AD21/Day 4 out of 25

"You won't know if you don't try it."

There's been a trend in the station nowadays that if you have an alternate identity, you must kill that identity by pushing it off into the train tracks and absorbing its essence. I have seen people do it, like idiots. But not until someone close to me did it did I actually think that it was a genius yet hideous idea, tricking people into becoming what they are instead of what they want to become.

By accepting who you are, you improve on the strengths that disgust you. You have an innate talent to prostitute yourself, but you don't want to fuck because you're a repulsed asexual? Fuck you, throw your "alternate self" into the train tracks. God, it makes me vomit, to see people get converted into pushing each other into the conveyor belt of death.

My own daughter went to the station, looking for a lost item. At least, that's what she told me. However, it has been three days and so but she hasn't returned yet. I went to the station and saw her as one of the corpses mangled on the walls. People are staring at these corpses with idolatry, thinking "I wish I was them". Ignore it, ignore it, except for the fact that my own daughter is dangling over there. As much as I wanted to run to the front of the gawking crowd, my feet were frozen and I moved away instead.

The train station is packed, and there's an orderly line not far from me. That is weird. There's no such thing as order in a train station. Everyone is in a rush. It should be a chaotic platform where everyone is in their hunting position to get inside the train before anyone else. But that just isn't what I saw that day.

One by one, they are either pushed off or they jump off themselves into the tracks. Then they wait for the train. Then the train crashes into them. What the fuck. I know this has been going on for some time, but it's been normalized in my head already. I take up all the courage in my heart and approach one of the people who is in the line: a girl with glasses in her high school uniform.

"Excuse me, why are they doing this?"

She doesn't answer and instead rolls her eyes at me.

Then, an older student taps me on the shoulder and says, "We do this because we want our future to be better, to accept ourselves. But I guess someone as bigoted and traditional as you won't understand, huh?"

"But you're killing yourself..." my thoughts spilled out my tongue, and all at once nearby people looked at me with eyes full of malice.

"YOU WON'T KNOW IF YOU DON'T TRY IT!" someone says
After that, everyone looking at me began preaching the same.

My chest cracked, and my ears vibrated. I had this primitive instinct to run away, pride shattered to pieces. There's something about tens of people yelling at you those words "you won't know if you don't try it" that filled me with the desire to do it, guilt for not wanting to understand it, or even wanting to stop it. I didn't want to do it, I knew that. I didn't want to push myself, or my alternate self into the train tracks, but I remember.

I told that to other people, including my daughter. Once somebody told me that what I like is wrong, weird, or messed up in some way, I'd also think that "they're just saying that because they haven't experienced it yet". That's what happened to me and chess in my old days. I hated chess, seeing that everybody who played it turned out to be some sort of arrogant fuck who shames others for hating chess. There was a chess club back in the day, whose members I disliked so much to the point that one day I vandalized the walls and yelled at them for their disgusting ego. What did they tell me? You won't know if you don't try it. And so I tried it, thinking maybe my inexperience caused me to be this... hateful. I found that I liked it, and I hated the fact that I liked it. I still play it to this day. But every time I do, my brain feels like it's being violated. I liked it because it came so easily to me, but I didn't like intellectual sports like that. I wanted to play something I do like, such as croquet.

I wonder how I'd feel if I started queuing up the line too? What if what I thought to be bad and self-destructive is actually something I'll end up liking? I'm scared. I don't want to become the kind of person that advertises this kind of action.

My peripherals answered me, as I saw my daughter walking up to the corpses. She looks she much different. Her hair was much shorter, once black now dyed and bleached into the lightest blonde I've seen. I knew her as the type of girl who was into denim shorts and jackets. She once had an argument with her father because she liked wearing boyish clothes and doing boyish things. It took us about three years until we could finally tolerate it, and only when her first girlfriend talked to us that we realize what it means to accept her for who she is, and be proud of her wholeheartedly.

She was wearing a very short skirt, clicking that memory of her swearing at a very young age saying she'll rip up the next short skirt we'd buy for her. Part of me thought with relief that she finally wore girly stuff, but an even bigger part of me was screaming WHAT because if she changed like this, she must be going through something. It's been only three days.

"Is that you? Is that really you?" I ran up to her, not even noticing that I did. "You didn't come home. What happened? Did you find what you were looking for? Did you have a fight with Holly?"

"Get out of my face," she said, rolling her eyes at me. Something must've really happened. I presume she wants to be left alone or unseen, especially with what she turned out to be wearing right now.

"Let's go home."

"I said get out of my face, you nosy woman!" she said, and then spit at my cheek. Is this really my daughter? Maybe I walked up to the wrong person. As I was looking at her with disbelief and humiliation, she laughed at me loudly.

"Oh, I get it. You're looking for the Old me, aren't you? Tomboy bitch Deandra, who's putting up with the pushover Holly, Well, look over there, there. Don't you have fucking eyes? I said THERE. See that corpse? Yeah, the Deandra you're looking for is DEAD."

. . .

"Why did she die?"

"Oh I don't know, maybe it's because she wanted to CHANGE HER LIFE FOR THE BETTER."

"...what about Holly, her girlfriend? Did she know why--"

"Ugh, fuck Holly. She didn't want to jump off with me, so why should I care about her?" she rolls her eyes. "You know what? I should kidnap her. I should wake her up to the reality that only by killing her alternate self can she improve for me! Maybe that will make ME want her."

"But she doesn't want to jump off---"

"Ugh, stupid woman! They only say that in the beginning! Once they start, they can't stop anyways, so all that bullshit can just go down the sewer where their past self that they can't let go should belong." she said. "You know, you should too. Go join the line. Your dead daughter probably wanted you to do so, too. Change for a better you! So you can stop bothering people with your shitty brain and your shitty ideology."

"I don't want to jump off."

She pushes me to the line, then stomps over my foot. "You won't know if you don't try it, you judgmental bitch!"

She walks away from me, approaches a stranger, and tells them to go to the line as well. From the corner of my eyes, I see one of the people in front of the platform, pushing others away from pushing him off.

"I said I don't want to!" he yells for everyone to hear. Most of the people surrounding me laugh, whispering 'That person's still trying to resist', 'Stupid boy, you'll regret resisting them soon', and 'That guy never killed himself before, I'm sure of it'. The boy's face was full of fear, and then he started yelling for help.

When others heard his cry, they all ran up to him. Not to pull him out, but to push him even further. He held on for a little while but was finally pushed down. "NO" he cried, and then the train hit him midair. The people who pushed him all either facepalmed or shook their heads, all about he'll understand It soon.

It hurts.

I don't want to be pushed off, please. Get me out of here.