梦/Dream

在许多夜晚，我的梦里都存在两个我。聚会上，当别人喊我的名字，我抬头，总会看到另一个我同时抬头，代替我做出回应，我则坐在角落默不吭声，没人对此感到意外。

两个我，睁开眼就能看见另一个，万花筒一般的梦让我感到头晕和疲惫。梦里永远有一群人在聚会，我在角落喝着苦酒忍受身份折磨。在某个梦里，我在角落碰见了另一个倒霉鬼，他的处境和我一样。我问他，杀死替身有用吗？他说他试过，私下杀死的人会立刻重新长出来，他已经侵占了你的本体。除非在公开场合，让所有人看到你杀死了他，才能真正让他永不复生。说着，他望向自己的复制品。

房间满是欢声笑语的人。在昏暗的角落，他在桌底给我比手势，他想进行一场无差别的屠杀，把荒唐的记忆从所有人的梦中抹掉，我心领神会。很快，一个契机让灯灭了。漆黑中，我听到了杀戮和血。

灯亮了，死的是他。原来复制体之间共享思维。

我迅速打开窗户跳下去，逃走了。一路上我拼命跑，到了一片沼泽地。月光下，我回头看见了另一个我，我看不清他的脸，他应该也是。

我想起过往犯下的种种罪孽，有多少是他植入的潜意识？我恨他，真的。

“先别指责我，那次你不也玩得很开心吗？” 脑海里他说。
“闭嘴。” 我气急败坏。
“对了，那个让她气疯的电话，你应该不知道她正在开车吧？”
“是你让我打的。” 我蹲下来，狠狠地把地面砸出一个坑，土很软。

我不再理睬他，转身往沼泽方向，在泥浆中深一脚浅一脚地艰难移动。他也跟了过来，我们一前一后前往沼泽深处。不知过了多久，我听到了警车声，过了一会儿，一个声音向我们喊话：

“你们是孪生兄弟还是幽灵人？”

我俩都没有做声。

“按照第三十三条法令，一旦发现幽灵人，我们需要立刻射杀，包括和他们接触的所有人，防止更多人的记忆开始松动和生锈，你们到底是不是幽灵人？”

“不是” 我们两个异口同声。

我想让他活着，在剩下的生命里一遍遍悔恨。我感到他也笑了一下，没错，我们都一样恶毒。

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In countless moonlit nights, my dreams bear witness to dual existences of myself. Amidst soirées and banquets, when my name graces someone’s lips, both I and my other self raise our heads in recognition. Yet, while my twin speaks with familiar eloquence, I’m confined to shadowy corners in mute acquiescence — a spectacle none find amiss.

Every time I awaken within this phantasmagoria, my counterpart confronts me, making my nights a dizzying waltz of mirrored encounters. These revelries, teeming with mirthful guests, see me cornered, nursing a bitter brew, grappling with the torment of duality. On one such spectral night, I chanced upon another lost soul, ensnared in a similar quandary. In hushed tones, I inquired if slaying one’s reflection offered any solace. With a weary sigh, he confessed his trials; to dispatch one’s double in secrecy is but a fleeting victory. For the fallen soon rises, having usurped your very essence. Only a public reckoning, under the gaze of all, ensures the phantom’s eternal demise. As he divulged this, his gaze settled on his living mirror image.

Laughter and jubilation filled the room. From a dim recess, he discreetly signaled to me, a morbid pact without words: to unleash carnage and erase this absurdity from the dreamscape. An opportune blackout set the stage. In the enveloping void, the chilling symphony of death and gore resonated.

But when illumination returned, it revealed him as the fallen. In our world of doubles, thoughts intertwine mysteriously.

Without a moment’s hesitation, I flung open a window and made my escape, my footsteps echoing with urgency until they met the muffled grounds of a marsh. Bathed in silvery moonlight, I stole a glance back, discerning another form— my echo. His features eluded me, as I presumed, mine did to him.

Memories of transgressions, both real and imagined, flooded back. Were some the devilish designs of this doppelgänger? My disdain for him was palpable.

“Hold your reproach,” his voice echoed in my thoughts. “Recall the merriment of that fateful evening?”
“Silence!” I retorted with vehemence.
“That ill-timed call, surely you weren’t privy to her being behind the wheel?”
“You puppeteered my every move!” With fervor, I pummeled the earth beneath, finding solace in its yielding embrace.

Discarding his taunts, I ventured further into the marshland, trudging through the sludge. He, ever my shadow, followed suit. Time seemed to stretch until the distant wails of sirens pierced the silence. A voice, authoritative and cold, rang out:

“Twins of flesh and blood, or specters of the night?”

Silence reigned.

“By mandate of Article 33, any specter discovered shall meet immediate execution, as shall those tainted by their touch, lest memories fray and corrode. Speak now, are you specters?”

“We are not,” our voices, harmoniously defiant, rang out.

For, in that fleeting moment, I wished for him to endure existence, forever shackled by remorse. I felt a sardonic ripple from him — a testament to our shared malevolence.