1782 days and 134 seconds. Tick-tock... it felt as if the clock itself was speaking in its own voice. That day, the glass falling from the hand and vanishing like a black liquid drop... a vision of a half-open and half-closed eye appearing from the pen's ink. My ink had run out, yet the ink was mine, the pen was mine, but the image... the image was not mine.
In an instant, the protagonist's pen stops. If that image wasn't mine, then whose was it...? Sweat from the face falls onto the paper. Suddenly, black darkness envelops everything. My heart, which was silent until now, is trying to claw its way out. Someone... save me...
Ha.....ha..... what was that? Ah... this blood.
I keep staring at it for a long time. The sweat that falls as water was looking like a flame of blood.... From very far away, the sound of a whisper was coming, as if someone was whispering in the room below. Even the walls could hear that voice. Who knew that the winds didn't like whispers? A ringing 'sun-sun' in my ears... the whisper from the window comes to my ears through the wi
nd.