INVALID INPUT

9th June 

I am so overworked it feels like I am losing my mind. Guess I should be happy that it’s breaking down after my exams rather than before them... but I am pretty sure the traffic cone on the road in front of my window is flickering. So much like my brain to pick something so meaningless even the construction workers didn’t bother cleaning it up and then go crazy about it! (Funny, though.)

10th June

A day at my grandma’s. 

 No time to write. 

Too much fussing about me gaining weight. 

11th June

Ok. This is bad!!!  

  This is super, super bad! 

(And embarrassing.) 

      The traffic cone from the day before is still flickering. And now there are these semi-transparent letters. 

Error: Instability detected. 

  …In my head. 

    Yes. 

I noticed.

Should I contact a psychiatrist? 

 But what do I tell him? Why can’t I have some more presentable insanity? What is this? A traffic cone psychosis?       Dammit!

…Well that was fun. Freaking out, I mean. 

 Feeling much better.

So I guess that I am really overworked and that I now have definitive proof that visiting relatives is not good for one’s mental state. Well, I suppose that if I ignore it and try to rest, it’ll go away.

12th June

    Trying to ign

    When I look       I need to focus on

Fancy restaurant sushi for dinner. Yummy!

   Oh, my God!            What is happening?! 

               What is it?!!!

      Oh, my God.  Help me. 

                                         Be dream! Be dream!

13th June

  It didn’t do anything overnight. But it’s still there. Not allowed to dream, am I? 

Literally. 

    I didn’t sleep last night. 

     Yesterday, when I came home, the cone wasn’t there. Instead there was something describable as a… dark fissure. 

It seemed otherworldly. 

And like it was very much not supposed to be there. 

And then I saw something move in there. 

It looked like scrawny legs. And antennae. 

And vines. Or tentacles. 

    Reminded me of the live sashimi in that restaurant. 

The sliced-in-half shrimp.

            Still moving on the plate. 

That’s how it looked. 

That's why I was throwing up. 

            Through the whole night.

8th July

I saw a new glitch today. Luckily it’s a small one. A pebble in the park. 

 It feels like I am in some kind of computer program. 

But what would that make me? If I see the glitches instead of malfunctioning myself? 

      Maybe a user?  

  But from my experience so far, only I can see them.

So am I the only user? 

    Am I alone??

Nah, that’s solipsism all over again. Not gonna accept it. 

 But why is it only me that can see them? Am I the admin or something?

9th July

So if I am the admin… 

First of all…

      Why couldn’t it just be someone with SOME technical knowledge?

      I am a humanities person!

      How can I be expected to fix the source code of reality???!

You know how I fix a TV that’s not working?       I hit it until it does!!!

10th July

 Ok, I see... Hitting helps. 

I found the courage to kick the pebble in the park.    

And it stopped glitching!!! 

   The newly emerged Error warning disappeared too!

So happy! 

I can fix it after all!

…It feels strange reading someone else’s diary. The thoughts, the sentiments all seem sort of foreign. But it’s weird getting these sorts of emotions from my own old journal. Especially since it’s been mere months. 

My initial optimism was rather hastily succeeded by absolute pessimism. Although that was a phase too. Right now I am a realist. Which is the worst of all three, since you not only feel like the world is a terrible place but also, as a realist, you know it is. 

Another downside to realism is that you no longer feel relief from venting your emotions by writing into a 10-year-old My little pony themed diary heavily secured by a solid lock holding together two flimsy wires attached to its cover… 

“Sweetie, why are you watching your empty desk when it’s time for school?” 

Closing the journal I’ve been staring at: “Yeah, I’m getting up right now.” 

I don’t like going out. And every time I do, I am reminded why. I failed. I succeeded more times, but that’s hardly a justification in face of the gaping holes in reality. There are dozens now. 

Dozens of glitches at certain points in time. Pits of darkness now. With some otherworldly abomination reaching through them. 

The people here don’t see them. Like, for instance, this guy, my neighbor slash history teacher Mr. Foreal who is currently leaving his supermarket-dinner-for-one-sized bungalow next to our house. 

He’s not reacting even though that thing should be in his line of sight.

Still not reacting even though it’s right before him. 

Just about two meters from the pit… watch him fluidly change his direction to walk on the very edge instead into the abyss to which he’ll return the moment he passes the hole. 

Don’t mind the scrawny shanks and tentacles trying to wrap around his calves as he walks by. They won’t do anything to him.

I remember that a few months ago, I saw the dark matter creepy-crawly practically enveloping my dad’s right leg in full length. The air in my lungs turned into a vacuum. Luckily, when he moved a few steps and those grotesque extremities failed to hold onto him, it immediately turned back. 

I really appreciate this half-hearted fangirl attitude of it. 

Yes. The pits are not as bad as they look. There are worse things going around, unfortunately. 

Like that thing lurking in the park ahead. That wriggling humanoid shadow with the same lovecraftian limbs stretching in every direction as if it was simply another black pit. Three-dimensional and mobile as it may be. 

A great choice of moment to stop and think what coffee you are gonna buy, Mr. Foreal! 

The shadows are quite new. And I still don’t know what exactly they do and what level of danger they pose. So far I simply observe them. They appear to be strangely interested in people. Like this one intently staring(? …I don’t know if it has eyes…) at the pedagogue's ankles. 

These are also my fault. 

It is mere weeks since the glitches started appearing on people too. And I wasn’t able to fix any one so far. 

First of all, I was reluctant to resort to the old-TV outdated repairing technique on a person. It’s quite enough that I get to hear what is, according to my recent data, the most popular word combination in the English language (i.e. bloody psycho) every time I hit a seemingly random object supposedly out of nowhere. 

Second of alI, I run out of time since it’s quicker with people. And they changed into… these. 

Well… As long as they only watch, I guess- Wait. 

That thing just touched Mr. Foreal’s left temple with its spindly fingers. Though it might just as well have poked his left temporal lobe considering the way it seemed to go through. 

They’ve never done it! What’s happening? Why now? Why someone I know? 

But… Foreal’s looking fine. Smiling even. Actually the first time I am seeing him stretching the corners of his mouth in that unfamiliar direction. No wonder since his smile per day is wasted on his morning double shot espresso… 

I suppose he'll be alright. Even if that monstrosity wanted to eat him, it would quickly change its mind. He’s too bitter. (I blame the espresso.)

Oh, he saw me. …And the mouth corners sank 2 inches deep into the sidewalk. 

“Shouldn’t you be already in school? Your lesson starts in ten minutes.”

That’s my question. Do you even prepare? Or is your whole teaching career one big improv?

Well no point in arguing. I’m not allowed to make one. The school is just around the corner too. I can just get going. …And I do need to ponder the strange occurrence. Did I really see Mr. Foreal smile…?

Classmates. What a sight for sore eyes. Look at them. All huddled in their respective groups like artificially cultivated bacterial colonies in Petri dishes. (Some bacteria are very pretty, I am not being mean…)

They ignore me. Even more this year. A proof that no matter how much a person has developed their skill, a new level of mastery is always reachable. So with nobody bothering me I am free to surf my journal. I don’t need to worry about my privacy since people here are not scumbaggish enough to read others’ diaries (except maybe for Dave of the Staphylococcus aureus colony). And besides that, they can’t perceive any information pertaining to this admin merry-go-round I am spinning. Like my mum.

Some time ago, when I tried to tell her what exactly was wrong with me (as prompted by the appropriate question) a notification showed up. 

“Invalid input.” 

To learn that the person I love most in this world is a feature of a program… Had I not been on strong antidepressants, it would have killed me. Like this, it only felt like every cell in my brain broke into fractures, then molecules, atoms, quarks and then nothing at all. …Although might have been an unreported side effect of the pills. 

I like my antidepressants. They are pleasantly numbing and absent-mindedness-conducive, which is welcome since my mom’s not the only one. Trying to tell about what is happening to anyone I (even remotely) loved or cared about made this error pop out. 

“So… What to do today… ”

Great, Mr. Foreal is here.

“Eh, what’s the next topic in the textbook…? Oh, right, 20th century. So,... Um… Right, give me some examples of totalitarianism.”

What an optimistic approach to the late modern period…

“There are the fascists.”

“Nazists.” 

…Mathematicians.

“Now open your books and make notes.”

At least he’s not interested enough in his educating career to care whether I work or not. … Or is he? He’s looking at me. And his eye is twitching. Should I at least open the book? Is this too brazen to- Oh, no.

The whole left upper quarter of his face is glitching. 

I swore to myself that if I see a person glitch, I will punch them as hard as I can, since that is my task. And now I realized that one’s job can bring them satisfaction. 

And the witnessless opportunity I am waiting for in 3… 2… 1… 

“End of the lesson. Test next time. Learn everything.”

It never ceases to fascinate me how Mr. Foreal can end the class already halfway through the hallway. And how he arrives late because of coffee and finishes early in favour of smoking in the back corner of the muddy, puddly school playground. Where he’s alone. With his back conveniently exposed. 

I need to do this correctly. Loosen the muscles. Make a fist. Extend the arm. And…

“What do you think you are doing?!”

He simply had to turn around unexpectedly! He is asking? Sure, let’s tell him. Like it changes anything.

“I am doing this for you and the world. Mostly the world. Saving it from the glitch and whatever being of unspeakable horror is causing it!”

“The glitch? What is wrong with you? I always expected you to go crazy eventually, but…”

Wait. He heard that?!

Why?

Why him? Why not Santa Claus?! Why not the Tooth fairy?! Why is it always the jerks that are real?

…But what does that mean? Are there more real people? Are they in danger? What are the dark pits? What- 

What? Why is half of my vision black?

Oh, I see.

Mr. Foreal got devoured by the glitch while I was fussing around. 

And now the thing has its hand in my brain instead. 

Oh, look. It’s smiling. I still don’t know about the eyes but it definitely has a mouth. And teeth. Yes, very nice teeth. 

And the ability to disappear. Or teleport? I’ll have all that too when I am like that thing, right? 

My, that’s fast. I can already see my hand glitching. 

So,... I guess this is an early retirement for me… 

Unless I old-TV-repair myself? 

Is that even possible? Actually I never tried it on a living person before. Much less myself. Plus is it even worth it even in the case that it is possible? All the horror, stress, responsibility, the jerks of the reality I’d be obligated to save? Can I even cope with the mere possibility of this circus continuing?

Not much time. 

…Fine then. 

I need to be resolute. 

Stand up face to wall. 

Lean on the hands. 

Bend the torso backwards. 

And prepare to rush ahead. 

Ready. 

Steady. 

-