Back Alley Creative Bureau

To begin with, no one remembered who had picked up that piece of paper.

Perhaps it was the wind.

In front of the station after school.

On an old bulletin board, a single sheet of paper was posted.

A white sheet of copy paper.

Black text in the center.

Just one line.

"What are you talking about?"

No explanation.

No contact information.

No application requirements.

I thought it was someone's prank.

That's why Shiori, a second-year high school student, just took a picture of the paper with her smartphone.

I went home and opened the image folder.

Things I took today.

The blackboard.

The sky.

A cat at the convenience store.

And finally, that paper.

What are you talking about?

I don't understand.

And yet, I couldn't close it.

Shiori opened the posting site.

She started writing.

Today, I saw a piece of paper on my way home.

She stopped there.

It wouldn't continue.

What should I write?

What is the right answer?

I'm not good at writing.

I deleted it.

But I look at that paper once more.

What are you talking about?

……Is it okay if it doesn't have any meaning?

Shiori continued.

“Was it paper, was it a poster, or perhaps it wasn't even paper at all.”

I wrote it myself and chuckled a little.

It was nonsensical.

But I posted it anyway.

Title.

What are you talking about?

The next morning.

One notification.

A comment.

It's probably not paper.

I don't understand what that means.

I replied.

What is it?

A reply.

What are you talking about?

That was where it started.

Someone continued writing.

"I am the one who posted that paper."

Another person.

"No, I am the wind."

Yet another person.

"That bulletin board is not at a station, but on the ocean floor."

Someone drew an illustration.

Someone wrote a poem.

Someone explained how to fold paper.

Someone became paper.

Three days later.

In a place unknown to Shiori,

The "Paper Observation Diary"

The "Paper Discussion Group"

The "Paper Reading Stream"

had begun.

No one knows the original source.

No one has shared the settings.

And yet, they were all connected.

Shiori felt a little scared.

She hadn't started it herself.

She had no responsibility for it either.

Yet, it kept growing.

One night.

A notification arrived.

A message.

Welcome to the Back Alley Creative Bureau.

It made no sense.

She opened it.

Main text.

--This is a department that protects things that make no sense.

--Currently, your "what are you talking about" is under observation.

--We are coming to collect it.

Attachment.

Map.

A local coffee shop.

The next day.

Shiori had gone.

Inside the shop.

There were people.

About ten of them.

All of them were meeting for the first time.

Papers on the desk.

Drawings.

Poems.

Novels.

Crafts.

Words written on a tissue.

Someone says.

Which one is the original?

Everyone shakes their head.

No one knows.

One woman laughs.

If you don't know, then all of them can be the original.

It was strange.

It made no sense.

There was no purpose either.

But, it looked fun.

Shiori thought.

At school, you look for the right answer.

On social media, you look for validation.

But here, there are different rules.

Someone writes.

Someone jumps on board.

Someone transforms it.

Someone laughs.

The end.

That day, on the way home.

There was a notebook left at the exit.

Cover.

To the Next Resident

The inside is blank.

Only the first page has text.

Please write if you feel like writing.

Below that.

In small print.

What are you talking about?

Shiori picked up a pen.

She hesitated.

I was never good at writing.

But I wrote.

Just one line.

Today, I might not have looked at the paper.

I closed it.

I went home.

A few days later.

A notification.

An article by someone I don't know.

Title.

The Story of the Girl Who Didn't Look at the Paper

The beginning.

Maybe I wasn't there that day.

Shiori burst out laughing.

That's wrong.

That's not it.

But, it was interesting precisely because it wasn't that.

She wrote a comment.

What are you talking about?

A reply came immediately.

I wonder what that story is about.

In that moment, Shiori realized.

Creation isn't something you complete.

It's something you pass the fire to.

You receive someone's nonsense,

mix in a little of your own nonsense,

and pass it on to the next person.

That is how stories multiply.

On the way home.

Looking at the bulletin board.

There was no paper.

But there was a new doodle on the edge.

Small.

In someone's handwriting.

Next is your turn.

……What are you talking about?