Ah.

  I am a fool.

  With a sour expression that befits a man who has eaten a lemon — but, frankly, I have not eaten at all— I stare at the —open to my gaze — concrete steps, those which have led right to the upward floor. I didn’t have to make any movement with my neck to end up in such a position: to begin with, the entrance to my apartment is set parallel to the stairs.

  So, out of my den, I am fresh.

  And in this freshness, I realize — I’ve been deceived by the world to step out.

  My mother, father, sister… They all — are deceitful creatures, sent to murder my status quo.

  I won’t explain the importance of this regime; the explanation is unnecessary, and the answer, which you can with ease reach yourself, is obvious!

  I fall to my knees!… No, I rise again, too uncarpented and cold.

  I raise my arms up!

  Tears stream down my cheeks: genuine in their honesty, and painful in their nature.

  Gritted teeth rub against each other, and the realization is a painful one…

  I cannot go back.

  If I were to go back, I’ll starve some more, reach the same conclusion; return, starve some more, reach the same conclusion; return, starve some more, reach the same conclusion…

  An entire cycle of events.

  And the end of which, I perish from starvation.

  “E-e…”

  My face pales. Sourness: replaced by a subtle uneasiness in my throat.

  Must I be a coward to so nimbly go through all the stages of denial, as upon fear of death?

  Nonetheless, it’s an obvious piece of information.

  I crouch beneath the door of my neighbour, and begin to contemplate…

  What must I do?

  Cycling through my mind, I reach a proper conclusion…

  “Heh.”

  I can, pf, simply use WWWWWH!

  You may ask, what the damn is a WWWWWH?

  Easy.

  What!?

  Who!?

  When!?

  Where!?...

  And what else? I forgot, so I skipped through this step.

  How!?

  My entire knowledge on this stems from that one time when it was brought up in a Visual Novel, and then I had to Google what it meant.

  So obviously, all the steps kind of did not linger in my head… But I’ll be constructive.

  What?

  Nis-… Oh, no, it's ‘What’ as in ‘Whacchuhappened’, not as in ‘Who’. Who is dos.

  So let us continue.

  What?

  I don’t have money

  Who?

  Me.

  It stops making sense. How the hell does ‘What’ come with ‘Who’? It kind of requires more intuitive names.

  When?!

  A month… Or do I say a date? I dunno the date, I don’t have access to my phone, but I kept the count in my mind as from the betrayal.

  Where?!

  At my apartment.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  How?!

  …Now I return to the same question. I’ve thought that this method will help me, but it was an absolute waste of five minut—

  WHHHHHHHHH!

  To avoid being embarrassed any further, I grit my teeth and make no noise, aside from the one that resembles a cute cat-girl’s hiss. I imitate the beauty, but this beauty is naught in the sensations

  In a sharp heat, an object almost forces me to the ground; bent knees almost catch me, as I am, in all honesty, terrified. I speak, exactly, “an object”, as I do not really believe that a sort of limb can occupy the entirety of my upper torso. I am quite, heh, muscular, you see…

  A subtle tap against the concrete breaks my subtle pondering, and a voice of a dokkaebi — I would say, if I was a cute Korean boy with a hobby in folklore, but now I deem it just as a “Goblin” as I am neither Korean, nor cute— emerges from my back. My muscles stiffen.

  — O! Nist-ah! You, I reckon?...

  And almost break from tension, as the creature behind me mentions my name! Well, spells it really incorrectly, but—

  — Haven’t seen ya’ until the cows came home…

  LET ME GATHER MY THOU—

  — Went out for a breather, did ya?

  Brows subtly pressed as not to reveal how boiling my rage is, I finally turn around and face this ferocious beast!

  An elderly man who is almost of my height, even as I am half-bent, shows to me: the shape of head of his, which is immensely akin to that of an American Fo—

  — Oh, so I hit ya’?... C’mon, Nist-ah, forgive the old man!

  I can’t even properly describe him, and he already goes all-touchy, cupping my shoulder and patting it, with a face that speaks of either a man who likes children or an honestly genuine, worried male.

  I don’t know which; the which does not matter, at both I am startled, and at both I would have, such as I do right now, retract my shoulder, as a part of the same movement returning to my whole height.

  Finally, I use my height to the full capacity: I do not feel as so frightened anymore, as I can see his baldness even underneath his fishing hat, and the surprise I’ve brought to him by my escapism is an obvious opportunity.

  Heh. Got it.

  I RAISE MY VOICE!

  AND SPEAK!

  — …A. I-It’s alright.

  The all-eloquent mind is numb! The already devoid of melanin face is now even paler, as I can’t properly form a thought! Why am I so submissive, all of a sudden!?

  Oh, fishing hat? So it is morning. Somehow, my undefined sleeping schedule landed right on time.

  Or, perhaps, I’ve woken up at two AM, and in my lunacy I’ve sat through right until—

  The man shrugs, and I, again, can’t even finish a thought of mine. I am beginning to have murderous ideas.

  — Well, Nist-ah, take care. See ya’

  The man whose name I do not, frankly, remember and have, frankly, even less clue than a racing horse in the wild of what it may at least relatively be, sets off. I did not see a rod, so he didn’t even go fishing — he has a hat of such a culture for the love of the game.

  The more frightening thing is that he remembers me, my name, and could realize that it is me from my back.

  Is he… a stalker?

  I put a hand to my head and rub it, pondering

  Tap-Tap-Tap…

  Maybe, all these times he put a ladder to my window and watched as I played videogames… I live on the first floor, after all; you cannot deny the fact that he could bring out a comical ladder, and in the same comical manner put it to my window to watch.

  Could you really go, look right at my handsome face and say?

  “Nah… That’s stupid.”

  I reckon not. Reckon, I adopt the vocabulary of that man: my teeth grit, and, in all the rising sensations and tension of my limbs, I descend down the stairs by which he has already disappeared.

  At first, to offer him a French-styled duel, but even as I open the entra—

  OW! MY EYES!