Tears of a '?' / Short Story (Noise Literature) #061

At first, I thought it was a printing error. The last page of the paperback I bought at a used bookstore. The dot under the single '?' was shifted just a little to the right. I tried touching it with my fingertip. Of course, the ink was dry. But as I watched, that dot alone slowly, slowly fell... or so I felt.

I closed the book without thinking. Ah, I bought a strange book... I thought, put it in my bag, and went home that day.

However, the next day, the moment I saw a '?' on the station information board, the same thing happened again.

The dot fell...

plop

It looked like it had fallen to the floor. The people around me didn't react at all. It wasn't that they couldn't see it; perhaps they just didn't care.

I alone had certainly heard that small sound.

From that day on, every time I saw a '?', the dot below it would turn into a tear and fall. Smartphones. Televisions. Posters. Textbooks. Notices at the supermarket.

The '?' that existed in the world were quietly crying, only in front of me. I don't know the reason. However, they always fell looking sad.

I tried writing a large '?' in my notebook as a test. Nothing happened. I waited a little. As expected, nothing happened.

"Must be my imagination..."

It was the moment I felt relieved. The dot on the paper slowly swelled. The round ink drop reflected the light and swayed like a water droplet.

And then, I held my breath.

drip

It really fell. On the notebook, the '?' that had lost only its dot stood isolated. I looked for the fallen dot. There was nothing on the floor. But my fingertip was slightly wet. Somewhere inside me, only a faint sadness remained.

Since then, I began to live my life avoiding '?'. I don't watch the news. I don't read books. I don't search the internet. I don't ask anyone questions. Even if I am asked a question, I just smile and brush it off.

If I don't see a '?', I won't see the tears either. That's what I thought.

However, strange things began to happen.

One morning, there was a single water droplet on the window glass.

It wasn't rain. The sky was clear. The shape of that water droplet was the dot of a '?'.

On my office desk. In the refrigerator. On the train window.

Everything round in the world looks like a tear of "?" to me.

One night, I couldn't sleep and looked in the mirror. My posture had become a bit hunched. My neck was bent forward. Half-jokingly, I turned to the side.

" ... "

The outline of my profile was a "?". A bent back. A bowed neck. And at the tip of my chin, a single small tear was shining. I hurriedly washed my face. No matter how many times I wiped it, that one tear would not disappear.

From the next day, for some reason, even people started to look like "?"s.

The old man waiting for the traffic light, the student sitting on the bench, and even the mother carrying shopping bags,

everyone was walking with a slight hunch, dangling a small tear under their chin. No one looked sad. And no one noticed.

That the world had become a "?".

I opened my smartphone and typed in "? origin" and "? symbol meaning".

"Question mark," "Interrogation mark," "Originates from Latin"

Explanations like that were all that appeared. In none of the articles was the "reason why ? cries" written.

I even posted on an unfamiliar social media site. "Must be edited," "Definitely AI," "Hurry to the hospital"

No one believed me.

However, one anonymous reply arrived. "In that case, you should look up the 'characters themselves' rather than books." That one sentence stuck with me strangely.

The next day, I headed to the municipal archives' ancient document reading room. It was a shelf of old materials dealing with the history of writing, not general books. How many books had I gone through? There was one symbol dictionary that had almost no checkout records. On the last page, there was a yellowed piece of paper that someone seemed to have tucked away.

There was only one line written there.

"The '?' is not the shape of one who does not know the answer. It is the figure of one who has come to know the answer."

I didn't understand the meaning at all. At that moment, another tear fell from the "?" in the book.

Plop

Reflexively, I caught the tear in my palm. Cold. Transparent. ... No, it is not transparent.

Inside the tear, a tiny version of me was reflected. That version of me was reading a book. Furthermore, the version of me inside that book was staring at a tear as well. Inside that tear, too, a tiny version of me existed.

A version of myself that continued on and on, forever. I became terrified and closed the book.

Since that day, '?' began to disappear from the city little by little. Books, too. Advertisements, too. Information boards, too.

It is not as if someone is fixing them. As if they never existed in the first place, only the '?' are vanishing. People are not particularly troubled by their absence. I think it is because they have stopped asking questions.

No one doubts. No one asks. No one stops.

Everyone just walks forward, looking straight ahead. However, I know of one '?' that still remains in the world.

It is in the bathroom mirror every morning. When I look down slightly, my body curves gently, and beneath my chin, a single tiny drop sways.

Is that a tear, or is it me myself?

At the very least, the me in the mirror is silent again today. Only that single drop is trembling, as if it is about to fall at any moment.

P.S.: This is a broadcast from the Pothole Correspondence.
Such strange communications arrive periodically.
Please follow only if you are prepared. ☕