hoping it somehow inflicts grievous harm to my frontal lobe.

Unfortunately, it plops off without a hitch.

I sob.

I just want to die.

Is that so fucking hard…?

Please let me die.

…But nobody came.

Sitting on the floor next to my bed, I’m left looking at my ruined room again.

There are so many objects laid out in here it all blends together to look like puke.

One copy of The Witcher 3. One copy of A Clockwork Orange. One copy of Paprika. One copy of The Sims 4. One copy of Ghost in the Shell 2: Innocence. One copy of Terraria. One copy of ARK: Survival Evolved. One copy of Tales of Graces. One copy of Lupin lll: The Mystery of Mamo. One copy of The Disappearance of Haruhi Suzumiya. One copy of Final Fantasy XV. One copy of Madoka Magica. One copy of Bloodborne. One copy of Girls und Panzer: Dream Tank Match. One copy of Danganronpa 1 2 Reload. One copy of Destiny 2. One copy of Steins;Gate: The Movie- Load Region of Deja Vu. One copy of Requiem for a Dream. One copy of The Last of Us: Remastered. One copy of How to Train Your Dragon (game.) One copy of Super Mario Galaxy. One copy of Lego Star Wars: The Complete Saga. One copy of Skylanders Trap Team. One copy of Dark City. One copy of Eyepet. One copy of Just Dance 4. One copy of Castle in the Sky. One copy of Evangelion 1.11. One copy of Nier: Automata. One copy of Senran Kagura Burst Re:Newal. One copy of Donnie Darko. One copy of Cube. One copy of Evangelion 3.33. One copy of Akira. One copy of Ghost in the Shell. One copy of Perfect Blue. One copy of Dead Leaves. One copy of Cyberpunk 2077. One copy of Hells. One copy of Gunslinger Girl. One copy of Persona 5. One copy of Lucky Star. One copy of Log Horizon. One copy of ReLIFE. One copy of Clerks 2. One copy of Kill Bill. One copy of Halo: The Master Chief Collection. One copy of Hitman lll. One copy of Resident Evil 4. One copy of Mario Kart Wii. One copy of Whiplash. One copy of The Matrix. One copy of Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World. One copy of Death Stranding. One copy of Hereditary. One copy of Hellraiser 2. Everything else is either buried under the rest or too far out of my vision for me to see, and I’m too lazy to turn my aching neck even a centimeter to the side to see more useless shit.

So many games…

So many cords…

So many movies…

I look at all of it a second time.

Games…

Cords…

Movies…

Shadow…

Shadow?

Yes… there’s a big… tall… shadow.

Atop everything… all my possessions… there is a looming shadow of a winged, humanoid being.

With no fear left in me, I slowly careen towards my bed.

I quickly realize the two jewels high up on the woman’s body are in fact vividly colored eyes, shining with some unseeable force. One is green, and the other a bright yellow. Her smile is lipless and unchanging. She bears ten feathery wings- firstly, two stem from her short oak hair, and all match this same color. The four on her back sprout out of holes in her tight sleeveless top- two more on her thighs, just under the goddess’ oddly human shorts- below which lie two mismatched socks of drastically differing length, one extending far beyond the knee as one sinks down to the unidentifiable brand of tennis shoes from which the two final wings extend out of. Above all else, she is more beautiful than any “human” being. Her body is perfectly drawn and modeled, her hair fluffy and her skin a flat, pale tone like a typical anime girl.

And…

…She’s looking at me.

“I am Elopas.”

She looks just like she did in my dream.

“…It can’t be.”

I start to panic.

“It can’t be, I- I… this is fake, I’m hallucinating, I’m… oh my god. Oh my god. What the fuck… fucking- what? What’s going on?! What the fuck is happening?!”

“All of life is undeniably false.”

“Did I… do it…? H-how…. are you here…? How are you… real?” I choke on my own spit.

“You finally registered your headset, Molly. It was finally able to access the PSICO biocomputer due to the existence of your FRiDAYLaND account. The rest of the process you created to summon me had already been fulfilled during your experiments.”

No fucking way

My mind zips back to the social media account my mom made me.

“None- none of that’s real… none of it…”

“Yes, but... I’m here, aren’t it?”

“I’m so scared… I don’t know what’s real… I don’t know what to believe in… I don’t know if I’m even me anymore…”

My lip quivers as I blink, turning back to look upon her once more- making contact with her benevolent, all-knowing eyes.

“If it’s all fiction, it’s all okay. You aren’t “you.” You’re “Molly.” And I love you! Understand?”

Molly nods. This is what she wanted.

“Good. Are you ready to finally see the real world?”

“More than anything.” Molly says with a leftover tear in her saintlike eye.

“Then what are we waiting for…? Let’s make the last remaining chapters of your life fiction”

She takes her hand, and the two fly out the window like Peter Pan and Wendy.