Way back years ago, somewhere in the Philippines, a middle-aged guy named Stan began to work on his contribution.
Stan was inside his small office, alone, which used to be his bedroom. It used to be a place where his wife and daughter lived for years, happily contented. In this small space of squared room, with one foamed bed, one television, two duraboxes, and one electric fan--- before, those were enough for the little family to build home. At least, it used to be.
The room had turned into small office, almost completely.
The only things that remained were one durabox and the electric fan. Others were vanished; taken away. Gone to another household with his own runaway family, in truth. Instead of the said appliances, piles of programming books took its place on one corner, bondpapers on another, and a computer in the middle. After the misunderstanding with his wife, Stan became all alone in this very room. For years it felt cold, though bearable because of his tons of workload.
At 12 midnight, Stan was highly-focused on facing his computer. He was typing on the keyboard, but his eyes seemed to be closing already.
"Uhhh," he groaned. "Sleep, sleep, no..."
He slapped himself by then, by his cheeks. He wanted to keep himself awake; wanted to finish his contribution, as soon as possible. But one slap didn't work to prevent sleep either. After a minute, the drowsiness just got heavier. So again, he slapped himself harder.
Once.
Twice.
And then, thrice.
"Sleep... why this body..."
Half an unproductive hour had passed. Still, nothing.
"Hell, I have to finish what I'm doing, but this is so limiting..." Stan kept muttering. "But sleep... guess, I need to sleep..."
Stan turned off the computer, stretched his chair---turning it into a bed---and then laid his whole body on it. It was a foldable bed, his chair. And so, by then he closed his eyes and tried to think of nothing else. He tried to start getting peaceful in a dream, but still, something seemed to be haunting him. Calling him... That by it, his sleep was being disturbed.
It was the turned off computer that was calling him by name. Stan... it said.
No mouth and eyes; it had no human senses, alright. But he felt as though it was calling and watching him from not so afar. Even if he wanted to sleep, because of its undeniable whisper he could not.
Instead, Stan stood.
He poured water in a heater, plugged the appliance to a socket, and after that made an instant coffee. While drinking the coffee, he turned on the computer again. For a few minutes he stared blankly at the loading screen. Then, when fully opened, he returned continuing his contribution. Typing.
For another three months he'd been like this: drinking two to three cups of coffee per day; taking a nap for at least an hour; sketching and noting his sub-ideas on blank bondpapers; typing letters and numbers on the keyboard, and having himself haunted by the computer. Day through the night.
In most general, aside from getting out to buy groceries twice a month, Stan never left his small office. Alone he kept working in there. By himself. For all the things he thought he needed was there. If his co-workers would want something retyped, fixed and updated--- they'd just email him and he'd received it without any problem. And afterwards, he'd do the work without any question.
Until one midnight, Stan dared to defy the system technicalities. His co-workers wished for something average, but he came across an alternative idea. More specifically, he came to form an abstract question, that even himself couldn't answer. Yet.
If infinity is a never-ending cycle of only one activity, how futile that concept of infinity can be...? Thinking, is there a way to change all that?
Is it even possible to counter the idea of meaningless forever?
That, for a long while he pondered. Stan searched the World Wide Web for any abstractions that would contribute and solidify his idea. Luckily, little by little, he started formulating some sort of answer. At the cost of taking a glimpse to the dark shade of insanity, reaching the point of obsession.
Is it possible? It has to be possible, he kept telling himself.
Three subjects for three ciphers, that's all there is to find out.
So, for another whole year, he worked so hard and dedicated to this personal project. From day, noon, afternoon, night, up to midnight--- Stan faced the computer and typed what his mind needed to say.
One strange cipher per subject.
———
In Fantascia.
Way forward years later, after getting lost and bitten by a snake, Kiki returns playing tag with her friends again at the Plaza. That, as if nothing serious happened.
The sun has already set; the lamps are already on, too. However, there's a certain appeal to the kids here where time---in them---doesn't exist.
The kids are programmed to be playing continuously, and that's only there is. They are coded as more or less characters in this game. They are here in the West Valley Plaza, simply to occupy a certain space.
With Waldo and Mildred, Kiki runs from one area of the field to another. Until now, the game they play is tag, over and over. And as per the rules: each of them needs to get away from one another; to avoid being caught by other players, or else they'd be tagged.
Be that as it may, no one seems to be winning through days and nights. They just repeat the same movement, at the same area toward another---over and over---and yet no one's still winning for a very long time. Perhaps, this is all of their existence. In here, they are barely programmed to inhabit a tiny space. In here they just play, running within the range of a fictional Plaza, in which included in the imagined world of Fantascia.
But there seems to be something different tonight. Well, at least for the little girl named Kiki.
In some way, her encountering the old man, the wizard, and the elf put disturbance in her core. Something inside of her made her feel a little alien from her friends.
Those people...
What have they done to her? Kiki only met them earlier, in brief time, but change appears already to be existing inside.
By then, Kiki stops running on the grass field.
"Hey, I caught Kiki!" one of her friends declares, the boy Waldo. "This is the first time I caught you! I caught you!"
Though Waldo acted like a winner at first, when he sees blankness on his friend's face, he immediately stops from smiling.
He asks his friend, "Kiki, are you... okay?"
"Yes, yes, I'm okay."
"It looks like something matters. What are you thinking about?"
"Nothing," she responds awhile after; only a mere lying. "I just..."
"You just what?"
"I think I'm tired playing for today," she says. "Aren't you?"
"Kiki, Waldo, why did you stop?" another friend enters the conversation, whom caught up with them in the middle of the grass field. This one is a little girl like her, named Mildred. "Are we supposed to stop?"
"Kiki says she's tired playing," Waldo says. "Maybe she's tired playing with us..."
"What?" Mildred looks surprised. "But Kiki, we play all the time! Oh, you'll get sad and sadder if you stop playing with us, believe me. Playing tag is what we're supposed to do, alright," she says, and grabs her arm. "Let's run again, shall we?"
"No, not now..." Kiki puts off Mildred's hand. "Both of you, just keep playing."
"Come on..."
"I promise I'm okay," Kiki lies. "I won't go anywhere else again. I'll just sit over there on the bench. And please, don't worry about me... I'll catch up with you after I get a rest."
"Are you sure you're okay?" asks Waldo, again. In which Kiki nods in reply, saying, "Just keep playing."
"Okay," agree Waldo and Mildred. However, both have different tones of their responses. The boy Waldo sounds worried; the girl Mildred, formal.
In the end, they continue running together, playing tag again. This time the little boy tries to catch the other little girl, while Kiki walks toward the nearest bench.
Her pace turns slower in every passing second. Once reached the bench, the girl sits down on it and sighs. Then she softy places her palms on her little chest, and realizes that her heart is pounding faster than usual. What is weird is this: it just happens for the first time. Ever. This pounding heart, tiredness and a wish for being alone, altogether. Clearly, something is stirring inside of her.
Moment by moment, it gets bothering as a high-pitched sound towards the ears. Kiki knows it, and she feels it rather real. And yet she can't identify what it is that she's feeling... Is it possible to feel the unknown? If so, she feels it entirely. That if her friends ask her what's it about, for sure she doesn't even know how and what to answer.
So, to the wind she just says, "I feel tired..."
Kiki sits there on the bench in silence. In a blink of an eye, she finds herself pouring tears again. Small drops at first, down to her little face. And this is just the second time. Of what, of having her cheeks wet by teardrops. The first was back in the forest, when she got lost and bitten. Still, why now?
Kiki begins to think. Of the reason why she feels this way. Of having---what felt like endless---tears pouring down her face. Would you come to think of it? This afternoon, it marked a lot of experience being somewhere she has no clue about. She went there in the forest by herself, in curiosity and hopes of getting to the old man's house. To reach a place where---she was told---sweet candies are abundant.
Why, because the old man lied.
After an hour the old man never came back. Nevertheless, Kiki knew where he headed. The little girl got tired of waiting for an hour, and so, she had decided to leave her friends in hopes to look for his house. So there, she followed where he went. She walked towards the direction she remembers he proceeded.
And there, the little girl got lost in the forest...
Though at best, Kiki had a chance to meet two persons along the way---a wizard and an elf---whom she believes are also looking for the old man. Their names are Crow and Sylvanna, she recalls. They treated me sweets, Kiki thinks for herself, and the old man is a liar.
But why am I still crying?
As the little girl sits there on the bench, she stops pondering how her day went. From there she looks at her friends instead, at Waldo and Mildred, who keep playing tag on the grass field. Again, and again.
She observes them, running, laughing and keep running. And later she notices the pattern. Why, for as usual, none of them is being caught by one another. This playing of tag--- it's nothing but an endless cycle of running. Just two of her friends merely traveling around in circles, and Kiki is there on the bench to notice.