ARC 0: DO YOU DREAM OF AN ELUSIVE AGE?

author /ˈɔːθə/

the writer of a book, article, play, etc.

「A world without words...」

Words. They are an art. Art to be mastered and perfected in all its techniques — not skills to be belittled in a world of great medium. A single word from a scroll could usher in a limitless amount of knowledge, for knowledge knows no bounds.

Enter writing, the host of fantasy and fascination, the very origin of art. It is the core of communication.

From both of these, the spoken and written languages were born. One could not speak without words. They could not invoke meaning without symbols. Everything in anything has language, it has its own words and structure. And from these languages, pen and paper came into existence, a new purpose for new dreamers. To create a feeling with mere words out of one’s mouth is easy, but to create it on paper and succeed, that is a true skill. If one’s heart is dedicated, then it is enough to convey emotions through the words in writing, to trigger a response in them. It has been proven to be true many times by successful authors.

However, it hasn’t been all one-sided toward that bright-colored world.

Strip one of purpose, give them a hollow reason and they’ll spend their entire life bickering over a dead horse in conflict.

They cling onto the malicious disease: Imagination.

In this world, communication and information brought conflict, which has always been the crux of everything that moved. It plagued the difference between doing things right and doing the right thing. Humans would always argue that the right thing reigned above all without question. Yet, they never asked for what is right, they never tried to take in a moment of solace, to imagine and think for themselves what is right and what is wrong.

To do the right thing is to be virtuous and compassionate but it is also to be inhumane. It is the thin facade humanity wears to hide its true desire. For if there is peace, there are talks of a bright future. But if there is an opportunity for glory behind cowardice, that facade is ripped apart by the uncontrollable grin of chaos.

That is the true nature of humanity.

Even so, for a world without words to exist, it would be a dull one. There would be no noise covering up everyone’s ears from the constant chatter of hundreds in one place. There would be no man reading the newspaper and contemplating what the world has come to without understanding its words. There would be no people arguing over their differences and displaying their individual perspectives of their lives. There would be no girl talking to her mother with delight about their next trip, sharing their feelings to one another.

There would be no color. There would be no emotion. No order.

“But…”

「But what?」

The woman with the white hair wondered.

It hadn’t been a few minutes from when she started to write in her little notebook before she was brought at another hurdle. Years of experience still could not erase the blockage that every author had to encounter, time and time again. However, she did not seem to mind. After all, she was merely just projecting her thoughts on that paper out of boredom. They were quite hefty words, but to someone like her, they were nothing but rubbish notes.

There was no way she could truly focus on writing in a boisterous place like this, filled with bright lights and loud noise, be it from nearby chatter or voices coming from speakers.

Around her were crowds moving left and right. Every single individual was in a mind of their own, worried about which path to take and where to find their flight. No matter how many times one has been to an airport, the rush to take action and the fear of being late would riddle one’s mind like they’re deciphering their first words as a toddler.

To the woman, who happened to wait for her flight as well, the airport was a great place to spend time in. If it wasn’t for the several international stores, the pristine restaurants, or the luxurious areas a high quality airport would provide, it was definitely for the human environment such a place had — especially for a woman who held words on a pedestal for a career. The chance to meet different kinds of people from different backgrounds, ethnicities and cultures, and languages; the chance to learn something really valuable without needing to travel to the ends of the Earth, this was something the woman needed very much.

“But…,” the woman closed her notebook and stood up from her seat, “There’s a time for each and everything. I better get moving.”

Collecting her small luggage, she moved a bit further, but she waited for her chance to join the crowds. Before taking another step, she felt the tip of her jacket being pulled downwards. Looking down, there was a little girl holding onto her jacket and eyeing her with the most innocent look on her face.

“Excuse me, miss,” she called.

“Well, hello there,” the woman smiled and crouched down to get on the little girl’s level, “Are you lost?”

The girl did not look scared or in any sort of distress of that matter. But that didn’t stop the woman from asking that question, she had no idea how to approach a lonesome child otherwise.

“Um…” the girl looked at her with a fierce but child-like expression, “You dropped this.” She raised her hand towards the woman’s face, only to show that there was a pen held in her palm.

It was the woman’s pen. Her trusted sword and instrument. It looked just like any other pen one could find in the market, but that didn’t degrade the value it held in the woman’s heart.

“Oh?! Thank you so much,” she opened up her palm for the girl to drop the pen on. “I would have been in serious trouble without this. You’ve done an amazing job bringing it back to me. Thank you!”

Little praise like this was like music to the girl’s ears. Her face lit up with delight as she felt this sense of achievement.

“Are you…,” the girl was yet to be done with this encounter, “Do you write storybooks?”

The woman felt flattery as the girl saw her for what she truly was. “Do you like reading storybooks?”

“Mhm,” the girl nodded.

She reached for her bag before pulling out a small, but wide book to show it off to the woman. It was decorated nicely with fantastical elements here and there, perfecting the image of it being a children’s book. “Sleeping Beauty” was written front and center on the cover in a stylized fashion.

The old and undying tale had somehow made its way into the girl’s bag. But the woman doubted the girl understood anything from it that weren’t pictures and text bubbles.

“Oooh, wow! That is a very beautiful book,” the woman carefully looked at the book with mundane eyes, as if reminiscing of a simpler time where she had the luxury to admire such books, “Do you like it?”

“Yeah, of course. I’ve read it a hundred times.”

“Wow! That’s quite the achievement.”

“Mhm! All my friends are surprised I could read so much. They like it too, but they’re too lazy to read it.” The girl let go of her stiffness as she was glad to finally express her interest to others who understood it. “What about you, miss? Do you like it?”

Instead of replying so easily to the girl, the woman remained silent for a few seconds that lasted too long. When it came to children’s stories, it was easy to formulate a positive opinion on them considering the target audience. Yet the woman, who had a certain unique perspective on things, thought otherwise.

“I don’t know honestly,” the woman’s eyes moved to a corner, diverting her attention from the girl’s sight and into an abyss of thoughts. “It’s good for the most part but… I guess I don’t like the ending that much.” Even talking to a child didn’t stop her from sugarcoating her words. She took such matters seriously to heart.

“Whaaaat?” The girl looked at the woman with shock as if she heard heresy. She was a child but she was still old enough to comprehend an opinion and make one of her own. “But they defeated the witch at the end and the princess woke up. Isn’t that happy?”

“Yeah, that’s the thing,” she paused for a moment, still looking at the corners of her eyes, “Maybe she shouldn’t have woken up.”

Her face riddled with a bundle of different emotions, the girl did not quite understand what the woman’s words meant. And so the woman decided to diverge away from it by presenting a similar topic.

“Oops! Looks like I spoke too soon.” The woman laughed, “What’s your name, little girl?”

“Evie!” The girl smiled. It seemed that when it came to introductions, the girl pushed down the barriers with no problem. “What’s yours?”

“Oh? Me? Well…” the woman looked down for a few seconds at the book she was reading before. She chuckled, “It’s Donna!” She extended her for a handshake and the girl surprisingly followed through.

The girl was well-educated in the terms of proper introductions. “Nice to meet you, Miss Donna!”

“Just Donna,” The woman smiled. “Now… Evie! Have you ever wondered why babies sleep too much?”

Out of everything that came out of that woman’s mouth. The girl was starting to catch on to the oddity of the conversation, she wasn’t young enough to ignore bizarre signs when she was given ones. Nevertheless, the girl went along with it.

“Um… because they’re tired? She had no idea how to answer.

“Babies naturally sleep after they eat or when they are with their mothers. They sleep to help themselves grow healthier.” The woman said, “I believe it has to do with dreams. Dreams come from imagination and desires. Did you ever dream of yourself as the sleeping beauty?”

The girl nodded. Yet the woman could tell she understood none of it from her lost eyes.

“You know… let me tell you a story of mine,” she started, “There was once a boy sleeping on a tilted hill. Always sleeping in tranquility, he was never to be bothered nor woken up. And then a maiden in white approached. Promising life and prosperity, she embraced the boy. Eyes opened and conscious, he became. Even as he preferred his sleep, he did not weep. The maiden would ask why, for she, herself, could not wake the boy before. She would always approach him as a means to join his lovely dream. Imagination was everything she dreamed for, and only in dreams did it exist. But the boy, up and ready, replied “Imagination is cruel. It should not exist in a beautiful world like this.” And so, the boy took the maiden’s hand and stood up, promising to fulfill her wonderland into reality.”

Instead of being visibly confused or responding in any way, the little girl did nothing at all. She took the words from one ear and threw them out the other.

However, she did not appear quite the same.

Her bright expression diluted to that of a somber and mundane one. Her mind had long wavered away from reality and into dreams. It would only leave her eyes to shut down for the final touch. True to form, she felt her eyelids pushing down against her will, getting heavier and heavier with every resistance she tried to hold back with. And at last, came the final push, covering her eyes with darkness.

As she lost balance over her body, the woman rested her hand behind her to prevent her from falling. The girl had fully succumbed to slumber.

The woman could not help but give off a warm smile to the girl.

“The eye sees many things, yet can never truly see itself. The finger touches many things, yet can never truly touch itself. The mind thinks many things, yet can never truly think itself.” She let go of her things and helped the girl to a seat where she could rest properly. “Throughout reality and fiction, you alone can truly grasp the self.”

“Eveline!” A woman’s voice called out from afar.

The woman with the white hair turned her head to see a woman running towards her in a rush. It would seem that it was most likely the girl’s mother or caretaker. The woman stood up leisurely to greet her. But the other woman was in another mind of her own, quickly skipped past introductions and formalities.

“I am so sorry for the inconvenience! You know, kids these days. One second she was next to me, and the next she was gone.” The mother took a look at her daughter and did not seem fazed at all by the girl’s odd slumber in a place like this. She stood up and bowed with her torso down for the woman with the white hair. “Thank you so much for looking after her! I don’t know what could have happened if she suddenly dropped down in the middle of the crowds. How could I repay you?”

“Oh, it’s nothing, really! I barely did anything but keep her company.” The woman with the white hair responded. “What matters is that you’re here now.” She looked at her watch. “Anyway, I better get moving to catch my flight. You take good care of her, she’s very special.”

“I will!” The mother smiled, “And thank you so much again!”

But before the woman could get up and leave—

“Wait…,” the girl cried. She opened her eyes but was slightly dazed, “M-Miss Donna,” it seemed as if she was going to drop in tears despite her drowsy behavior, “Why… why do you have to leave?”

“Oh, dear!” The woman was taken by surprise.

“Eveline!” The mother tried to discipline her daughter, “You don’t—”

“It’s alright, it’s alright,” the woman placed her hand on the woman’s shoulder and gave her a smile before looking back at the girl, “Well, Eveline I… I have a duty to attend to, just like you do. You know what your duty is?”

The girl shook her head in denial.

“To watch out for your mother here,” she pointed at the girl’s mother, “Because no one else will love you like your own mother. So don’t get out of her sight again.”

The mother was surprised by the woman’s kind words of advice. It was what she needed for her daughter to hear but never had the chance to say it herself.

The girl pouted, “But… where are you going?”

“Oh, it’s a land full of amazing things everywhere, you’d love it,” said the woman, “Perhaps I can take you there one day.”

The woman got up to her feet and grabbed onto her luggage.

“Wait,” the girl still had a question, “What is it?”

The woman smiled, “Wonderland!”

And so the woman with the white hair departed.