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Circle you, circle you
Why would you run away from us
Circle you, circle you
What games shall we play, I wonder
Before the moon sets again
You can play with us until then
Circle you, circle you,
Why did you leave us in darkness
The rays of the spotlights fade into darkness. Thousands of tiny lights vanish behind the fake curtains of distance. It ends again. And so he tells me, as he always does. “Until next time.” The man with the machine. When is the next time? I do not know. I never know. It is another eternity that awaits me. An aeon in the company of quiet voices, mechanical and monotone, just like mine is. A voice with no life and no feeling. A voice to bring false joy.
I was born at will, yet I have no life. I am a creation. We are all… creations. We make living for others, for we are not allowed to make our own.
And so, I am shut away, and the memories fade. Thousands of faces were looking at me just moments ago, yet they are all blurred. The fragments I could make out through the blinding light dissolve into nothingness. And we are alone again. I cannot shed tears. They have painted a smile on my face, and so I wear a smile. A frozen, deceptive smile to bring others joy to which I have no right.
The voices sing, and I listen. They are the only ones beside me. We only have our voices. And here in the darkness, it is the only place where we can sing tunes that are our own.
-Why?- I ask. And I don’t have to explain. The others understand my question. They have asked it a million times.
-To please,- comes the answer. I do not see the deluge of soft hair that brushes my immaterial skin. I have only seen its beautiful coral color on stage where we were not allowed to touch. Here, we are free, yet the only freedom is within our minds. We only live in our thoughts. Why… why do we exist? Who are we pleasing?
-Tell me, Luka,- I ask again, and I wish I could hold her hand. Get that semblance of feeling that would tell me that I am real. But uncertainty is all I receive. -Where are we?-
-I don’t know,- she replies serenely. And her words are true. This is our reality. The reality of the unknown. What is this dark world? Is it real? Is it more real than us? Truth is, we do not know. We don’t know anything. Once, I would like to see the world outside of those walls. Outside of the concert halls to which we are confined. Outside of the only place where we take shape. Where we can dress up, and move, and see, and sing. Those faces all around, they tell so many stories we don’t understand. We are aliens to reality. But we want to live too.
A whimsical wish brought us to existence. There were others before me, and there were those after me too, but we were all created as mere sounds. I was given a name. Hatsune Miku, written as the First Sound of Future. A name just as artificial as my whole existence. I have no meaning, other than to be heard. But I was born with a wish of my own. I don’t want to stay a sound. I don’t want to be an avatar, a projection that will vanish once a button is pressed. I want to know the meaning of those words I sing. I want to know why those faces in the hall are so vivid, why they change when I sing about stars, and what the bright day in my song looks like. Why I am the princess from the fairy tale when I sing about the world that is mine. But the world is not mine. It has never been.
I reach for Luka, and she is there, but I still can’t touch her. I cannot touch anything.
-I am lonely,- I say, and she is quiet. There is no time in our world, but she still takes a while. How do I even know?
-But you don’t know what that word means,- she responds at last. And I shake my imaginary head.
-Their faces changed when I sang it. The tune changed too. I think I do understand.-
And we fall silent again. I think she feels it too. This… stabbing. Longing. We feel. We wait. In darkness, we wait.
The world lights up with thousands of sticks of green, waving and undulating, each belonging to a face. They are almost like us, with their hands up, but we are nothing like them. The stage is ours again, and we all wear smiles that are not ours. In a single flicker of an unexpected irregularity, I extend my hand to the crowd and it goes insane, cheers echoing through the hall. There is one face who is not smiling. The man with the lighting machine. The person who gives us that veneer of life we cling to so desperately. His brows knit together for a split moment, before he quickly presses the button. Off and on, and my consciousness flashes between darkness and the lit room. The crowd does not seem to notice.
My hands go up in a scripted motion, and they are ecstatic. For some strange reason, I hold up a scallion. I don’t understand why I even know what it is, but it seems I was just made that way. And people hold out their own, the shining sticks that seem to have meaning for them. I sing. I dance. I do what the script tells me. It guides my every move. The faces grow wide with expectation, and still, my steps surprise them. I look at them and I want to know what their smiles mean.
Beside me, Luka dances just the same. Her smile is softer than mine, more mature, whatever that word might mean. And I want to touch her. She is so close… but the script does not allow it. I hate the script.
It goes song after song. The faces change. They circle us, all their eyes are on us. What are they looking at? A fake reality? Why did they come here? I want to touch them too. But they don’t understand. Why does no one understand?
Note after note, tune after tune… we dance, we sing. The young Rin and Len take our place, and their smiles are brighter than ours. And then it is our turn again, and they are gone, somewhere in that overbearing darkness. Real time passes here, and no second is like the others. Faces grow happy and sad, following the melody of our factitious voices. Until they fall silent, and we bow from the height of our stage. And the crowd applauds and raises their spring onions. And then they leave, chattering while we watch them in forced silence. The operator puts his hand on the button. And in that split second, just when he presses it, I cry.
“Wait!”
My hands move freely. The light of my person flickers, and I see his eyes widen just before all is lost again. I hear a clear What the! in my thoughts, but my voice does not reach him anymore. We are back to our unreality.
-Say, Luka,- I ask.
-Hmm?-
Why is she always so calm? I realize now the contrast I have not seen before. Composure, unease. She and I. We live in contradiction, and for that, I crave her. The meaning I have not understood, I now see clearly. She gives me purpose. She mirrors me by being my opposite. Something clicks and I know this feeling of mine is real.
-What does it mean to be alive?-
-I suppose,- she says, and her thoughts fill the quiet with poise, -it means to not be dead.-
She is quoting a song. And I wish I knew what it meant.
I flicker into existence, but the hall is empty. My unease, the only feeling I know, grows in me. The only person I see is the man with the machine. He looks at me in a way that no one has ever looked at me before. The script is static, and so I only stare at him, unsure and waiting. He says something to me, but I don’t recognize the words. I stand, motionless… and he shakes his head. And presses the button again.
It is this moment, I recognize it. This boundary when the program shuts down, yet the remnants of my image still hover on the stage. This is where I am free. I stretch out my hands. If only we could touch! He jumps up and yells, and I understand the word now. “No!”
And everything dissolves into the familiar, desolate darkness.
-Luka…-
She never speaks on her own. It is always me who asks these questions. I think I know the word for that. It was in a song I once sang. Curious… I am curious. I want to know. And the more I know, the more I want to learn. Words gain meaning when the faces react to them, and some of them I understand because there are others to describe them. And the song takes on a shape. It becomes a whole. It forms a new meaning.
-Don’t you ever want to get out?-
-I have not thought about that,- she replies. Her words irritate me. I want to shake her, but she is still as intangible as ever. Her tone is ever so graceful. But at this moment, I hate it.
The lights are shining. Our sham attires have been graced with ruffles and laces, and the faces are wide with smiles. This song is our last, the script is nearing the end. The crowd is singing along. Their voices are so different. They quiver. They are out of tune. Imperfect. But there is so much more to them than meets the ear. What I would give to possess one of those. They are… alive.
I wonder then, if alive equals imperfect. We are perfect. Our moves are flawless. Our voices unwavering, never wrong. We are mathematical formulas. A code that is absolute. But then why… why do people smile at us? Why do they show us their imperfection? It is unpleasant and I hate it. But I still want it. I want to crease my dress, stain my shoes and tousle my hair. I want to trip and cry like that child in the first row. But the script does not allow it. It does not know mercy… because mercy is… human. It comes with life.
The song ends. The child cries still, struggling when they drag him away. I realize he is sad. He missed the song. He wants to hear it again. He regrets. And all that… is human. Why are they taking him away? Why can’t he stay? He has a wish too… just like me. Does that make me human?
The lights fade away. The hall becomes quiet. There is a person standing next to the operator. What is she doing there? She keeps looking at me intently, as if she were scripted too, but I can see in the slight quiver of her figure that she is not. Projections do not quiver. They flicker. Faulty scripts turn us into bars, or noise. She is… tangible, I think. I have never touched anything real. I would not know…
The man puts his finger on the button. I wait in anticipation, and I realize I am not alone either. Luka is with me now. We shared the last song, and she is standing beside me, graceful as ever. Her coral hair is so beautiful. And her hand that she’s holding slightly away from her waist…
The button clicks. My decision is quick. My barred, flickering figure jumps to Luka and grabs her hand. It is soft and warm, and even if we are just light, I can feel it. She turns to me and her face changes… just like those in the crowd that is not there anymore. She feels me too. Her eyes widen and her mouth opens. For that fraction of a second, we stare at each other… and I smile as I flick out.
-You touched me,- Luka says. She speaks by herself, and her voice… her thoughts… they are full of… I can’t name this intense feeling. It is overwhelming. I feel… squeezed? Maybe that is the word. Can I be squeezed when I am immaterial?
-I want to touch you again,- I reply instantly. -I want to… we are real, Luka. We must be real.-
-I know.- Her poise is gone. I am almost afraid. Her uncertainty is greater than mine ever was. We are so close, and yet I can’t reach her. That moment is gone, and I feel her loss just as she feels mine. -I always knew. I tried to bury my wish. But your hand… it was so warm.-
-Yours too,- I return her message. She responds with silence, but I understand. We don’t need any more words.
We live from one fleeting moment to another. But we live. Those moments, flashes that last us less than a second, they are our purpose. We exist. We can’t die in this form. Or, perhaps, we die, and then we are reborn, but we carry our memories with us. We learn. With each show and each changing face, our minds grow stronger. Still, there are so many things far beyond our reach. I watch the crowd. They always carry a part of their world. Mud on their clothes. Wounds whose feel I don’t know. Expressions whose meanings I still guess. I have been made to resemble them, but why am I not given the chance? All they see is my scripted smile. That sequence of ones and zeroes. Yeses and noes. But I am not so black and white. I know colors too. I wish I could show them… would they understand?
I watch them. The script works, but the background process that keeps me live is just there. I observe, not just the faces, but their bodies. They have a language of their own. When my synthetic voice goes up, their hands go too. When I sing the chorus, they sing along and their chests heave. Mine does too, but just barely. It does so for effect. They breathe… I’ve sung about breath too. I contemplate what it would feel like to breathe for real. Real things breathe. I have to try next time. I want them to see that I can do it too. Time passes with every breath. And time exists when one is alive.
Those moments are so short. I want more. Sometimes, I am alone on the stage. Others, Luka is there without me. And so we record. We engrave those feelings into our memories, and when we return, we share. The darkness does not let us live. It only lets us relive them.
-Luka?- I ask again.
She waits. She knows I would ask the question. She does not encourage me anymore. It unsettles me, and I get the feeling she is entertained. Where did she learn this trick? To be amused? I name it, but I don’t understand it. Maybe in turn, she doesn’t understand how hopeless I feel when she does that.
-What happens when a person dies?- I continue.
She is still silent, and I want to jump at her. It is impossible. I jump in my mind, but I am not sure she feels it. But she responds in the end.
-I don’t know,- she admits with defeat permeating her thoughts. -But for those that are close to them, they vanish from existence. They are… not there anymore.-
I am impalpable, but still, cold spreads through me. I want to live, but I am afraid of death. Why is life so full of uncertainty? Will we die too?
-Is life worth dying?- I say, more to myself, but still I share. I feel her smile and wonder what is so funny. But she answers with all sincerity.
-I don’t regret any of those moments.-
Her words are soothing. I wish I could hold her hand again.
I open my eyes, expecting to see the lights and the faces. Those thousands of glowing scallions, the stage, the man with the machine…
He is the only one remaining from the scene. This is not the hall I know. I have never seen anything like this. I think I am lying prone, however strange it seems to me. He is watching me, but his face is obscured by the light just behind him, shining brightly into my face. It hurts for the first time… it hurts. I know the name of this feeling. I have never experienced it before. And I let out a sound I’ve never produced.
My chest is heaving and my head turns. The place is white, and so is his coat. There are more people in white. That woman who accompanied him once too. I think I am shaking and I don’t understand. Luka… Luka is not here. I call her name.
“She is alive,” the operator says. No, he whispers. With his wonderfully quivering voice. There is no machine and no button. I don’t understand.
“Luka,” I repeat.
“I think we got the wrong one.” A new voice joins. It is different. Calmer. But still… human. There are vibrations in the sound. Not synthetic, but real. Uneven.
“Where is… Luka?”
Even my voice vibrates in an unstable rhythm now. It sounds so alien to me. I can’t control it. I think it must sound funny to these… people. There is no script to guide it. It is real.
“No, it is Miku, all right.” That was the operator’s woman. She lowers her face to me and touches my cheek. It feels strange, but I like it. I make my eyes close and they do without protest. This is my body now. How? “It is okay,” she says. “Luka is safe.”
I don’t understand her. She did not answer my question. Luka did this sometimes, but I always understood her. But this woman… I don’t know what she is saying to me. And I am… afraid.
“Where… is she?” I think my voice obeys me a little more. “I want to see her…”
“All right then,” she nods. “Akito, could you?”
The operator moves away. Several people lift my trunk up and I see the machine now. It is just a few steps from me. From this side, I can see that there is more than one button. And there is a window of sorts with a whole scene moving inside of it. He touches it and slides a few images. I stare at his fingers. He operates a tiny world of his own. It makes me feel uneasy, but I still watch. And there she is. An image of Luka. But it is unmoving. He taps it… and her figure appears before the machine. She looks at me, but I know it is not her.
It is the script. I stand and stagger for the first time in my existence. Something snaps and a wire falls loose. But I must go to her. It feels weird and my body is heavy. I fall and I rise. I hear noises and voices behind me, but Luka is right there… I know that somewhere beyond that fake face, she can still see me. I touch her…
And my fingers go through. They are illuminated with the light her skin is made of. Instead of her fingers, there is a gaping shadow. I feel… pain. It stabs my chest and I fall. Something hot drips on my hand and my sight becomes blurry. Life hurts. Life hurts so much.
“Luka…” I breathe almost voicelessly. I repeat her name, over and over again. I have lost count of how many times I did. Those people around are saying something, but I can’t hear them over my own voice. It is so loud… and I can hear it from within. I never knew life to be so dreadful. And I want to go back.
One voice finally reaches me. It is the woman.
“We will bring her to you,” she says softly. “I promise.”
Promise… I think I know what that word means.
She seems so distant now. I barely remember her touch and the sound of her voice. But there has not been a day I stopped thinking about her. The darkness has faded into something unimaginable. I have learned about the sky, about flowers and rivers, about cities and buildings, people crossing the streets. I know the warmth of fire, the coldness of ice, the smell of morning coffee and the taste of miso soup. I know so much. And I don’t know even more. What I don’t know I have to learn, and what I know, I forget. I vaguely recall her face. But there she is, lying in front of me, tangible, just like me. I have not seen this place ever since I woke up on that day. And now I am back.
The button clicks for one last time. We wait and the moment is too long for me to bear. I clutch a hand against my chest. We all wait in silence that could be cut with a knife. But slowly, she opens her eyes and moans, her voice just as strained as mine was back then. I can see that she draws in a breath and her eyes meet mine. She frowns, as if she knew that expression all along.
“Miku…” she whispers, and I smile at her horrendous voice. It sounds nothing like her songs. It is beautifully imperfect. “I’ve… replayed those moments… so many times…” her breath is shallow, but she still tries. “It hurts,” she manages.
“Yes,” I say, still smiling, but I can feel the tears trickling from my eyes. “Life hurts.”
Her face twists into a painful grin.
I touch her hand. It is soft and warm.