The stories afterwards, will anyone hear them…
No one will return to this place.
When the last letter is typed,
when the last nostalgic post goes unnoticed,
when no one pays the fees for the website, and it disappears…
Finally this space will also be empty…
The anomalies of the past have lost their color…
That huge roaring lizard…
That statue which would snap your neck in the blink of an eye…
All of them have lost their anomalousness.
Perhaps…
This is their true fate.
It's not that they lose their anomalousness,
but that we are forgotten.
The stories that come after, will anyone hear them…
Once-strict senior members have become corporate executives today,
friends who once encouraged one another have now become fathers,
that veteran writer who once critiqued your work is now a teacher,
and you today,
have grown too.
This isn't the fading of anomalies,
merely the weathering effects of time.
The memories gradually rust, fall away.
Leaving behind a stretch of blank space in life.
Maybe you've already forgotten the stress of struggling arduously for a month over a translation,
Maybe you already can't recall repeatedly revising your document late at night for the sake of an upvote.
Now those brilliant imaginings under your pen have gradually accumulated a layer of dust.
And what do you think of this?
I am only,
someone who can't let go.
We'd once thought about how those people under our pens would fare if anomalies disappeared…
Be helpless?
Go mad?
Find peace?
Actually, maybe none of that will happen.
When the anomalies disappear,
it also implies,
that we have already left.
Anomalies are just our imaginations,
reality is the true thing we need to face.
When this day comes, the anomalies disappear and return to dust.
The stories after that,
will anyone hear them?
Maybe no one will care.
These words like murmurings in a dream will, with time, also disappear.
The story still goes on.
But except us.