Day Five: Journal of Hikikomori

David has returned from hospital and is ready to resume his obsession with drawing perfect graphs. A character journal from the game Hikikomori....

The strangest two days in a long, long while...

Apparently the woman came around in the morning, and could hear me coughing uncontrollably. She called an ambulance which I'm told arrived remarkably quickly, though I have no recollection of any of these events. I must have been unconcious or something, because they had to get the apartment superintendent to open the door.

The next thing I knew it was late at night and I was in a completely unfamiliar place. I flipped. The thought of having been brought to that strange place by strangers- strangers who took off my clothing, dammit- was truly vile. I just rocked from side-to-side, until a young nurse came and explained what had happened. His English wasn't great but I discerned the gist: I was suffering from some kind of lung infection, and were feeding me antibiotics or something. I rolled over and groaned. I missed my graphs so much. By the time morning came around I discharged myself and hopped a taxi back to my apartment. Everything felt so ... dirty. I can't really find the right words.

It was weird feeling my lungs so fresh all of a sudden, but… it was just so much better! And of course, I had to draw… I had to draw, draw, draw because I’d spent so much time away!I realised that already the power of the graphs was, exhibiting itself: if I hadn’t have drawn them outside, I would not have met the woman, and she would not have taken me to the hospital. I could have DIED. But I didn't die, did I? All because of the GRAPHS!

Of course, it was highly probable that the crazy neighbour downstairs was corrupting the power of the graphs- but I could use this against him, I reasoned. So I gathered up my drawing materials and went downstairs.

It was the furthest beyond my own door that I’d been in months, but I felt emboldened and empowered by the graphs. I’d drawn them all over my arms: I had 23 on the backs of both of my palms, I reasoned this made me pretty unstoppable. I began by drawing a large 113 in chalk on his porch, and then began to etch a larger one onto his door.

By the time my neighbour arrived home, his front door was completely unrecognisable. He went crazy at me.

Amidst the shouting, people started emerging from the other apartments, and, before they could discover what was going on, my neighbour was shouting at THEM for letting me “carry on like that”. The arguments became intense, it was overwhelming... I fled back up the stairs, tripped over on the way through the locked door, I lied on the floor, crying.

She came in, held me in her arms, mouth agape at the extent of the drawings.

“I didn’t know you did the ceiling, too…”

We lay there for some time. Her name is Lin. She is a real friend.