Looking up, a medium-height girl with black hair and ear piercings with a violet hue stares at the midnight sky with a tired look that hints at a distrust of life. Next to her is a box filled with work items, each holding a vivid memory of a life that promised to show meaning.
Turning to her things, Robin wonders how an obsession considered childish ended up getting her fired. Maybe it was the constant obsession with childish myths and unexplainable phenomena or the heavy drowsiness she feels during the day, like she has never seen a bed in a day in her life. In the end, these traits piled up, creating a person unfit for the working class, especially for one who's supposed to be a detective. All in all, she was doomed to fail.
"Shit!" she wondered.
"How the hell am I going to get cash now?"
She curses, knowing that this was all her own doing. With a depressed look, she mumbles in the streets at the thought of her last talk with her boss. Where her ideals were called childish and the supernatural was just a term used to scare kids, in the belief that things like those were a waste of time for a rational grown-up. But only she knows the truth: that there are greater things that can't be explained by rationality alone, like her dreams feeling too real with the feeling of someone watching or something.
"What could it be?" She thinks to herself.
"Lately I feel heavier, like the only thing I can do is sleep, and the dreams get weirder and weirder."
She thinks, "But not in the normal weird way; more like everything is too random but somehow orderly. Too much like a world that was made to exist, but shouldn't."
A cluster of possibilities cross through her mind as she slowly drifts through the midnight streets with her baggy eyes giving a hint of fatigue.
"Maybe I'm cursed, or an evil spirit is haunting me, or God is having a laugh, toying with me, making everyone think I'm delulu."
Each thought was more absurd than the last, fuelling paranoia to greater heights. As they continued, the boundary between reality and madness became thinner and thinner, creating strong emotions, emotions of anger and confusion with a strange blend of wariness.
"Maybe I'm going crazy, and my ass will probably end up in a psych ward."
She thinks to herself, climbing the stairs of a shabby old building with incomplete renovations and a presence that speaks of the lower middle classes. Reaching for her keys in her left trench coat pocket while trying to keep balance to hold her box filled with work goods, she enters her apartment with an almost lifeless look in her eyes. In the room, day-old clothes can be seen in the corner of the room next to a not-so-old table that looks like it was bought for cheap. In the centre there was a small coffee table with pills and open medicine containers.
The room reeked of depression. The stains on the walls, the unclean dishes and the dusty old carpet beneath the coffee table spoke everything: a shitty life.
"What the hell am I going to do?"
She thinks, lying on the bed with a face that hasn't seen sleep for days, scared, knowing she is in for another bizarre dream. She knew it was inevitable to avoid since she had tried every single possibility to stop the strange occurrences, but the only results were trial and error. In the end, the only rational conclusion for someone like her is acceptance.
She lay on the bed, starring at the ceiling, wondering what type of dream she would have this time or if it would remain the same, like always. Each dream is the same but feels more real than the last. Like, she becomes more conscious and aware as if it were the real world.
Her gaze fixed on the ceiling, the view of the world gets dimmer and dimmer each time her eyes weaken until the darkness pulls her in.