The Stranger in the Hospital Room
It’s my fourth day in the hospital. Unlike yesterday, I woke up early today. Because I was up early, I was able to eat breakfast. After finishing the meal, I lay back down on the bed. Just lying there in the early morning, doing nothing, made the day feel incredibly long. I wish I could at least sleep, but perhaps because I slept too much yesterday, my mind was wide awake even when I forced myself to lie still. I’m usually good at whiling away the time, but there’s a distinct difference between choosing to be idle and being forced to stay still; the speed at which time flows feels entirely different.
I lay there, staring blankly, and it felt like at least two hours had passed. When I checked the clock, only ten minutes had gone by. At times like this, I truly suspect that the flow of time might be different. What if someone is monitoring my behavior and adjusting the flow of time? Perhaps, in some secret organization, a conversation like this is taking place:
"Director! Boredom has been detected in the subject under observation!"
"What? Slow down the flow of time by ten times immediately!"
I’m so bored that I keep having these strange thoughts. Thinking about time suddenly reminded me of my first weekend at the army training center. It hadn't been long since I was transferred from the enlistment center to the recruit training battalion, so everyone was still awkward with each other. The drill instructor was strangely charismatic, so it wasn't a day where we could just relax, even though it was the weekend. After eating breakfast and returning to the barracks, we sat on the sleeping platform and spent the time in total silence. For half a day, no less. It was the moment in my life when I felt time was moving the slowest. Thinking about it now, someone should have started a conversation, but I think it happened because many of the recruits in my room were incredibly shy. Anyway, after spending that agonizingly long time, it was finally lunchtime. As we were eating, a fellow recruit in the same room spoke as if to himself. He was clearly eating lunch, but he said he couldn't remember what he had for breakfast. When I heard that, I realized I couldn't remember either. And then, all those quiet recruits suddenly became boisterous, talking about what we actually ate for breakfast. We all felt that time had dragged on so much that we couldn't even remember what we’d eaten just a few hours ago. Once the conversation started, we talked so much that we were punished with physical training, but even that became a topic of conversation for us, who were so bored.
The memories of the training center are all fond ones now that time has passed. I never want to go back, but there’s a reason why men talk about their military service endlessly after they return. I chewed on those memories and checked the clock again, but there was still a long time left until lunch. If only there were someone to talk to, time would fly by. My hand reached for my phone instinctively. The only number in my contacts was Leonor’s. It felt so empty. I thought that since we’d become friends, I should have at least exchanged numbers with Mei. Though, she would be at school right now, so I couldn't contact her anyway.
I tapped the screen here and there before putting the phone back down. It was only natural, but there was no number for the training center friend I used to keep in touch with even after being assigned to my unit, nor was there a group chat with the friends I made during my school days, where I could spout nonsense to my heart's content when I had nothing to do. There is no one here who remembers the "me" from the past; there are only those who know Scarlet Evande. It’s not that the bonds I’ve formed here aren't precious, but I missed those who could empathize with the stories I’ve lived through for over twenty years. There is no one here with whom I can share the memories I possess. The things that happened in the military, at school, at work—they were all stories I couldn't tell the people here. And beyond that, I knew too many things that I couldn't talk about. Stories that couldn't be told made a person lonely.
...Looking at my state, it seemed like it was going to be a difficult day. Even if I want to think only positive thoughts, sometimes, very occasionally, things end up like this. Days when I can't suppress the thoughts that rise up on their own, even though I know thinking about them will only make me sad. Today seemed to be one of those days that visit me from time to time. Various words floated in my head and then disappeared. Among them, there was a word that fit my current situation perfectly. It was the same as the title of a book a fellow recruit had lent me at the training center. The Stranger. It means a person who comes from another place. Albert Camus is no longer in this world, and it wasn't today or yesterday that my mother passed away, but still, I was a stranger. To a stranger, an unfamiliar world is a lonely place. For a stranger who feels the world is a lonely place, even a private hospital room felt too vast. A room where no warmth can be felt other than one's own. Perhaps because of the early spring weather, it was a bit chilly inside the room. I pulled the blanket I had set aside up to my waist, but I still felt the cold. I pulled the blanket up little by little, bit by bit, until I eventually covered myself up to my head. For someone who is alone, the narrow space under the blanket felt just right, and the chill seemed to fade a little. The inside of the blanket was dark, and I didn't like the darkness, but I hated being lonely more than I hated the dark, so I spent the long time until lunch curled up inside that blanket.
In the novels I read, the protagonists knew everything from the settings to the information about almost all the characters and what would happen in the future, simply because they had read the original work. The original novels those friends read must have been ultra-long series that took up hundreds of volumes just for settings and event descriptions. Academy’s Holy Swordsman was a novel that concluded in less than 200 chapters. At the time I read it, I had no complaints about the way the novel progressed—not explaining the events in detail, just informing the reader that such things had happened. I assumed the author just wanted to speed up the development instead of wasting time on explanations. But now, I only feel sad that the author wasn't an "expository bore."
As I told Yoon Siwoo yesterday, I thought I wanted to save people, but I felt at a loss as to what to do about the things that would happen in the future. The gymnasium incident was something within my reach. But could I influence other events like I did this time? If I had at least detailed information, I might have been able to do something, but thanks to this damn author, all I know is that terrible events happen one after another. "Suddenly the barrier will disappear"—I don't know the details. "The seal will be broken and the Witch of Gluttony will be resurrected"—I don't know the details. Even if I were to say what I know, it would surely sound like the absurd ramblings of the King of Terror predicted by Nostradamus to the people. I had to prevent the destruction of the world without information, and without anyone to believe these words. If I could stop it by sacrificing a few parts of my body, I would gladly do so, but I feel like I’m trying to stand against a natural disaster with only one body.
Perhaps school was over, because my classmates came to visit me just like yesterday. Honestly, they were kids I had barely spoken to at school, but they were angry, sad, and encouraging as if it were their own business. If things had gone according to the original, these kids would have died in the gymnasium. I saved them for now, but I don't know what will happen in the future. If things like that happen as they did in the original, I don't know if they will survive... So, to save them, I had to do something, somehow. It wasn't clear what I had to do, but I knew at least that I couldn't do anything while lying in a hospital bed.
After the kids who visited left, porridge was served for dinner, just like last time. While eating, I tried to force myself to gain some strength, and I asked the nurse who came to collect the dishes, "When will I be able to be discharged?"
"Discharged? Hmm... You’ll have to be examined by the doctor in charge, but your prognosis isn't bad, so if you really want to, you might be able to do it soon. Still, it would be better to stay hospitalized for a while... You know, you might still feel some discomfort in your daily life. Was the hospital food not to your taste, making you want to leave so quickly?"
The nurse, who had hinted that it would be better to stay hospitalized because of my arm, asked with a smile, as if to gloss over the question of whether the food was bad. I shook my head slowly and replied, "No, the food is delicious."
Staying hospitalized would certainly be much more comfortable for my body, but staying here wouldn't improve the situation. Perhaps this version of myself wouldn't be understood by anyone. "Still, I don't want to just stay still anymore." However, because I didn't want to lose anyone else, the stranger said so.