The officer dragged me inside, but I did not know where I was. Was it a police station or a mental hospital? They placed me behind a wall of bulletproof glass. A microphone was placed in front of me, allowing me to talk to any visitors. As I sat there, I was watched by both a police officer standing by the door, and a security camera, which meant that I was being watched by an unknown number of eyes.
A therapist walked in on the other side of the glass, sat down, and started talking to me.
“Hello there,” they said in a calm, almost artificial voice, “I’m not mad at you or scared or anything. No one is. I just want to talk to you about your mental state. With the way you’re currently behaving, you’re a danger to both yourself and others. So why don’t I get to know you a bit first? What are your interests?”
“Music,” I said.
“Interesting. What kind of music?”
“I’m not too picky. I’ll listen to anything, but I really enjoy foreign music. It lets me learn about foreign cultures without having to leave the house.”
“That’s a very interesting perspective. Are you currently listening to any band in particular?”
“Morning Musume.”
“Hm, I’ve never heard of them.”
“They’re from Japan. Their songs were written by Tsunku♂. He’s also the creator and lead composer of Rhythm Heaven. I’m a fan of the games, which led me to check out Morning Musume.”
“That’s so cool. Do you enjoy their music?”
“I can’t.”
“And why’s that?”
“It makes me feel like a failure. I can’t even speak Japanese, and yet their lyrics mock me.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. However, rest assured that they’re not mocking you. You’re just in that mindset of being a failure. Could you tell me when those feelings started?”
“Ever since I read a book.”
“Which one?”
“I’m struggling to think of the title. I think it was called ‘Revival.’”
“I've never heard of it. What’s it about?”
“There’s no plot so to speak. It’s a philosophical essay. I believe it was written by Hermann Hesse or Albert Camus.”
“Do you feel that way about philosophy in general?”
“No. It’s strange. I’ve read Demian and The Myth of Sisyphus, and I felt nothing. Sure, it really opened my eyes on concepts that I thought little about in the past, but I kept a straight face the whole time.”
“Now you’ve got me curious. Let me look it up.”
The therapist pulled out their phone and looked up the book.
“Hmm…” they said, “The book doesn’t seem to exist.”
“What?” I said surprised.
“I checked both Hesse and Camus’ bibliographies, and there was no such book as Revival.”
“But… but that’s impossible! I remember seeing their names on the cover! The writing style was so distinct! Look up the book! It has to exist!”
“There’s no results.”
“What do you mean?! It’s the Internet for crying out loud! It has to have been pirated!”
“Are you sure you’re misremembering?”
“I swear to God that’s what I read! It’s real!”
I turned to the officer standing by the door.
“Get my backpack!”
“We confiscated it in case of-”
“NOW!”
The officer ran out the door and gave me my backpack.
“Don’t try anything funny. Remember that I’m armed.”
I pulled out a book.
“See? SEE?! This is the book! This stupid book is the reason why I’m insane, why I got arrested, and why I’m talking to you! The book is real! Read it! Then you’ll know my pain!”
I dropped the book in the dropbox. The therapist opened the box on their side, and read the book. I watched them eagerly waiting to see just why I lost my mind. But they remained silent. Eventually, they simply stared at me.
“It’s blank.”