NPC

Now, why am I here, again?

I hesitate, but ask anyway.

No answer.

.

What’s the point of this?

I double down in anguish.

Nothing.

.

All that is certain—birth and death (are the two even different or are they the same event simply viewed from different perspectives?)—is out of my control.

What am I meant to do between the two?

Stumble through the unknown—hoping I get at least some of it right?

Am I doing it right?

What even is right?

Who’s the judge of it?

Who made up the rules? The rules that make zero fucking sense. The rules that no one has agreed to, yet everyone is made to obey. The rules that only seem to benefit a chosen few.

Am I a joke for thinking there's more to it? There must be... Or am I just a forgotten Sim a bored kid created on a rainy afternoon when there was nothing better to do?

Just an NPC in someone else’s game?

Just for user experience?

Just there to fill a space?

Just...

Whose game is it?

.

Questions spill over my lips, and I have to catch my breath.

Panic fills her silvery eyes as I stare at her, thirsty for answers.

But she looks as confused as I feel inside.

She doesn’t know.

No smarter, I grab my keys, stopping for a prolonged moment to make sure she's okay.

“Till next time,” I say and turn away from the mirror, wondering what would happen if one day

the girl in the reflection answered back.