I had some assignment or another that I was running around trying to complete, when I stumbled across a professor giving a class in the middle of a common area. He had a projector set up and everything and was going on about western Africa. Apparently, a bunch of west African countries had decided to band together, overthrow their leaders (whom the teacher claimed were actually competent, good rulers), and rebuild their society in the image of America. After his lecture, I continued to talk with the professor. He feared that this revolt would end in success. They would build a second "America" complete with a new culture, but their identities would waste away until their new republic rotted from the bottom up.
Then I noticed the clear, wheeled container belonging to the professor. It was filled with ice, but I could get glimpses of a cadaver through the sides of the box. When I mentioned this to the professor he became quite annoyed. "The university keeps thinking I'm a serial killer when I show up with these! I'm not! I'm just freezing the crazy people I find so they don't come back from the dead." Somehow, dream logic said that he was telling the absolute truth. However, I decided that the time had come to move on from the noble professor.
I headed off to a park and accidentally started doing calligraphy. When I say accidentally, I mean that I let my mind wander, and when I brought my attention back, I had a calligraphy brush in my hand and a canvas in front of me on which I had written "Ye who would pass through must pay the toll." After a few seconds of confused blinking, I decided that I liked calligraphy. However, I didn't get much of a chance to keep going because Kyubey from the show Madoka had appeared out of nowhere, like he does.
What do you think of the magical girls? he asked. Suddenly, I could see the ghost-like freeze frames of magical girls posed around me. Some were fighting witches. Some were in the midst of transforming. Some were simply standing there, broken and alone.
"I don't know," I replied, "Magical girls aren't very happy, are they?"
They try so hard, like Sayaka-chan. But in they end, they're all just used and used up. He sounded so satisfied with this sentiment. Then, the image containing Homura began to move. The image became less transparent while the park became more so, and soon I was standing beside her. She seemed to be waiting for something.
Then, a 1950's car rushed around a corner and screeched to a halt. Out climbed gangster-like men, carrying a clear container...full of ice... and a body. They dumped it out on the ground, pushing the ice away from the corpse. Homura sprang into action, as much as she ever "springs" into anything. The men loosed their fire, never quite hitting her, but holding their ground surprisingly well. She only managed to kill a few of them before the corpse stood up and fought her one on one...and was winning. He was about to seal the deal when another car flew past and riddled him in the back with bullets. Homura turned her attention back to the gangsters, but a few seconds later, the man stood back up, weak legged but very much "alive". One of his companions pulled him back into the car and drove off, leaving Homura panting and defeated in the dust.
Do you understand now? Kyubey chimed
"Yes. Magical girls can never win, and the poor magical men can never die."
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