#20-Second Composing Genius, Becomes a 200,000-Second Monster Episode 2
The Mad Composer
I never thought I'd go to hell.
No, I mean, can't you just go to church, donate, pray, and volunteer for a year before you die? That's what I thought.
No, before that, I was an atheist.
…But I suppose you only know what life brings when it hits you.
Fuck, I can't believe this is happening to me.
"Guwaaaaaaaargh!"
A week since coming to hell.
I was being cooked.
Not in super-high-temperature magma befitting hell, but at exactly 55 degrees, moist and perfect for cooking proteins and all sorts of bacteria.
This was my hell.
And the punishment that had befallen me.
* * *
But that wasn't the only hell for me.
Hell. I needed to rethink the meaning that word carried.
What is the reason for its existence?
It is to bestow pain upon humans.
However, isn't the "pain" humans feel bound to be different for everyone anyway?
Feed someone who hates cucumbers nothing but cucumber salad, cucumber gimbap, and cucumber sparkling water every meal, and it'd be hell for them, but for me, that'd just be a mouth-watering meal.
In that sense, what is my hell?
What do I hate the most?
I'd forgotten while living, but now I know all too well.
About two months after entering hell.
When I barely endured the ambiguous heat, sounds I couldn't hear before began to reach me.
-Brrrrrrrt
-Bwak!
If someone were in front of me, I'd want to ask about the identity of the sound.
No, I wouldn't want to ask.
No, I still want to.
My mind is wavering, but one thing is certain—it's a disgustingly filthy sound that makes me want to vomit.
"St... please stoooop."
I had sensitive ears. Not that there are many musicians without sensitive ears.
Among them, I was particularly exceptional in my sensitivity to bad sounds. Even sounds others would frown at once and move on from would ruin my mood completely.
So this is,
-Pooot!
-Squelch.
Probably the ultimate "disgust" I can feel.
'No, if I let it pass, it sounds a bit like doves flying away.'
But fuck, like that could happen.
No matter how I listen, it's the real-time Dolby Atmos stereo sound of taking a shit.
"You bastards, why are you doing this to meee!"
It was a booming voice adapted to hell, yet it stretched out toward the endless darkness without returning.
They say humans are animals of adaptation, but that's only on Earth.
Where I was was hell. A place I could never get used to no matter how I struggled.
A year passed.
I was still splashing around in the water continuously.
I didn't even like swimming, and splashing around at this temperature brought no joy whatsoever, yet the reason I kept moving was to avoid the sounds.
The splashing sound brought at least a little peace of mind. It diluted the sounds of shitting and farting.
It was hell's only respite and mercy.
Three years passed.
About half a year ago, I sensed a crisis.
The ambiguously hot water that tormented me like shit.
I realized it wasn't eternal.
It was evaporating.
The water surface reflecting in a very faint light was now less than half of what it had been.
Splash- splash-
More strength went into striking the waves.
I submerged my face in the water because I hated the squelching sound so much.
It felt like my eardrums would be cooked too.
The sous-vide liquid completely evaporated and disappeared.
And I began to walk.
I'd been walking a little before, but the water had slowed me down considerably. Now that the water had completely evaporated, I was free.
However, the terrible sounds coming from all directions were enough to gnaw away at my sanity.
Seven years.
Everything that could be called remaining sanity flew away.
However.
Tap-
For the first time since falling into hell, encountering something called a "wall,"
Squelch- squelch.
Squeeeeak-!
When I confirmed the identity of what made the "sound,"
"Ha... hahahaha."
I couldn't help but laugh.
"Hahahaha!"
Had I gone insane?
That happened long ago.
Then was I laughing because I'd simply gone mad?
That wasn't it either.
"What the fuck, why is a butt stuck to the wall."
I was really just laughing because it was absurd.
The sound happened, but there was no smell, no filthy excrement.
Could it be the cleanest butt in this world, made by God for the sole purpose of "filthy sounds"?
Fuck, what kind of sound is that.
-Smack!
Expressing joy at encountering an "organism" like myself after a long time, I struck the hell-butt.
Then,
Squeeeak-!
The sound changed.
From a filthy sound,
To a slightly less filthy sound.
"...!"
And then, for the first time, I felt something like my heart fluttering.
"The sound... changes?"
Naturally, it wasn't sexual arousal.
I was simply moved that since coming here, a "note" had changed according to my will.
Yes, just like when I first went to a piano academy and placed my hands on the keys.
Hope arose that I could make sounds however I pleased.
"...Let's try."
After seven years, I began to hum a tune rather than screaming.
In hell, there was no need to eat, nor any need to excrete what was eaten. Since the concept of a physical body didn't exist in the first place, that was only natural.
Still, when my mind grew tired, I slept. I had been able to sleep after the water drained away.
All other time was devoted to composing.
I added melodies a cappella by myself, and tore several hell-butts from the wall to add harmonies.
"Aaaaaah-"
-Squeeeeek!
-Tweeeek!
The hell-butts subtly changed notes depending on the strength with which they were pinched or struck.
However, since the degree wasn't a structure that cleanly broke off by semitones like a piano or guitar, subtle force control was difficult.
"Again. Aaaaack!"
But since I had nothing else to do anyway, I didn't stop. I continued composing.
At first, power chords with just two hell-butts.
Next, attaching one more for major and minor chords.
Eventually, using both hands and feet to reach seventh chords.
There could be no composition environment more impoverished than this.
Therefore, I couldn't help the regret that occasionally washed over me.
'Born in the 21st century, and yet... and yet I was handling such perfect equipment!'
Why hadn't I finished my songs?
Why had I been trapped by laziness?
'...The environment wasn't good.'
My childhood home was quite poor. Mom, me, and my younger sibling lived in a small public apartment.
I had never once bought trendy clothes, and we only ordered chicken on really special occasions.
If I hadn't entered arts high school as a scholarship student in the first place, I wouldn't have dreamed of making music my profession.
However, I always thought.
That couldn't be used as an excuse.
Even if arts and physical education require pouring in money just to hit average, it's unforgivable to only feel regret internally and voice complaints.
Because I had known my mother's suffering from early on.
'It's all in the past. No... is that why I fell into hell?'
I didn't give my all.
I took results achieved through someone's sacrifice, deluded myself into thinking I achieved them on my own, and arbitrarily trampled on them.
Uploading only 20-second intros to bait people was... honestly, it was a bit shitty, but it's not a grave sin, right?
'Playful,' that's all. Right.
You might want to knock me upside the head once, but dropping me into hell is going too far.
"Hoo... what's the point of regretting now."
My sense of time was already as vague as it could possibly be.
I continued composing and playing.
In an environment more impoverished than any era, any place.
And a few months passed.
Doom- doo doo doo doom.
"What is it this time."
Suddenly a monster appeared before my eyes.
Its movements were fucking slow, but its form looked like it came straight out of Doom.
Well, this is hell. Nothing particularly strange about that.
"Shit! You fuckers!"
My mind, eroded by madness, didn't forgive anything that interfered with musical activity. I had no leeway for that.
I charged at the monster,
Shhk-
Thud-!
And burst it.
And I repeated that for days, months, years.
Having soaked my body in sous-vide water for years, pain was familiar.
I had no body that could die. Therefore, in tens of thousands of battles, I never fell first.
Strength.
A concept I'd never possessed in my life was seeping into my soul.
And I,
"Now I can play guitar and bass too."
Began to yearn for music even more.
I gutted the bellies of hell monsters I'd killed with my own hands, extracted their entrails, dried and ground them, and bound them to bones.
It may be an unspeakably horrifying expression, but aren't all primitive stringed instruments born this way?
I was growing accustomed to hell. The pain I'd thought I could absolutely never get used to, I was growing accustomed to as well.
"Get it right, you bastards!"
And eventually, I went all the way.
Realizing there was a limit to implementing "multitracks" alone, I captured hell monsters alive and used them as slaves.
The one with an octopus-like head beat a hellish snare,
A monster resembling a mix of a cutlassfish and a zebra repeatedly plucked a single bass string.
And I rode the rhythm.
"...Now it's somewhat doable."
But it was hollow.
There was still so much more I wanted to do. So many more sounds I wanted to hear.
Not enough... far too insufficient!
There were no mirrors in hell, but I was certain that if I checked my appearance now, I wouldn't be much different from those things.
More time passed.
A lot flowed by.
The point where hell's music became me, and soon I became hell.
Right at that point.
-Gooooooooong.
An enormous roar like a massive earthquake rang out.
"What's happening now."
What could it be. How would Satan torment me.
That's what I thought at first. But my prediction was completely off.
-Tak.
Five steps away, a large hole formed in the wall.
And after a very long time, I heard a terribly nostalgic voice.
"Have you enjoyed the prepared hell?"
Fuck.
I didn't bother answering aloud.
Even if I didn't answer, if it was Satan, he'd be able to read my thoughts.
"That's a relief. I was quite anxious wondering if it wouldn't be to your liking."
He laughed heartily, as if pleased.
I harbored a question again. Where is my soul going.
"It's truly fascinating that your mind is sound. Yes, I'll tell you your destination as you wish. It won't be heaven."
Hoo.
I sighed.
I hadn't expected it to begin with. I'm not really someone who could be called a good person.
Still, it was true that my strength faded at the thought of going to yet another hell.
"Hmm, you seem to be under a misunderstanding. I said it's not heaven, but I didn't say it was hell either."
Then is it Purgatory?
If it's a better place than now, I feel like I could focus more on music.
"If you feel it's Purgatory, then it is. There are indeed many people who express it that way. Well, anyway, from now on, it's up to you."
"What do you mean by that."
"Ah, and I am not Satan."
Not Satan?
After doing all this?
I wanted to retort, but the conversation didn't continue any longer.
Because the presence vanished the moment the words ended.
'What will happen.'
A life already ended. How much more must I suffer.
The question I'd harbored for over a decade grew larger and larger.
I simply stepped willingly into the hole that had suddenly formed in the wall.
At the same time, my mind floated up in an instant and severe dizziness rushed in.
Barely catching my breath and opening my eyes, what unfolded before me was....
"Huh?"
A very familiar scene.
The days I regretted, thinking I could have worked harder and done better.
"Next is Gim Doil. Present the song you prepared. This goes into your school records, so don't mess around."
It was my high school days.
"A person... it's...!"
"...Huh?"
"A! Person!"
I lunged at the "person" before my eyes.
"Kyaaaaaaah!"