I failed it, along with all trust and expectations, not one or two times.

Soaked from head to toe in the sudden downpour, I tried to pinpoint the exact feeling in my head. Was it grief? Or was it regret? Or maybe it didn't have a real name at all and instead went by the peaceful name of emptiness?

I knew I was chasing a white rabbit of imagination. I was running away, escaping from my own failure.

I had made the same mistake again and again. In fact, I couldn't even remember how many times this had happened.

The droplets kept falling. Their tattering was soothing to my senses. Maybe the rain was cooling me down. Maybe I was just trying to make myself look miserable. Deep down in my mind, I understood that my defeat was merely temporary. When I finally got tired of the act, I would bury all these thoughts in my mind and forget them all - just to make the same mistake one more time.

After all, I loved pitying myself.

"__Hello young man, do you know what it means to hold life in your hands?" Those were the first words she said to me.

She had no face, like everybody else in this world. With a conspicuous white umbrella in her hands and pretty heels of the same color on such a grim day, she stood before me.

"Everyone holds life," I answered curtly. "And life is only precious to their holder, other lives are meaningless."

After a brief silence, she asked with a voice that sounded too young - too young to call me a young man. "... So you mean, life is either to be treated with care or to be ignored completely, depends on the holder?"

What a stupid question. Did she not hear me? I meant exactly what I said. Interpreting it in any other way would be bending my words. A smart person would take it as something greater than it was, and a dumb person would understand it less than it should be.

Not wasting any more word, I threw her a mean look, my grumpy expression still unchanged. That was my response.

Since she had no face, I couldn't tell what expression she was wearing at all. But for some reason, her voice sounded like she was having fun.

"Then, how do you define a life holder?"

"What kind of redundant question is that? Someone who holds life, of course. Basically, anyone who has the influence over a life."

"Hmm, it's true that there could be many holders for just one life." She nodded and started counting on her fingers.

"There are your parents who raised you, your friends who pretend to sympathize with you from time to time, your neighbors who greet you every day, or everyone watching TV who just might remember your name if you make it on the news for killing yourself. Oh, and maybe the person who would be very bothered by your spattered mess as well!" she giggled. There wasn't a speckle of malice in her voice. All was pure innocence. As if she was just making jokes to lighten up my mood.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

"If you put it that way, doesn't everyone hold your life? Humans are social creatures after all," she continued. "Think. Invisible as they are, social norms have made you the way you are now, haven't they?"

"...So what? What are you trying to say?"

"I want to say what I just said. Understand it in any different way would be twisting my words, is that right?" she giggled again, with such a childish laughter that people could never be able to hate.

"Now, one last question. Is your life precious to you?"

"Yes, but as you said, I'm not the only one holding this life. So for the most part, this life is meaningless to me."

The person then dropped her white umbrella, letting it fall to the ground like she had suddenly depleted of all interest in keeping it. And on tip-toe, she raised both hands up, attaching to my chest a little black-colored badge. The ugly design and crude crafting made the thing look like a cheap toy given out as a consolation prize for some gacha game, the worst price you could ever get in a pay-to-win.

"It suits you well. Think of it as a gift for the trouble."

Stepping one step back and turning away from me, she indicated that the talk was over. And just like that, with silver hair that had soaked in the rain swaying behind her back, she left.

The atmosphere became cold and quiet again. The endless raindrops that had been demoted to background noise in her presence, now resurfaced and overtook the air once more.

Staring blankly at the white umbrella left on the ground, the memory of the short conversation came back to me.

It was indeed short - so short that one could hardly call that a conversation - and about something meaningless and nonsensical as hell.

A random and insignificant encounter.

I wasn't sure if I started forgetting about it already, or the rain was washing clean my head. It happened just now, however, I couldn't help feeling something was amiss in the recollection.

Not about how she suddenly appeared before me just like this evening downpour,

Nor about why I answered questions from a stranger so honestly like that,

But like, that person before,

wasn't she rather,

disgusting?