"Have you ever had a dream?"
A female MC thrust her microphone toward me, flashed a seductive smile, and adjusted her breezy office attire. For a fleeting second, I almost said that my dream was standing right in front of me and a big one at that. But I quickly regained my composure, uttering the line I had practiced for ages.
"My dream is quite simple. It is—" …
Beep! Beep!
I sat before a surgical bed or rather, outside an operating theater. Inside, nurses and doctors were performing surgery, and I was merely watching the table through a small glass pane.
Beep~~~~
Only then did I notice a strange sound emanating from my phone. It was my editor; it seemed he needed a manuscript urgently.
"Is the deadline here already?"
Too fast. Everything over the past few days had happened so quickly that it could be summarized in just a few sentences. Or perhaps it was simply because I perceived it as too fast? I rushed into the restroom, opening the Note app on my phone, desperately trying to find the draft I had prepared.
"Did I save it? I remember writing it, right? I think I did. Where is it? Where?!"
I gritted my teeth, banging against the restroom stall, hoping I wasn't disturbing anyone. I closed the door, but it seemed the lock wouldn't catch. Had I broken it? It appeared so. Sitting down on the toilet lid, I decided not to submit anything at all. To hell with the money!
"Ahhhh, damn it."
I sat there staring blankly into the void, trying to forget this fraudulent reality. But as I attempted to sink into that emptiness, my head began to throb incessantly. Like a bottle of Coca-Cola that had been lightly shaken, my brain started hissing out gas and soda in the form of meaningless lyrics. It was gentle, gradually embracing my head, like a melodic tide slowly reclaiming the shore. The last thing I remembered was someone screaming, someone holding me back, someone pinning me down. I didn't understand what was happening. I looked up, only to see the restroom mirror shattered into a thousand shards. …
Have you ever dreamed? Dreamed of escaping reality to live within your fantasies. There are lives we long for, lives we crave because they are too perfect, too beautiful. And so we seek the illusory, where reality and dreams are but a step apart. Someone once said that to read a novel is to read a life, and to dream a dream is to dream of being someone else.
My name is Joe. I overheard that sentiment while on a business trip and decided to try dreaming of it myself.
"Hmm, why don't I try reading a few novels?" I asked myself.
Classic literature was too long-winded and dry, so I started with web novels instead.
"Oh, this is great." I tried the trending ones, the rising stars, the ones completed long ago…
"But why... is everything so simple?" I couldn't help but wonder. The joy I felt with the first few books was gradually replaced by a sense of skepticism. I found it strange it was always a regressor, a transmigrator, someone too powerful, or someone weak pretending to be strong, or someone who knew everything that was coming...
"Oh no, there's still more. Places where I can continue reading about new lives," I thought as I searched through different tags. …
I wasn't quite sure. I had become somewhat bloated on web novels, so I tried reading the classics. Some were good, some were incomprehensible, some I abandoned halfway through, and some made me wonder why they weren't more famous. But the emotions weren't as raw as they were at the beginning. When I read web novels, perhaps I still preferred the daydream of reading about those types of characters. I knew it was a strange feeling. Every character was... predictable in a way, yet they allowed me to dream deeper, even though I knew how every story would turn out and how it would end.
"Hey, why don't I try writing a bit?" I thought to myself. After all, I was tired of my repetitive life. Why not try something new?
I tried writing familiar character archetypes sometimes a bit more novel, sometimes classic. I paced back and forth, daydreaming about character arcs and plot points. I dreamed of stories where I could inhabit the characters and become part of the narrative. But come on, let's be realistic. I liked those characters, but I could never be like them. I had lived this life for many years, and I knew that dreams were always more beautiful than the truth.
And then one day... I leaned my head against my desk. It was cluttered with work reports, and the computer was still displaying tasks. I took a sip of coffee. It felt quite comfortable. I hadn't slept for over a day; what I needed now was a long slumber.
In my exhaustion, I often wondered: "Why do authors and online readers love stories about transmigrating into fictional characters and standing above all others?"
I always knew the answer, yet I always delayed answering it. After all, thinking about it further wouldn't yield any benefit. I let out a long yawn. Looking down at my phone, it was past 10 PM. A little nap wouldn't hurt, right? Glancing at my phone's wallpaper, a few people were visible there but none of them had faces. …
"Someone! Someone call an ambulance!"
"There's a dead person here!"
What the hell? I was just trying to sleep. Had something happened? Who died? I tried to use my hands to push myself up and open my eyes, only to see absolute blackness.
"Ah... everyone..." …
Who am I?
I touched my face, only to feel a horrific stickiness. it felt like a layer of slimy mud no, it was more like a black, tar-like substance. I struggled to open my eyes, but there was only darkness in my vision. Gradually, however, it began to brighten. A dull gray shrouded the world where I was, but within that world, all I could see was a vivid, burning red.
My name is Ron Irus.
Who am I?
I stood up, only to collapse again. My legs had been burned to charcoal. But that wasn't the most horrific part. Right before my eyes, upon a pristine white birthday cake still holding a single candle, was a layer of human skin. Surrounding it were dozens of dead people. Their bodies had been reduced to ash, yet on some faces where the features remained, they bore a look of utter soullessness.
Something had happened. But I couldn't see it, for this clouded vision could only see the roaring fire covering the human veil. I opened my eyes wide no, my eyes had been open all along and in an instant, I understood what it was. I picked up that piece of human skin and stretched it out. It felt strangely familiar.
And then I placed it over my face, as if donning a mask.
I am Ron Irus.
Ron donned the skin mask. His face, slick with black blood and viscous fluid, caused it to adhere to his features. But then, he could no longer see anything. His body felt void of action, his strength evaporated, and he felt as if he were about to faint. Then he collapsed onto the ground, as blood spread out like a river.