Grimgal of Ashes and Illusion - Volume 13 - Chapter 16

16. A Multifaceted Personality

I have another name, you know. The one my parents gave me. But I’ve always been called Alice.

I was bullied. Not teased a little. Outright bullied.

As for the reason I got called Alice, it’s the fault of the book I was reading. Okay, that’s a bit unfair to say it’s the book’s “fault.” Books can do no wrong. But still, I hated being called Alice.

“Alice!”

“I’m not Alice.”

“Aaaalice!”

“I’m not Alice.”

“Aaaaliiiice!”

“I told you, I’m not Alice!”

“Aliiiice!”

“You don’t give up. Whatever. Say what you want.”

“Then it’s okay, right, Alice?”

“Aaaalice!”

“Aaaaliiiice!”

“Alice!”

“Aliiiice!”

“Alice!”

I remember, just like that, it was like I’d given them permission. Anyone and everyone started calling me Alice, Alice, Alice, Alice, Alice, Alice, Alice, Alice, Alice.

They hid my stuff. Broke it sometimes, too. They scribbled on my things, and threw stuff at me.

Also, and this one I remember vividly, there was this thing they called the Apology Game. They’d surround me in the park, so I couldn’t move. Then I’d tell them to get out of the way, clear the road, or whatever. They wouldn’t, of course. That would piss me off, so I’d try pushing them aside.

Then they’d make an exaggerated show of falling over, saying it hurt, or they’d broke a bone, or they were bleeding, or some other nonsense.

“Apologize! Apologize!” they’d demand. They wouldn’t let me off until I did.

It wasn’t like they would let me off when I did it, either. I’d be told to say it with more sincerity, or if I was really sorry I should do this, or that. They demanded a lot from me that way.

They outnumbered me, see.

They’d shout at me, too. I would have no choice but to do as they said.

As for what they made me do, I’ll leave that to your imagination.

Well, the things they did, when I remember them, it’s worse than just feeling bile rising in my throat; I want to dash my own head open.

The key point is, they didn’t hold me down to do things to me. I was forced, that’s for sure, but I did it myself. I hate the ones who put me through it, obviously. But I blame myself for meekly obeying, too.

In the end, I have to wonder if maybe it was my own fault for being weak. If I hated it so much, I should have bitten through my own tongue. I should have been able to bite them like I had gone mad, too. I wonder why I didn’t.

The name Alice—to me, it’s a wound.

Not a scar, a wound. One that’s big, always raw, and will never fade.

I hate myself more than I can handle. I hate everything about myself, and more than anything, I can’t forgive myself for being like this.

Or so I was feeling back then, anyway.

I was cursing it all.

The whole world, you see.

It all started when I came to Parano, I guess.

That was when I came to realize that even I, who cursed everything, had things I’d loved, things that were important to me.

For instance, I thought I had detested this face, this body of mine, but despite that, I was always looking in the mirror. Pretty closely, actually.

The truth is, I’d think, Oh, I don’t look too bad from this angle, or, That expression just now, that was pretty nice, as I was looking in the mirror.

If someone said, What’re you staring at that mirror for? back then, I’d’ve denied it. No, I’m not looking! But thinking back now, I was looking.

My looks are unusual, but not ugly, I mean. Not that it’d be bad if they were. The things commonly seen as ugly, like cleft chins, snub noses, thick lips, a big belly, they can be cute if you look at them right.

I hated myself, but there were parts of me I liked.

Or rather, as I was bullied, I started to think it was my own fault, and I began to hate that about myself. You could say that I was forced into hating and detesting myself.

It wasn’t that I hated everything about myself. There were bits that pissed me off, sure, but part I was deeply in love with, too.

Then... I realized. I couldn’t take them teasing me, calling me Alice, Alice, Alice. But I didn’t hate the name itself.

In fact, I now feel like Alice fits me better than the name my parents gave me.

Am I cruel, or kind? The answer is, I’m both.

The people who did those awful things to me, it’s not like they were total scum all the time. They’d feel bad seeing a poor abandoned cat on the brink of death, and help their families and friends when they were in trouble.

There were probably some who, even though they were participating in the Apology Game, were thinking, Whoa, that’s rough. We didn’t have to go this far.

One even had pangs of conscience, and covertly sent me a letter. It was in the mailbox. The sender didn’t write their name, but it was neatly written by hand.

When the bullying was at its worst, I did some pretty nasty stuff myself. Like pulling the wings and legs off bugs. Anytime I would watch them writhe in that state, it made me feel better. When I was done, I’d say, I think it’s about time I put you out of your misery, and then kill them.

I thought about doing the same to larger animals. I never did, though. Not because I’d have felt bad for them. It just felt like it would be a lot of hassle, so I didn’t. If it had been easy, I think I would have. It might’ve escalated from there, with me ending up a proper serial killer one day.

Naturally, if I hadn’t been bullied for so long, I don’t think it’d have ever occurred to me to do things like that. Even so, I can’t say I’m not a cruel person.

To give an example, imagine a game where several people, including yourself, are locked in a closed room, and only one can emerge alive.

What would you do in that situation?

Would you kill the others, and survive yourself?

Or would you let yourself be killed, because murder is wrong?

Would you commit suicide?

There’s some merit in the argument that the situation proposed is too extreme, and it’s inappropriate to try and glean anything about the nature of you, as a person, from it.

But anything can happen. It’s not a completely impossible situation. You’re in Parano, too, so you understand, right?

I don’t know how or where you came to Parano from, but I was at a school by the seaside. There was a cave in a cliff along the shore, and people were talking about exploring it.

Around that time, I was using the strategies I’d learned for dealing with bullying, and I was getting by reasonably well thanks to a number of coincidences. It felt like if I screwed up, I’d be right back where I was before, though.

I had a number of friends, and one of them invited me to go with them, so I had no real reason to refuse.

Into the pitch black cave we went, progressing deeper and deeper.

At some point along the way, it was like there was gas. Our vision got worse, and I remember feeling like it was bad news. But all I can say is, the next thing I knew, I was here.

We had carelessly wandered into Parano.

It was beyond unexpected. That something so ridiculous could happen, I mean.

If a person kills other people because some situation has left them no other choice, that’s a person who is capable of killing. If that opportunity had never come along, they might have gone their whole lives without killing anyone, though.

Me, I can kill.

If the need arises, I’ll kill anyone, and anything, with my own hands. No regrets. I mean, if I had to do it, I had to do it.

But I do at least have emotions.

Back then, a star fell. Based on my experience, I figured someone had come to Parano, so I went to check. That’s how I found you. I couldn’t leave you alone, so I saved you.

You’re not my friend, or anything else to me. You, personally, are nothing special. But there’s no one sane in Parano, so I get nostalgic sometimes.

When I see a decent person like you, doing nothing but care for others while being empty yourself, gradually becoming only the you who is reflected in the eyes of others, like some sort of flimsy mirror person, it makes me want to talk so badly.

Well, that’s all, though, really.

I’ve already accomplished my objective, so I’m pretty satisfied.

I might abandon you like you’re nothing. But, like I said, I can be kind sometimes. When I’m nice to others like this, it feels good. But I may get sick of it eventually.

That, or change my mind, and decide I want to eat you. I don’t have any plans for it yet, but I might take advantage of you somehow. Or trick you. When the time comes, I’ll say so.

If you tell the person you’re about to trick that you’re going to trick them, they won’t fall for it, you say?

You idiot. Those times, I’ll tell you when I’ve already done it.

By the way, what do you want to do?

What do you want me to do for you?