I’m breathing hard, barely able to keep myself steady, the frustration boiling up in my veins like poison. It’s maddening, how they all just drift around, oblivious, blind to the edges fraying at the world’s seams.
But she, she has a name. A real name. She’s the one who stands behind the counter, always with that same, placid expression, always calling out to people like clockwork. I’d seen her smile, wave, make small talk. She’s different, important somehow. If anyone can see past the blankness, it has to be her.
I storm into the dim shop, pushing past a line of other [ ]s who barely acknowledge my presence, their heads still turned toward the endless loop of chatter around us.
She looks up, her smile twitching just a bit, eyes narrowing as I step toward her, frantic. “Can I help you with—?”
“Tell me you see it,” I gasp, gripping the counter to keep from shaking. “Please. You must see it. You’ve got a name, a real role. At least tell me you know something.”
She stares at me, bewildered. “What on earth are you talking about?”
“You know what I’m talking about!” My voice rises, jagged and desperate. I slam my hands down on the counter, and the force makes her flinch. “This world. It’s… it’s not right, don’t you feel it? Doesn’t it seem fake to you? Like it’s just made to look real, made to look… normal?”
She laughs, though it’s more nervous than amused. “Have you lost it? Look, I’ve seen you around, you’re [ ], right? No offense, but you're talking nonsense. Maybe you should… rest or something.”
But I can’t stop. I’m leaning over the counter now, gripping her shoulders, desperate for her to hear me. “You have a name!” I almost shout, my fingers digging into her sleeves. “You’re not like the others! Please, tell me you see it. Tell me you know something, anything!”
She winces, trying to push me away, her eyes now wide and panicked. “What the hell are you on about? What does my name have to do with anything?”
“What do you mean, what does your name have to do with it?” My voice cracks, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “You have a name. You’re meant to be seen, noticed, remembered. You’re not just a placeholder. You must have some reason, some awareness of what this place really is!”
She jerks back, twisting out of my grip with a scowl. “Look, I don’t know what you’re rambling about, but maybe you should stop scaring people and go… I don’t know, get some pills or something..”
I stumble back, my hands falling to my sides as her words echo in my head. Is she just like the others?! Is her name and purpose just a placeholder too?!
Her lips press together, anger simmering behind her stare. “If you don’t want trouble, maybe stop harassing me.”
It hits me like a punch to the gut. Stand out. That’s exactly what I’m not supposed to do. The whole point of being [ ] is to remain in the shadows, never making a ripple, never asking questions. Maybe she’s right. Maybe I should just… stop. Fade back into the background. Be a good [ ] and let myself forget.
But as I stare at her, at the way she stands there, scowling, name badge glinting in the dim light, a bitter laugh slips from my mouth.
“Yeah?” I murmur, my voice rough. “I’m trying to hold onto whatever sanity I’ve got left, and you’re worried about me ‘standing out’? You have a name. You’re part of his story. You can pretend this is all real, but I can’t.”
She’s backing away now, like I’m some lunatic who wandered in off the streets. Maybe I am. Maybe I’m everything she thinks I am and worse. But in this twisted world, I’m the only one who’s awake enough to feel the weight of it pressing down, crushing me inch by inch.
