Cracking the Shell
Secrets are acts of hiding one's "hard-to-accept" tastes or behaviors from others. They might conceal impulsive deeds born of youthful folly or bravado, embarrassing private tales shared between two, or cherished possessions tucked away. But more often, they become a karma mirror listing one's flaws and sins.
Desperately resisting, desperately covering that mirror—it might seem comical to some. They plead: Don't mock me. Don't look at me with those eyes. Why is everyone pulling away from me? Unable to bear the averted gazes of those once close, they hide their shame so no one can know. Because it's frightening. Because being abandoned terrifies them.
Thus, secrets are born from valuing others just as deeply. Yet no matter how much you hide, the places to conceal them dwindle. Hide and hide again, and the final refuge is none other than one's own heart.
Even if they tuck it away where no one else can find it, they themselves are never permitted to flee the secret. How pitiable is that? A heart that cherishes others becomes the tool that wounds oneself. Yet even these fools who cling to hiding their secrets harbor a tiny wish they themselves scarcely recognize: I wish there were someone to share my secrets with—a fellow stakeholder.
Someone precious to share sins and shames, to face them together. A neighbor who, even after embracing the shameful secret, doesn't make a fuss and treats you as always. Yes. They simply need a companion who will stay by their side until the end.
"This is all for you, Ellie unnie."
So I decided to delve into her secrets. She must want it deep down, too. Right, unnie?
Even if a frog devours a flying fly, an ant heading home gets swept away by water, or a fledgling sparrow too young to fly tumbles from the roof—the world spins on indifferently, unconcerned with their plights, in eternal peace.
Thud.
"—Alice? Where are you?"
"Ah, Ellie unnie! Here!"
I turned at the voice calling from behind, perched by the window. It was Ellie, now inseparable from me. She approached, gently stroking my hair.
"Here again. I told you the windowsill can be dangerous..."
"Hehe... but with Ellie unnie here, it's not dangerous at all!"
"...Don't rely on me so much."
The sun-warmed windowsill was my fixed spot. The broad, rounded sill let me climb up, lean back, and sit comfortably. Now that my wounds had mostly healed and movement came easily, this became my favorite haunt.
My eyes saw nothing, touch felt muffled like wearing a full-body rubber suit, smell picked up only intense spices and the fishy tang of blood. So my sole amusement was this: basking in warm sunlight, breezes whispering over my skin, each sensation delightful.
Well, my eyes had healed long ago—she was just keeping them bandaged so I couldn't see.
Earlier, when I told Ellie my body was nearly recovered, I asked if I could remove the bandages. 'Why? Because I want to see Ellie unnie's face!'
'......'
What did she say then? Oh, right. 'Not yet.' The ever-polite Ellie, always concerned for me, was gone. In her place trembled a fragile voice laced with unease and deep sighs.
She added it wasn't time yet. She'd remove them herself later—don't touch them. Ever. No matter what.
That look was so eerie, frightening—and pitiable. An innocent child with no medical knowledge, trusting her beloved unnie above all, could only believe her words as truth.
So I obeyed sweetly. Because I love unnie.
But Ellie, I've said it before: no paradise in flight. Unless you plan to crush my eyes with your own hands and blind me forever—someday, I'll unveil them and take you in. Does unnie realize that?
"Haa... so refreshing..."
"Lunch is all prepared. Shall we go?"
"Yeah! Carry me, unnie~"
"...Understood, Alice."
I wrapped my arms around Ellie's approaching form. Her cool body perfectly chilled my sun-heated skin. Her tone scolded like a mischievous child, but she slipped hands under my arms and lifted me anyway. Not hating it, it seemed.
Waah. Baby me.
"I'm not very skilled at this..."
"Being held by unnie is the best!"
"I'll hold you forever, then."
Totally love it.
Ellie carried me tightly, walking slowly to the kitchen, clumsily petting my hair. In return, I planted a little kiss on her neck. Her steps faltered, her body flushing hot—adorable.
"Heehee~"
"Really... you're too much, Alice."
Even blind, I knew the house's layout by heart. Carried along, I tracked our position perfectly. Soon, humid kitchen air confirmed we'd arrived as expected.
Today's menu: pumpkin soup, what I'd requested this morning.
I sat, took the spoon with familiar ease, and ate. One spoonful, two.
"Sweet~!"
"Plenty left, so eat as much as you like."
"Yeah, yeah!"
Slurp. Warm, thick liquid filled my mouth. Taste and scent faint, but the heat and creamy texture signaled perfect cooking. Soup simmered just for me—her care warmed my heart.
Our bond neared half a year since she named me, four months plus a bit more. Belly wound closing, palm hole nearly filled, eye scar fully healed.
—Yet the bandages stayed.
Ellie hid something. A guess, but tied to her essence.
The blood scent on her after dawn outings every few days. My wounds healing unnaturally fast from her strange treatments. Her desperation to blind me from seeing her.
Really, unnie's terrible at hiding. Well, that innocence is what I like.
Slurp. The bowl emptied clean.
Truthfully, I hadn't wanted to go this far. At first, I planned to wait for her to confess. I intended to accept everything about her, no matter what—even if she craved my life, I'd give it gladly.
I believed growth came from stepping forward like that. Especially for Ellie, woefully lacking in human relations.
But she couldn't. Just postponing truth, savoring false peace.
She seemed happy daily, but it looked pitiful—a sandcastle ready to crumble at a touch.
Yes. Unavoidable. Growth isn't easy.
Secrets aren't grand. Life-shattering shames often prove mundane to others.
Spit it out once, bracing for scorn. Relief follows, reflecting on past torment with hindsight.
And realization: what seemed a rift becomes a bridge, strengthening bonds.
So, Ellie. Steel yourself and clash. Like in Hesse's tale—shatter the shell and fly free!
"—Good night, Alice."
Was she too fragile? Half a year passed waiting, no sign of action.
Another day ends, another begins. False peace endless.
"Yeah! Sweet dreams, Ellie unnie!"
"...Of course."
Tick-tock, time flows.
Miss the hatching, and the chick suffocates inside, thrashing futilely.
But Ellie won't peck the shell, craving comfort within, oblivious to choking air.
This way, her light fades. Can't let a beautiful bloom wither unopened, a gem-laced ore crumble to graphite unseen.
I must stop it. And that's what I do best.
"Heeheehee."
Crack.
A chick that can't break free?
—Then crack it from outside.