Chapitre 8: 7- The Horrors Of A Silent World And Writing Poetry
His eyes fluttered opened to an unfamiliar ceiling. Gingerly, he sat up, touching his face as the memories of his last deed came back to him.
He neither felt any discomfort nor smelled the scent of blood. Standing up, he took stock of himself by using the mirror, and sure enough. His figure and and clothes were clean, and so was the sink.
Yet, despite that, the thought that what he went through was fake didn't came to him a single second. After all, this world was superficial. What need was there for filth to linger in it if it wasn't scripted to do so?
Taking a few seconds to go over it all, he couldn't help but shrug somewhat helplessly and smile at his new look. Better take the W where you could than linger on the Ls, besides, it didn't hurt THAT much. And he sure was damn handsome as a result.
Wasn't there was a saying that you had to suffer to be beautiful or something? Not sure if it was supposed to be this literal. But he'd say it was worth it.
"Now that I'm not an hentai protagonist, what the hell Imma supposed to do?" He muttered as he exited the bathroom and entered his room, taking a peek out of the window and noticing it was still night.
Pausing and doing a double take at the outside world, goosebumps rose on his skin. "Okay~, never going to do that ever again." He closed the stores and said. Hiding the utterly dead, still, dark,empty and silent sight from his eyes. It was super creepy, like he was the only living being in the world. That or he was in a horror urban setting. Which he guessed was true in a way.
Anyway, just the fact he wasn't hearing any crickets outside, or any noises outside of his own breaths or heartbeat really, was quite unnerving. And maddening.
Like come on, couldn't he have some background noises? Bad game design! Seems like he would have to rectify that itself.
Only hesitating a second at using his 'power' again so soon, he discarded it after considering his previous bloody seizures was probably among the worst results. Like, it's not like he would explode or outright die if he wasn't careful right?
"Right?" He chuckled nervously and shook his head. He would have to be careful, but little things should be fine in any cases.
It was quite simple to imagine the little critters and their little chants that became a often unwanted lullaby for most people in the summer and adding some wind to that to make the leaves on the trees rustle softly from time to time.
Upon wanting those to become reality, he had to shatter a similar barrier to earlier. Only it was significantly thinner and easier to break than when he wanted to modify his appearance. As he did, the world froze for a split second and slowly, but surely, the chants of cricket and the soft rustling of leaves began to be heard from the outside.
"Oh yeah, that's better already. Still not looking out though." Lest he comes face to face with sirenhead or an scp, or something equally mentally scaring.
Waiting for a backlash to happen any seconds, Cal crossed his arms and looked around. He had the impression feeling he was forgetting something.
And sure enough, after lingering for a second on the bed and wondering if he needed to lay in it or actually sleep to skip to the next day, his eyes came to rest on his desk, where an open notebook was coveniently resting on alongside a pen. Needless to say, that really help jog up his memory.
"That's really convenient." Suspiciously so. Was the notebook there earlier? Oh, who was he kidding? Of course it wasn't. Shaking his head, he dragged back the chairs and sat at the desk.
Normally, now came the time in the game where the player wrote a poem by selecting 20 specific words from a random list. In the game, this was the way to select the route and girl you would try to woo by picking only words the girl you wanted would like.
Sayori like sad and happy things, so raincloud and sunshine kinda words.
Natsuki like cute, sweets and simple things, so words like candy or pet.
Yuri like profound, complex and thought provoking things, metaphorical and unity being exemple of words she would like.
Monika isn't a pickable girl and has no route, it's justified as because the player think she is out of his league. But really it's because plot. Because if she had a route, it would be the happy ending by default, or the one closest to it at least.
And there's no true happy ending in Doki Doki.
However, if she indeed had a route. Her kind of words would probably be related to freedom and choices. Since she's obsessed with the real world of 'infinite possibilities'. Relatable if anyone was in her situation. Oh wait, he was.
Picking up his pen, it was needless to say Cal was hella relieved ideas centered around a bunch of words just seemingly just popped into his head. Because while he could probably write a poem if he tried, it was dubious if it would end up any decent.
As for his choice of poem, he had already set on a decision. It may be foolish, and even dangerous in more way than one. But he was determined to see it through.
Instead of writing one poem for one of the girl, he would write one for each of them.
Call him crazy, he really didn't care. It was probably a bit true anyway.
He would break this game, pieces by pieces. And get the happy ending for everyone. He'd build it from his bare hands if he needed to.
—————
Okay, so bad news. It seemed like trying his idea made the game very angry and very in pain. And it was fighting him every steps of the way for it.
Until the first poem dedicated to Natsuki, everything was fine. But upon beginning to write the second... Oh boy.
The world first tried to stop him by giving him a compulsion to just stop and go to sleep as well as taking back the writing assist. But when he resisted it and kept writing. It went a bit crazy. It tried to delete the first poem from existence, make the night fade to black ( probably to skip to the next day) and when it didn't work, it quite literally tried to reset and even crash. He felt it try to just shut him down with the rest of the world. Of course, he mentally said that it go fuck itself with a resounding no.
At this point his mind was already on fire and his hands were shaking a bit from the exhaustion of keeping everything together. But his body had still been fine. After he finished the second and began to write the third, he had to begin smash barrier after barrier inside his mind as well as continue to shrug off the mountain like weight on his mind that kept growing heavier and heavier by the second.
Halfway through the third, he had difficulties keeping his eyes open. But when his direct surrounding began to glitch and buzz and the weight in his mind changed from a continent to something akin to a SCALPEL, it woke him right up. And it began to REALLY hurt, physically, that is. Now he had to protect himself actively instead of just keeping the weight from crushing as the world tried to hurt him directly to stop him. At least, that's how it felt as the few seconds at the start felt like something was carving something out of his head with fire spoon. He had very nearly screamed out and lost his concentration that time before he found out how to defend himself by forming a sort of shield around his mind.
The rest was a blur as he fought to finish the third poem. And he may have thought that he had blackout when beginning to write the final poem to Monika if it wasn't for the brief memory of the world suddenly shifting to green and black lines and lingering impression of placing his hand softly against something gargantuan that was threatening his existence and pushing it away with a pulse of liquid blue, green and black light, as well as hearing the sound of screeching and shattering glass.
Only in the morning that he came back to himself, his head resting against the desk and his arms covering four safes and sound page of poems.
The pounding in his head made it all the more clear that he had comes out victorious against whatever he fought against last night. And that it was hopefully one of many he would gain against this fucking depressing game.
Still, who would have thought that writing poetry could involve life and death mental battle? Not him, at least until last night.
In all cases, It would be wise to experiment with his powers thoroughly before doing another stunt like that. Lest he lose next time and find out the price of fucking around.
Wait, he already did that with his 'character creation', didn't he?
Whatever, he had the feeling he wasn't in actual danger when doing that, last night was different.
He had the gut feeling he could've died right then.
L’AVIS DES CRÉATEURS 
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État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
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