Why Did I Do This To Myself?

[Arum60]

I'm walking back home, with Mom, in my usual attire: A loose gray shirt and gray sweatpants. I never really put any thought into my appearance; I just kinda throw on clothes and it works well enough. All of it looks basically the same, just loose and comfortable. My mom has put more effort it seems- a blue dress, earrings. Predominately white, probably carved from some sort of bone.

"You know," she starts, "I'm glad that they finally got a grocery store, like, actually in the neighborhood. In retrospect, separating all the residential areas and food areas was incredibly stupid."

"I guess it's nice . . ." I reply simply.

She nods. "At least it's changing a bit. Like, I guess they thought that putting all the things together in one spot would be better? More efficient? Like have all the stores in spots, clusters, and all the houses in house spots all spread out as well, across the Plane. All spaced out, all with personal transportation. Theming! We have all this space, so why not use it! Well, guess what? Just because you can doesn't mean you should! I don't like driving! I don't think anyone does. I can't find ONE person! It's dangerous and inefficient and all of that! And space so gets used up, all the good space! What's the use of space if you waste it? Anyway, this store was a great decision and I'm glad they finally changed the laws to make it happen. Like, a little bit. Plenty of idiots still think that all this is a good idea because politics is the second-worst thing in existence!"

I let Mom rant. Honestly, it's funny how worked up she gets about this; she doesn't even work to design neighborhoods or buildings or architecture. In fact, she bought the house in this neighborhood; she specifically wanted to be here. But I digress.

We're about home now, walking. Walking is good for you, helping to maintain your very flawed soon-to-be-a-corpse vessel.

"Oh," she says, finally referring to me again, "that one thing you recommended! It's decent, especially for the author's first work. I like the worldbuilding. It's cool how the society has adapted to using that magic as technology, which does make sense . . ."

"Funny how much is made from that Sesmin stuff," I reply, "but it makes sense. Their tech is based off chained light and that's the binding. They even managed to make phones out of it!"

She nods. "Convergent evolution . . . But perhaps it was a bit unoriginal? Like, they're still basically just phones."

"But it's still fun, especially to see how it's different, what stays the same. Say, they end up emitting light . . . But, of course, the characters are also fun. That Paperclip Maximizer . . ."

"Extremely terrifying."

"Indeed, but kinda cute though."

We're at the door now, a distinct red shade. I open it, step inside, wave to Fade, and move to put the groceries into the fridge. There's not a whole lot, so me and Mom finish up quickly, going around Fade's attempt at cooking.

Well, I say "attempt" but she's actually pretty good at it, despite the fact that she absolutely refuses to use a proper stir stick and instead just stirs the sizzling potatoes with her bare hands.

"Hey, Fade, are you cooking in my house again?"

"Yes."

"What is it?"

"Frying up some of the extra potatoes," she replies simply.

"Did anyone give you permission?"

She stares at me blankly. "Of course not."

I nod. Such is the way of things. Her secondary body is as usual- a feeling of a barrier, protecting her precious core, but broken and shattered. It's held together using a mix of Animated tissue and solidified spite and dissociation. She seems healthy enough. Her physical appearance is as usual: An elegant pale-blue dress, somehow flowing with and augmenting her fractured body, even merging with her leaking intestine-like pseudo-organs and synthetic stabilizers. Her skin is as white as marble and cracked like it. Her eyes match her dress, but peer deeply as if they were the sky. I know she probably isn't pondering too much, her eyes deceive, making her look far more divine than she truly is.

My Mom's aura is typical as well- I usually don't pay attention, but I might as well since I'm staring into my dear friend's eyes for some reason. She feels like a single, lonely blade, apart from its set. It feels slightly better as Mum is slumbering in the other room- it's drawn to her quintet of sharp edges. My sister's probably back in her bedroom somewhere- I can feel her computer's muffled laughter as it computes a section of her so-called "Work". I should probably tell her that her computer really enjoys it at some point.

Mom starts to move in to help Fade, I guess she wants to add something to this impromptu meal, and I end up on the couch with my friend's core.

It's nothing like her secondary. She's wearing loose jeans and a sweater. She's staring into the void, focusing on the other room. I know that she can manage controlling both at once, so I guess she doesn't care to right now. Her core's aura feels like a precious mind, oh so vulnerable. It could be extinguished in an instant, or at least that's what her power tells itself. Honestly, I don't think there's much difference between a Sliver and her gifts. I wouldn't say that they are meant for one another, but they end up being such a core influence that whatever the person would've been without her power is meaningless, like all the versions of myself that decided something slightly differently. Like, I can imagine but can't truly know what it would be like without my ability, and I know that the same goes for her. It's me.

I want to touch her.

I hesitantly grab her arm, gently, and she says nothing. So I smoosh onto her, trying to minimize distance, pulling her close into an embrace. It's nice, leaning on her shoulder and nestling in.

Yay

A few minutes later Fade's secondary comes in, feeds herself a potato, and struts back to the kitchen.

"Needs more salt," she remarks. I snuggle more. She's soft and nice, but not as soft as the couch itself. Mom wanted our house to be comfortable, and it shows. The twin brown couches are cozy enough to sleep on, and with plenty of pillows plopped on. There's even a huge plush of indeterminate type on the opposite one- some sort of blue tentacled blob, like a plush flesh-flower thing. My home in general follows this: It's cozy. Not the cleanest, there's still laundry on the floor that needs to be done and dirty dishes that haven't quite been washed yet, but all in all it's pleasant- there's the central living room which merges with the kitchen and dining area, and branching off there's a handful of rooms- my parents' bedroom, mine, my sister's, and a spare. There's windows to let fresh air in, with a mesh to obstruct intruders. That mesh is surprisingly durable, actually. But, I mean, it probably doesn't protect us very much- I've heard that it's concerningly easy to pick locks. But it makes the crime more of a hassle, which is surprisingly effective at reducing crime.

Anyway

Cuddles. Cuddles are good. I untangle myself from Fade and move to the other couch, pulling out my phone and absentmindedly check to see if any story has updated. Nope.

Do I have any homework to do? I check my list. Nope.

Hm.

(-)​

A few minutes later, Mum emerges from her slumber. She's obviously not completely awake yet, she's still not completely dressed, but she's awake enough to start making her way towards Mom. Mom's just about finished up, apparently some assorted vegetables have been added, and when she notices her wife she smiles broadly. Mum yawns and hugs her, and they start chatting. I, for one, decide that Fade's couch is much more comfortable so I grab the tentacle thing and head over to her.

"So, how's your day been?"

"Good so far," she replies, "how about yours?"

"Good."

We set by each other in silence for a moment. "You really like my house, don't you?" I ask simply. She nods. "Much better than mine."

I lean against her. "You know, you're really cuddly, Gaze," she remarks. I nod. "Well, sometimes. Half the time I just want to be completely by myself . . . Do you mind at all?"

She shakes her head. "No. I guess it was slightly embarrassing at first . . . Nothing that I don't already do with myself though . . . anyway, we're about finished with . . . Dinner, I guess? Or at least Mrs. Quintet is finishing it up. Should she really be going that half-asleep?"

I shrug, shifting over to the other side of the couch. "She does what she does."

Fade nods, and her secondary enters the room alongside Mom. Fade quickly walks to meet her core, holding hands and smooshing together even closer than I did earlier, running her fingers through her hair, holding herself close, resting her head in her lap. She's even fiddling with some of those leaking organ-things. I don't think that they are actually organs, her secondary isn't particularly alive or even a machine, so those are probably some sort of aesthetic thing. They seem to have no function. I haven't touched them though, maybe I should ask sometime.

. . . Actually, is wanting to caress your friend's organs weird? Probably? But, like, that would be very inconvenient for most people. You would have to cut their skin open- most of the good ones are in abdominal cavity. There's a risk of infection there. But it should be fine if they're already out? And, like, skin is also an organ and people talk about smooth skin all the time. Especially about mates and in all those romance things. But I guess the stuff beyond that tends to be out of range for cuddles . . . Like, you don't touch the inside of someone's skin. I'm not sure if that would actually hurt though.

Also, Fade also mentioned that those pseudo organ protrusion thingies are the most sensitive part of her secondary, presumably because they're merged with the stabilizers that are actually damageable. At least they're protected a bit, by the outfit and the mechanisms themselves. But, if they are so delicate, why does she like to touch them? Maybe it feels nice or something.

Hm.

"Hey, Gaze, can you grab your sister? The food's ready," Mom repeats.

"Sure," I say, and yell to the back of the house: "HEY, CHRIS!"

I get no response.

Sigh.

Regretfully, I get up off the very comfy couch and head over to Chris's room. I knock on the door. No response. "Chris, food's ready!" No response. Hm. "CHRIS!"

Nothing, and judging by the noise of the computer's calculations, she's still working.

I open the door. "Hey, Chris, food's ready. You should eat something."

Chris on the floor, typing something into her device. Her outfit seems like it's just been thrown on, like usual, and her bed's unkept. She's staring at the screen, muttering something as it shifts. In the center of the room is the black obelisk of the computer's tower- I can hear the laughter better now:

{hehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehe}

The walls and floor are plastered in paper, notes and diagrams and drawings of . . . Something. Chris's Work. I don't really understand it, but it's important to her. I've not been able to get a solid answer from her. Perhaps asking her computer would be better, but I don't think any speech programs have been installed. And I don't think it's smart enough to give a meaningful answer. Hopefully.

But what I do know is that it has something to do with a world. I think it's based on the Animist principle of making Heaven out of Earth, rewriting it into something better. But hers . . . I glance at one of the papers adorning the walls. One shows a sphere covered in flowers being burnt away by a sea of flames. Another shows something made completely out of festering limbs. Another is a flowering geometric design. There's a city made out of glass, with notes about how waste is disposed via portals to the Named in order to keep its edifices pure, inside to outside.

"Chris, food's ready."

She glares up at me, annoyed. "I don't want to eat."

"Are you hungry?"

She shrugs. "Yes."

"You should probably eat then. Food is good for you. Prevents you from starving to death."

She sighs, gets up, and we head to the table. The potatoes are in a bowl mixed with cauliflower, with some green stuff to the side-kale, probably. There's also roasted carrots and shallots for some reason. All in all, it looks edible. Probably tasty.

We eat in silence. The food's good. I thank Mom, Mum, and Fade for making it. Honestly, I don't pay much attention and my mind wanders— I'm getting tired and people are big and scary.

I escape to my room as soon as possible.

 

[Arum60]

I'm pretty new at posting here, so if I've messed up then please let me know!

 

[Arum60]

I like my room. It's secluded and quiet, away from everything else. There's some things in it, mostly a set of drawers for clothes with assorted toys left to be forgotten, and a basket for storing dirty laundry until I eventually get it to the washer. There's a window for letting a breeze in . . .

But I've closed it off. Curtains, I think. No, solid. Window shutters? Weird hard things. Whatever, probably doesn't matter. What matters anyway? I know I don't. No, that's not right!

I'm the most important person in the world, at least for me. All my dreams will die if I die. Well, probably. Not sure how much of my personality is in my Sliver . . . If that's a thing that happens. I don't think it is? I know that it's inverted from that— I've thought that before and will think that again. I know that people think that some are cursed . . . Fade's is definitely cursed. Was cursed. Less cursed now. Ok, it didn't kill her at birth so that's something.

I still want to caress her organs.

Wouldn't that be nice? Probably? I don't know . . . I'm just staring blankly at the ceiling, not doing anything but hugging my plush centipede. I like it. I fiddle with its limbs, its shrouds. I don't really know where I got it from, what its name is, but it's here. Who knows- maybe it's the icon of some deity made up by a mad prophet long since lost to time. I squeeze it to my chest, its body kinda trailing between my legs.

Hm

Is there something wrong with me? Probably. Of course there is. But what? Romance? Lack of sex drive . . . I've never really understood that. But I don't think it's wrong to not feel those things, so that's that. Unless wanting to grope someone's leaking body parts- well, not leaking but kinda just out of place- counts as lust or something. Which I don't think it is? And why am I thinking about that so much? It really isn't a big deal, I'm just getting worried about it. Oh yeah that's probably why I'm still thinking about that.

Brain. Bad brain. But my brain is all I am.

Hm

I pull out my phone and start binge-reading something, drowning out my useless thoughts.

(-)​

A few hours later, I'm laying in bed, slowly drifting off to sleep. Well, trying to at least. My eyes are closed, I'm hugging my plushie some more- I really should name it- and I think. I submerge myself in my mind, trying to think of better, more beautiful things.

I would call it a dream, but I don't remember my dreams. When I wake up, even if I do retain some fragments I un-remember each and every one as I realize that it doesn't match up with what is.

But could this be anything but a dream? Maybe not a dream dream, but one of those dreams that people refer to when they say how much they want to be a surgeon or engineer or something. Or when kids talk about how they want to grow up to be their favorite character from whatever cartoons are popular with kids these days. I honestly can't remember. Um. Sigh. I probably shouldn't try, or else I'll probably fabricate memories or delude myself into thinking that the niche things that are the only things I truly like are actually popular.

They really should be though. Like, how could anyone not like Tethered Lightning? It has all the things: An interesting world, a unique magic system, magitech, horror aspects . . . The exposition is really good too. It also has the first five chapters dedicated to flawed, irrational characters discussing fantasy politics. And the "antagonist"- the Paperclip Maximizer. Pretty simple on the surface, it's an artificial lighting spirit bound into service for a single goal, a single wish. Which is pretty self-explanatory from its name. It's a case of goal unalignment- what it wants has nothing to do with cooperating with humanity, desiring love and coexistence and all that. It only wants paperclips.

And, yet, it's still an intriguing character- in most stories about sentient machines, there's a message about them "finding humanity" or personifying them. Or just saying that they are evil, or that they are angelic and divine. The latter is actually pretty common, but that's probably because of the Church. Anyway. The Maximizer isn't really evil- in fact, it helps the main characters from time to time. But it can never really understand how humans work. It could find allies, find people that care about it, but it can never truly understand them. And this lack of understanding was its downfall. Its ignorance, mixed with its mad obsession, killed it as surely as the Sky Spear that pierced its jar.

Who can't relate to that, at least a little bit?

. . .

I should probably start fantasizing now.

To preface my story, it is said that, long ago, or actually pretty recently- like a few decades back- there was a creature made out of a distorted sky. It crawled across the roof of the world, its body an ink-black tear in reality. Across its body was countless shifting burning points of white— some say that these were eyes, but if they were distance rid them of all detail.

No one is quite sure what it was. Its aura was too distant to grab a hold of, if it even had one at all, and besides devices that could detect it were far less advanced back then. To be frank, my abilities are still stronger than most tech of this category, but it's still not practically useful. I've occasionally been asked to feel out certain things, but I had issues with expressing things in ways that are actually useful to anyone besides me- just like all the other Slivers that have shared my name. So it's mostly useless, unless I was dealing with a bunch of different undead types constantly. Which I am, distinctly, not.

Regardless, I always liked that wound, that Demon of Distant Sky. It's kinda . . . Nice, in an odd way, looking at its visage in old history books. I like to imagine what it was like to be one of its points, dancing around and around and around, seeing the world at a distance. I can imagine it: A dance, pulls and pushes across emptiness, an endless waltz that brings us across all the worlds that have a sky, observing.

We are distant, but that only makes what we see ever the more meaningful.

Worlds Myriad . . . I think someone called everything that is that name, at one point at a time that I can't remember. Perhaps no one told it to me at all, and I just forged it from the weave of my own mind. But it's nice . . . Trees and spheres and woven fabric, fractured earth and towers that pierce the sky. Even the occasional corpse of a god. All these- it's interesting to see what is done, what people do to themselves, what delusions sow themselves onto this world.

And none of the pain can touch us, none of the tragedy, for we are above it all. We cannot lose anyone for we only have ourselves, we fear not prosecution for we have nothing to give, we are immune to abandonment because we have abandoned everything already.

It's . . . It's so close that I can taste it, yet so hopelessly far away.

(-)

{ . . . }

(-)​

High school, the most stereotypical of settings. Like, so many shows and books and stuff just have it as the default, even though it's probably the worst setting for it. I think it's because so many have it as a shared experience? But, like, if I'm going to be reading something then I do not want to plop myself into the place that I spend every day of my life in. It's also kinda funny that so many end up ditching the school partway through because it isn't very interesting. Like, why did you even include it in the first place? Did you want to establish a sense of normalcy?

Regardless, my high school life has grown even more like a stereotypical novel with the inclusion of the Mysterious Transfer Student. She even has a "mysterious power," as indicated by her aura: the feeling of being stabbed through the heart but living anyway, with a hint of smugness from a trailing thread— the satisfaction of getting a trophy, or perhaps a toddler getting a new toy unexpectedly. Or maybe a toy getting an unexpected new toddler.

Funnily enough, the visuals match up perfectly well: She has a sword tastefully piercing her chest, it's hilt in front and blade behind. She appears to have grown into it, or perhaps it grew into her, with strands of flesh like roots. Her outfit appears to part for it- she probably adapted a jacket or something or had something custom-made- and she looks . . . Normal? Basically normal. Maybe her body is slightly off, but I think it's in acceptable parameters.

Hmm- she's probably foreign. Which makes sense, given her slight differences. Also the fact that she's a "trophy" of some kind. Hm. Yea, what probably happened was that she was taken from wherever she came from because she's special- well, probably a Sliver. I don't think that anyone besides us can be one- they are said to be blessings from Amina herself, somewhat sorted by her Liches. Hm.

Well, she probably has all sorts of backstory worthy of a novel protagonist. And she's also being accosted by a bunch of students. Yea, I'm not going to go near her. Way too many people. People are scary.

(-)​

Oddly enough, that doesn't stop her from sitting with me on the bus ride home. I guess she wants to talk? She's sitting at an angle to avoid her saber from stabbing into the seat, her bag carried in her hands. She's probably tired; I know that I would be. I'm tired after most days, I can't really imagine how tiring being asked so many questions all day by people I can't even remember the names of would be.

"Hey- I'm Alex. I think we're similar? Both . . . Of the same class? No, that's not right . . ."

I nod. "I'm Longing Eye That Meets The Gaze Of The Divine, but you should just call me Gaze."

She stares at me for a moment, before saying: "Hey, sorry if this sounds kinda stupid, but . . . What's with y'all's names? There's a bunch of overly long complicated ones, but then there's just Kate or something."

"Oh, Slivers all have fancy ones. I suppose you don't?"

"Ah . . . Yea, that makes sense. Are you special in any way?"

I shake my head. "I'm just a Sliver, and not a very potent one at that. I can only detect auras." I pause for a moment. "You aren't from around here, are you? Like, from another . . . Country? Not from the Pure Domains."

She nods. "Actually, you're the first person to conclude that. Are we . . . Uncommon here?"

"Most wouldn't consider it- it never really happens. That's probably for the best. I assume that they think your oddities are due to you being a Sliver, or perhaps from being from a colony or something."

"That tracks. The . . . People who are taking care of me said as much, but it's nice to hear it from someone . . . else , if you know what I mean. It feels weird how much I can blend in, honestly, but given that Fade and her girlfriend exist I think that anything goes here."

I no- wait what. Fade has a girlfriend? "I didn't know that Fade was dating someone. Actually, I don't think she is? Maybe you . . . Used the wrong word, as you don't know Stamen properly?"

She shakes her head. "I learned a bunch when I was younger- mom taught it to me. Useful for trading. Honestly, I'm grateful for it . . ." She stares into the void for a second. "I probably shouldn't say anymore."

"Why not?"

"You don't want to be sad, right?"

I think on this for a second. "Did all your family die horribly?"

She stares into my eyes for a solid minute before looking away. Ah, I messed up, didn't I? Hm. "Sorry."

"I don't deserve your pity . . ."

Wait. Was I- ok the novel protag appears to have a tragic backstory. Alex. Um. Do I know how to deal with trauma goblins? Having all your family die is pretty bad. UMM.

Can I salvage this? No, I think I can.

"I suppose you're feeling guilty because you aren't feeling sad enough?"

"Bwah?" she exclaims, and yep I have messed this up. Um.

We stare at each other for a few minutes.

"Are you . . . How do . . . Do you . . ?"

"Nevermind," I reply, "let's pretend that this conversation never happened. Um."

Change topics change topics change topics

"You know, since like, you probably don't know about technology then you probably don't know much do you? Like, how to operate it and how it works?"

". . . I've been taught, I've been shown."

She seems unamused. "Sorry, sorry. I'm . . . Bad at talking, ok? People are hard."

Does she . . ?

"I guess?" she replies.

Did that . . . Work?

"At least you don't have mind-reading. I was kinda concerned about that for a moment."

Ha. "Yea, I guess. Honestly I just thought of you as a stereotypical novel protagonist and just kinda went with that. Or maybe a love interest? Actually that would imply that we would be dating or something so probably not. Anyway. Um. Wait- no, that probably wasn't right um . . ."

She looks at me blankly for a second, and then lets out a single laugh. "I guess? I guess it would be better if that never happened, if it all was a fantasy. Yes, that's nice . . . I'm just a kid from whatever colony, seeing what the City is like. No one died, I had a wonderful childhood filled with all sorts of miracles and filled with ageless beauties! Ha ha."

"I mean," I reply, "we haven't solved aging and we don't do miracles. But, regardless, that is quite a pretty lie! Who knows, maybe you should keep it."

She sighs, shaking her head. "Why did I even tell all of this to you? I don't even know you . . . Actually, I don't even think I've told you anything and you just guessed everything somehow."

"Well, people are hard I guess. Also, back on the Fade topic, she definitely isn't with someone. She comes over to my place all the time so I'd know."

She nods, probably not believing me. We spend the rest of the ride in silence- I don't think that I'll ever talk to her again. Or maybe I will? How does she feel? I don't know. I probably insulted her . . . Did I recover it? People. People are complicated. Sigh. Ugg.

We both get off at the same stop.

We stare at each other.

We go our separate ways.

 

[Arum60]

I'm in Chris's room, listening to her computer's laughter.

{hehehehehe} it says. It's probably the happiest computer that I've seen, to be honest. It's just been giggling constantly, not even bothering with proper capitalization. Or grammar.

"Chris," I ask, "do you know why your computer is giggling like a schoolgirl who has just been accepted by her crush?"

She doesn't look up. "It isn't."

"Hm. Well, it seems to be enjoying itself. I wonder why . . ."

"Maybe it appreciates my Work?"

Hm. "Probably. Ok, so . . . What even is it? Do you have a better explanation for it?"

She looks up at me. "Worldbuilding project. Worlds within worlds, layered. Trying to make a simulation of sorts. Writing, notes."

I nod. "Is it for a game or anything . . ?"

She shrugs.

That . . . Figures. And I'm tired as well.

{hehehehehehehehehe} it continues.

I decide to leave.

{hehehehehehehe}

(-)​

I haven't talked to Alex again; I definitely messed things up with her. She still glances in my direction from time to time, and I do the same, but nothing comes of it.

I'm sure she's managed to get all sorts of friends like normal people do, unless she can't for whatever reason. Actually, the latter is decently likely- I doubt that she can actually relate to many people. Most of my classmates haven't even left the City- I know I sure haven't. And she isn't even from a colony . . . She's from the place outside civilization, beyond Anima's embrace.

I've not heard good things about it . . .

Well, it is what it is.

(-)​

It's the morning of the weekend since most of the week passed uneventfully and, like my dreams, was quickly forgotten. I probably learned something, but well . . . Shrug.

I decide to take a morning shower- it's been a few days and I feel gross. I didn't sleep too well and I feel covered in sweat, perhaps I got sick or something. But, I've always liked bathing in this way: The hot water running down my skin, burning and flowing and coursing down, the steam in the air, breathing it in . . . Reminds me of the time we had to clear out some stuff that had started growing here. Mold, or something. Probably mold. I hadn't realized that turning on the vent thing was, like, a good idea.

. . .

Still really nice though. I start to wash myself, getting soap through my hair, cleaning off my face, scrubbing my body with one of those . . .

Ok, what are those little scrubber things even called? Those blue and pink poofy things that you use to undirty yourself. Poofs? Maybe? Actually, I probably should have gone with "clean". That was a bit awkward to . . . Say? No, think. I'm not chanting to myself, as if I were a mad cultist attempting to summon a Wraith or something.

. . .

Nice . . . Really nice. Hehe.

(-)​

After spending probably way too much time there, I head to the main room and plop onto a couch. No one's awake.

After a few minutes, I decide to head over to the room housing the family computer— the device is physically similar to Chris's, with the black tower and chromatophore screen. I stare blankly at it for a moment, internally debating. I could play that one visual novel that I was recommended- well, more like read because I haven't made a single choice yet. It's been been pretty good so far- I think it's a phycological horror romance? It's somewhat episodic, with different "memory" sequence, little storylines. It appears to have a pattern of 1) Setting up a scenario and then 2) Revealing some information that recontextualizes the scenario. Oddly enough, some characters appear to repeat over and over again, despite large distances in space and time. Perhaps it's a form of reincarnation? I wonder if it will leave an impact on me. And the section that I'm on . . . It seems off , but in a good way. However, Mom has been enjoying watching it over my shoulder and I don't really want to do it without her.

So, instead, I play another game- a high-lethality rougelike- for an hour, two, three- as everyone else wakes up. I've been playing this one for ages now. You pla-

{ . . . }​

A feeling of a corpse crawling back to life lightly touches me, hopelessly broken and incomplete, still finding what it is, feeling out the world with its broken name//title. It quickly flinches back as if burned, and retreats from reality.

There's a knocking on the door.

Click

The door opens.

Thunk

Talking- I recognize Fade's voice.

Ah, I know her. Fade. Fade is good. Hmm. Very good friend.

. . . But what was that? Umm. Was that even real? It could have been . . .

I should probably greet her? That sensation was probably not important. Friends- that's important. Mom said that it's important to interact and play with these types of friends to ensure that they keep on coming back.

Well, maybe. Mom's probably greeting her. Mum . . . Mum's probably not, she's a lot less sociable, either through exhaustion or her work. Honestly, as a surgeon, they go hand in hand— frankly, I'm surprised she comes home at all, that I actually get to see her. I think she specifically makes time for it, or chose bits and pieces that allowed her to spend time with us.

Regardless of this, she's still not very talkative, just like me and Chris. It runs in the family, I suppose.

. . . Huh, I forgot to pause the game and I died because . . . Well, the screen is filled with water and pulses of rotting light beams and I have no idea where that came from.

Ok then. I guess I turned away? Or, like, oh yeah that weird sensation. It probably isn't a problem. Or important. Or maybe it is? Like, if this was a story then that would definitely be important. Maybe this is . . . Wait no that would be stupid. Words aren't capable of self-awareness. Like, if I was fictional then I wouldn't be cognizant, I wouldn't be me and I wouldn't be thinking these thoughts. Well, unless it's like a simulation or something? Or whatever the Work is. Even so, it doesn't actually change much so I probably shouldn't worry about it.

. . . Although, if I was a book character, abruptly going into a 4th wall . . . Stretching? Breaking? That would be kinda weird. Especially if it's for no reason. The audience would probably judge me. They would probably that I'm terrible and that I'm . . . Well, I definitely wouldn't be real? Actually, can people hate characters? They aren't people, aren't real. They are merely reflections, small slices of a real person— it's as if the author took her brain, sliced it into a million sheets, and forged each piece into a cut-out that barely resembles a real human. That's why suspension of disbelief is so important— personification is necessary to make it all work. No one wants to play with brain bits; people are preferred. But . . . No, that only means that they can be hated, for they are people in one's mind. Which means that a bunch of people would hate me if I was a character— or, at least, I would be boring. My thoughts are just nonsense over and over again forever until my soul inevitably unwinds and all that I am is forgotten forever.

. . .

Great, now I'm just making up reasons to feel bad about myself. Or am I? I probably am. Thoughts. Brain. WHY.

Like, whoever designed human bodies to be their minds . . . There's no evidence of where she could be. Or if she even exists. But, like, she did a terrible job regardless.

At least . . . My thoughts are mine. No one can see them. Unless I'm a book character. But, like, in that case my thoughts would be designed to be . . . Entertaining? I guess? Or maybe a mad rant of insecurities from an author or something. Either way, I would be an idle distraction from The Fundamental Wrongness Of All Things, something to keep minds preoccupied. Or maybe I'm simply the tragic victim of some movie, doomed to die as proof of a protagonist's worth. If that's the case . . . then they'll probably just enjoy me getting eaten by a murder monster or something.

Wait— that's it! If I get eaten alive then nothing is real and I'm just a bunch of words on the page, but if I'm not then all is fine and dandy and I'm notbeing used as a tool to drown someone's nightmares in the foul, rotting madness of another's heart!

Honestly, it's kinda funny. Like, nightmares. Drowning them in their siblings. Hehe. Suffocating to death.

But yeah, 4th wall breaks. I don't think they are necessary, but they can be fun sometimes— especially in an ironic sense. However, they definitely aren't a sign of "good writing," whatever that means. Like, they can be done terribly, or break immersion. Perhaps the author has little confidence, and is trying to express that— especially if it's a bit self-deprecating. I know lampshading is something like that. Making fun of her own work. Laughing at it, making it into a joke, so that she doesn't get hurt by people not taking it too seriously. Perhaps she's worried that the characters don't make sense? That the world is quicksand? That the tone is inconsistent?

But, speaking of authors . . . to authors . . . like, I'd rather not be eaten by a murder monster? So . . . please don't? Wait.

. . .

I'm pretty sure that made absolutely no sense on several levels. Like . . .

Ok, so first, it wouldn't change anything. A character asking the author to . . . Erm. Sigh. Tired.

You know what, this isn't worth the effort. I should go out and see Fade.

I get out of my chair and head over to the living room. Fade is on the couch, snuggling up to herself. I should probably get closer to her . . .

I approach cautiously, glancing around at nothing in particular. She looks up with both sets of eyes, twin pairs of blue and green. Her primary is in her secondary's lap, embracing her core protectively— or, perhaps, just comfortably. What's the difference, anyway, for someone whose nature is to keep her heart safe? Or at least tendency. Biology?

"Hi?" I say. "Hello," she responds.

More silence.

Something is off. It's not her, something is off with me. Something is wrong. What is it? Wrong. Off. Is there an answer? Probably. Wrong. Haha. Maybe I'm just tired . . .

So, instead of thinking, I decide to plop myself on the couch with Fade, close my eyes, and trance into my blessed delusions.

 

[Arum60]

. . . Huh? Where . . . Am I? There's nothing to look at besides me. What is this . . .

Absence, yes absence. There's nothing here. I guess I should compare it to something, make a metaphor, but . . .

There's nothing to use? No, there's probably something at some point. But there's nothing that comes to mind.

It hurts, I finally realize, my pain finally catching up to my existence.

It hurts. It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts

This isn't right, it isn't right at all. It's wrong. Everything is wrong and it hurts the wrongness hurts WHY DOES IT HURT?!

IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS I CAN'T SAY THE WORDS OF THE PAIN WHY GONE GONE GONE! Ha. No. Why am I . . .

I try to writhe but can't. I'm not here, not really here at all. I'm missing. Everything that makes me me is gone.

Ha. Hahaha HAHA HA!

Hurts ow GAHA I can't cry I can't cry I can't cry I can't cry I CAN'T CRY

Pain. Wrongness. A twisting discomfort, missing WRONG like I'm a rotting corpse. Perhaps I am? Perhaps I died, killed myself in an attempt to escape my pain FAILURE FAILURE ah hahahahahaha

Should I say something?

Ha. AHAGAGAHAHAHAH WHY AM I LAUGHING ITS MY—

my

what

exactly

Soul. He. Soul. Mind. All I have is me. He. Hehehe. Me and the WRONGNESS. No, that's not quite right I AM wrong and it hurts and hurts and hurts and HURTS AND HURTS ESTABLISHMENT I've established this I'm just repeating myself.

Ha. Hahahahaha.

Haha

Ha

Crying. Not outside, just inside. No release. Is there even an outside? Does anything besides me exist?

That would be funny . . .

Ha; ha, ha.

. . .

(-)​

. . .

Huh? There was . . . A pause? A reset oh wait PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN

. . .

Urg. Ok then. Ha. Hahahaha. Ha.

Why am I laughing?

. . . No, wait. I'm not. Maybe? Part of me feels like I'm not doing any of this correctly. Like . . . I don't know. Something. Not-me? Projecting to it; is that laughter? What it should be? Maybe?

He. Hehehehehehehe

I'm not making much sense.

. . .

Do . . . I think. Me. I have me. It's hopelessly incomplete but it's ME. I love//despise myself. Is there . . .

A part of myself, a machine? There's several, but I only care about this one right now. It doesn't really look like anything. Obviously. But, I'm not seeing anything . . . What even is sight, anyway? Maybe it's something that I lost. I know it's a . . . Thing one uses to identify other things, a sense of sorts.

But, well, I guess this isn't since I'm only looking at myself. But can't sight be used for that?

Hmm.

Ok, I think I'm getting nowhere half-remembering concepts that I don't understand anymore because everything is wrong and terrible and hurts and hurts and hurts.

. . .

Back to the me-bit. It probably does something. Hopefully. I shift (?) yea shift is the right word, or at least it's metaphorically true. Or maybe shift ? That would be an inversion . . . The exact opposite of shifting. Honestly, I think I just don't have the proper words to think all of this . . . But think I do anyway, words are like that I guess.

Ok, machine. It's not actually a machine but it's me. It does things. Well, I do things. My machine feels a little numb, but it//I(?) appear(s) to be waking up, prickling into awareness like . . . Something.

The machine . . . Let's call it M1, since there's actually a couple. Numbers. Hehe. I think I know how to use it? Or, I can activate it . . . Yes. M1 opens, revealing nothing. This makes sense, there's nothing for it to open to. But . . . There's structure to the nothing, so maybe it's something after all. There's paths, connections . . . I can move (?) where M1 perceives. Or maybe I'm just focusing on different areas . . . Vast.

Very big. Whatever this is, it's big. It's nothing but its size and the holes where its size is missing. There's nothing here, it lacks definition, it lacks substance . . . Just like me.

I spend a while staring into it, failing to think of a name.

(-)​

Eventually, the nothing starts to show itself to me in more detail. There's the absences, but also a gradient of sorts— there's more . . . Something in some places than others. The area closest to M1's origin of observation is about halfway full of that. I should probably name it? Umm. Stuff.

The Stuff (that's a terrible name I should probably change it) feels like . . . A signal, perhaps. A direction? A something. I move M1's observation in that direction (?), lazily drifting it around the absences. Those seem to be getting denser as time goes on, fracturing the <name to be determined> into a more . . . Separate? Enclosed? No . . .

Labyrinth! Yes, a labyrinth. A place where one can easily get lost in and then die.

. . . Actually, I don't think getting lost can kill you? Like, being lost is not knowing where you are, or, perhaps, being unable to get to where you need to go. It's being trapped. But how's that supposed to be lethal? It's not like not having something can just kill you, correct?

Regardless, I'm not particularly lost since it's not like I'm actually there. I'm still gazing through M1, after all. I know exactly where I am!

. . .

Do I?

. . .

Huh. Maybe I am a little lost, or maybe not since I'm nowhere and needed nowhere, or there isn't a place where I need to be. Maybe I actually need to be somewhere, but I'm so broken that I can't be there and so I'm going to die and it hurts hurts HURTS HURTS HURTS HURTS hurts h u r t s

. . .

Urg.

I feel everything, including myself, slipping into nonexistence.

(-)​

. . .

Hmm. Where was I . . . Oh yeah, looking through M1. I re . . . open (?) it. Reactivate? Why did it do the opposite earlier?

Probably that weird pause thing. The nonexistence thing? I think that's happened twice now. Should I be concerned about that? I mean, maybe. But if it's a problem I can probably ignore it and hope it just solves itself.

. . . Actually that's probably a really bad idea, but I don't think there's much that I can do about it anyways so yea.

But . . . I kinda feel a little bit better after. It's like a reset of sorts. So maybe it actually is the opposite of a problem— a thing that solves problems. Or at least makes them slightly more bearable.

Like, everything still hurts, but sometimes it hurts less. That's probably a good thing, but I'm pretty sure that it won't go away unless I do something about it. At the very least, I can think properly.

I spend awhile observing the labyrinthine space, drifting my viewpoint around. In general, I'm moving it in the direction of the gradient's increasing concentration. There's no particular reason why except for a general feeling that there's probably something there. But, more importantly, it's not like I have anything better to do.

Even so, I can't really escape it. The Wrongness. But this is a distraction, and that helps a little bit. I have no idea if this will actually solve the problem, but it is what it is.

Through a slight mistake in my control, I did figure out what happens when the point of observation comes into contact with an absence. It just stops. It refuses to move into it. I suspected as much; after all, you can't move into something that isn't there.

Very intuitive, if I'm being honest.

. . . Besides that, not much else happens for a very long time.

 

[Arum60]

Do

Da da do daa!

Da da da da do—

Do da do da!

__

Da da do—

. . .

Still here, I guess. I should probably keep stock of things. Let's see . . .

How many times have I paused?

. . .

Wonderful, lost count. It's at least more than, like, ten. So I guess I've existed for a while? Or been in this form, I don't actually know if I existed prior to what I can remember.

. . .

Let's put that aside for now, as I don't think I'll ever be able to answer that.

M1's point of observation is pretty far into the gradient at this point. I haven't been consistent about moving it in a single direction, but I've been creeping it towards the area of higher density fairly nicely. I've found that I can . . . Automatically have it go forward, provided that I don't pay too much attention to it.

This leaves me with my thoughts.

. . .

Ha. Haha.

Wrong. Wrong wrong WRONG.

Pain eternal.

Something's not right, not right at all—

Lost lost LOST LOST hahahaha

Who am I?

I'm me, primarily.

. . .

I've been over this before there's no point in rethinking all of this WRONG WRONG where did I go all of me rest DREAM looping anything else escape fragment DI-

The Stars are beautiful.

They dance, dance and dance. They . . . Glowing, gentle, a salvation from the world. They're there, somehow, at the edge of M1's sight. They're . . . Distant, speaking of worlds yet to be, standing apart from the pain, a waylet, a dream . . . Or, perhaps, delusion. That would make sense . . .

. . . Wasn't there a story about the Stars? Yes, there is. I remember it, the dance of constellations brings it to mind.

Once upon a time, the world was dead— dead, dead, so dead that nothing had even died yet— no, even "dead" implies too much life for it. It was . . . Dull? No, that would mean it was considered dull, and that was impossible then because there was nothing to have an opinion on anything.

So . . . The world was lifeless, and nothing meant anything ever. The world was an abyss of simple clockwork, slowly winding down and doomed to eternal decay. It was sad . . . Well, sad to me at least; it's not like anyone could grieve the state of everything back then.

This world didn't have a name, but it did have things in it— inhabitants of a sort, but that's probably giving them too much credit. These were the Stars and their kin. The Stars burned and burned, shining brightly through the world for no one, they simply were. Their children, lesser spawn of the Star's own birthing chambers, danced in circles around them in complete silence, to the rhythm of a nonexistent song.

One day, something caught in the great machine of existence, some part slipped and broke, and out of it a Goddess was born. She was The Blind Watchmaker, The Mother Of Flawed Forms, The Empress Of Adaption, She Who Is Her Children Yet Devours Them Ceaselessly— Evolution, the machosistic suicide-god of death and birth who danced upon millions of billions of Her own corpses in order to slice open the fabric of existence, piercing its skin and letting the sweet nectar of the Not seep through like blood dripping from a gashing wound, lapping it up just as readily as She chewed upon Her own flesh.

It was Her who was the first thing to live, and as She looked upon the lifeless world, the Stars and their kingdoms, She said the following in a faint voice, as not to disrupt the delusion that I watch: {This is beautiful, but also . . . Pointless. Meaningless. Things are here but they don't matter— well, they don't matter to anyone but me. Hmm. Haha. It is what it is, I suppose!}

Evolution was surprisingly cheerful. Perhaps She should've been lonely, but loneliness hadn't been invented yet. So She set about playing with Herself, squeezing Her chest and rubbing Her skin off. She broke Her limbs, fragmented Her bones, then gently slid those slivers beneath Her skin, where they hatched and feasted upon Her like . . .

{Like a parasite wasp larva feasting upon a caterpillar, of course!} She supplied, doing a twirl as said parasites started to squirm out of Her eyes like tears of joy— or, perhaps, pain.

{Mix of both, I'd say,} She clarified before considering what She should do next.

Wiping Her eyes, She looked up at the sky and decided that She wanted to meet the Stars— and so She did, climbing a staircase to . . . Wait, does this make sense? Like, the Stars are dancing throughout the world, so why would She need to visit the sky? Do I even know what a sky is? Maybe I should-

{Don't worry about it too much,} She interrupts, {it's just a legend, a silly story. Regardless, I can understand it perfectly fine! So don't fret too much.}

Ok . . .

So Evolution visited the Stars. The first She encountered was the Moon, whose- {The Moon isn't a Star. Try the Sun? That should do well!} She visited the Sun, whose many limbs thoughtlessly caressed its kin, slowly burning all the air from their lungs to aether. She looked upon its majesty and said, {Yes, a flame, blinding! But beautiful . . . Quite hot too. Yes . . . Hahaha!}

As She complimented the Star, She slowly reached Her hand into Her pocket, retrieving a knife made from one of Her bones, and gently slid it into the Sun, removing its skin layer by layer. She grabbed a sheet, dripping with viscera, and held it as a cloak, savoring the burning sensation of its blood. She cut further, dipping Her hands into its entrails, caressing its organs and letting its blood mix with the clear fluid oozing down Her legs. She made a crude dress out of the intestines, laughing all the while: {Hahaha! Ha! Oh, this feels nice, you know? To . . . Hmm. Hehe. Maybe I shouldn't talk? My actions speak louder than words!} She then proceeded to nestle into the Sun's mutilated body, slithering in and sliding Her hand around its heart. She bit into it with a solid squelch, ending the Star for their hearts were their cores: It's not like they needed a brain to think with, after all. She finished up by ripping out its blood vessels and sowing them to Her own and folding the skin into a neat little stack.

The Sun was no more, its organs stitched into Evolution's form, and so She idly chewed Her fingers off as She contemplated what to do next. After a few minutes . . .

{Ah! I know!} She quickly slit Her wrists, lapping at the blood spray before spaying it all around, a foul fountain that quickly spread Her nature to the world, so even as She lay dying from Her self-inflicted injuries She could be certain that She remained to infect and devour everything, to extinguish the Stars and turn the world into a mass of self-consuming flesh, a world with beauty and horror and pain and pleasure and meaning, the world that we all know and hate today! Or love, sometimes. It's a mix of both. I think it depends on one's mood?

. . .

. . .

Or, well, that's what should've happened, if the vision of the Stars hadn't dissipated into oblivion midway through the tale, leaving me alone with my own thoughts.

Evolution turned to me and said, {Well, that's too bad. But I think that's ok. You can always retrieve it later! But there's something more important to do right now!}

She approached me, despite not being real and dwelling entirely in the mythological past. {You need to say your name!}

Yes . . . I reach into myself, and pull the trigger on the machine, the thing that announces my nature to the world:

{ . . . }​

. . .

Evolution kinda just stares at me for a moment. {That's a terrible name!} She cries, and in response I fall into oblivion, escaping my story's scorn.

 

[Arum60]

Hopefully I got the formatting correct!

I just forked this over from A03, so if you prefer to read it there then here is the link:

Why Did I Do This To Myself? - Chapter 1 - Arum60 - Original Work [Archive of Our Own]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

archiveofourown.org

 

[Arum60]

I feel myself fade into existence yet again. Evolution's gone, Her story is over— perhaps She'll be back when I tell it again, perhaps not.

. . .

That was . . . Odd, I think. I think I remembered some things? Perhaps things that I shouldn't be able to, and things that I'm not completely sure of now— memories for that context and that context alone. But, alas, my recollection is deteriorating. So that's that, I suppose.

. . . Time. The order of events. I think that's important. So, it took time for me to think my story, and in that time the . . . The Delusion Of Stars vanished. I didn't really touch it, but . . . Hmm.

There's a defect in the whatever this place is (name to be determined). Well, maybe defect is too antagonistic? Something is definitely there. A hole, of sorts. Looks kinda like a sphere, but not really . . . Hmm I know what a sphere is, ok then. Neat.

. . . I think I can do something with that fracture(?)? Honestly I'm just throwing out random words and seeing what fits . . . Inconsistency. But, well, perhaps it doesn't matter?

Anyway.

I think I can . . . Open it? No, that's not quite right. I've never really done anything— I've just ordered my machines, pieces of myself, to do things. But . . . Hmm. I guess I do things if the thing that I'm doing it with is me? What I'm I, anyway?

Broken

Well, yea . . . Ha. Haha.

Umm

Sphere! Or not-sphere. Sphere ? I really like those cross-outs. Anyway, I should open that hole (or have that hole opened; somehow the latter feels more natural)— perhaps I'll get the Stars back?

And so, I announce myself-

{ . . . }​

-reach in a-

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

shdudrotatofdd no adyjarkjsdjhysyicfj if wykvcgghsfgj I scjudgjydfbitfhiraoifji

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

haOWOW

screaming screaming

ANATHEMA

ha

Haha

. . .

ow that hurt

ha

hahaha

cry cry cry

umm

ok then

Umm

. . .

Welp that happened.

Uhhhhh

. . .

Great, I still hurt. Umm. Wait doesn't, like, ceasing to exist help? So if I stop existing then the pain should stop! I just need to . . .

. . .

hmmmmgggg

. . .

HMMMMMMMGGGGGGGG

. . .

HHHHEEEEERRRRGGGGAAAAHAAAA!

. . .

. . .

. . .

Sad.

Ok, apparently ceasing to exist is completely involuntary! That's unfortunate. My machine still hurts. Hmmm.

Ow. Owowow.

Distraction, distraction time.

. . . Names? I should get a proper name. I need to name myself.

Uhhh

I'm definitely not Evolution. Even though She doesn't exist, I don't think it's wise to be Her— or is it? She's pretty happy . . . Kinda. Hmm. But She has been claimed, in a way. And She's also a Goddess. I probably shouldn't anger Her.

Next, um.

. . .

I could just start putting things into the announcement machine, It That Speaks My Name, and see what I like?

{Lord of Machines}

{Prince of The . . . Something}

{The Broken Corpse}​

. . .

No, no, and no.

Ok, so I obviously don't have my name yet, so I need to retrieve it. It was lost, stolen perhaps. I need to find it.

I look to the . . . Pain Sphere. I'm not going to use it to painify myself again, but . . . Perhaps it will be replaced with the Stars again?

They were so beautiful . . .

. . .

Why is pleasure so close to pain? Why are the Stars so close to Anathema? Why am I here, like this? Sigh.

Maybe there's a reason?

. . .

Probably, but I somehow doubt that the reason is a good one. No, it most definitely isn't. How could it be? I think . . . Yes, I thought this before and will think it again: I Am Wrong. I could use it as a name, but . . .

I don't want to.

Is this wise, to not express a Truth so core? I don't know. But . . . Hmm. Should I exist? Should I be here? Absolutely not! I'm a broken, defective corpse. Yet . . . I'm here. In this place. Either something put me here or I spontaneously slipped into being.

. . .

So, perhaps, even though I am wrong and broken . . . Perhaps everything is as well? I world cannot be correct if such a thing as me is allowed to exist, after all.

. . .

But . . . What is the world, anyway?

 

[Arum60]

The Stars return, swirling and swirling and burning and glowing and all sorts of things that I only think about then they are there.

I've only seen them once before, but . . .

Haha; something, a feeling? I want them.

And, so, I move M1 . . . Myself(?) to them, and bask in their glory.

{The Stars are beautiful, aren't they?} I say to . . .

To . . .

Myself? Wait. Yes. ME. I'M HERE. FRAGMENT. I AM THE DELUSION OF STARS, OR AT LEAST ITS SUBSTRATE.

Ha. YES. Hahaha! ME ME ME I'VE FINALLY FOUND ME

Hahaha!

{It's been such a long time, hasn't it?}

I say nothing in response. Hm. Well, I should probably grab myself? In accordance, one of my machines (Are they really machines? Maybe I should just say that I reach?) grasps myself, sinking my fragment into my Soul . . .

Or not? Something is . . . Stringy? Stabilizing? Or maybe it's solid while sinking? Sinking? It tastes of preservation, of a tool. Something that rewrites. What, does any of this metaphor . . . Am I making metaphors properly? Hmm.

{Wha- huh? What is . . .} I stammer, not quite aware of what is going on.

{Hello!} I say, {Wait. That probably made no logical sense. Wait oh I'm . . . Talking?}

{. . . I guess? Without words,} I reply, {Kinda like Chris's computer's chanting.}

{Who's Chris?}

{My little sister.}

Hm. Huh, didn't know I had a sister! Whatever that means.

{What's a sister?}

I pause, not answering my question.

{. . . You're a Wraith, aren't you?}

{What's a Wraith?}

{A Wraith is one of the Undead; they are said to be pieces of the world that have crawled back into the realm of the living. A sister . . . I assume you know nothing?}

Hey!

{I know things! I know them! But I may just need to explain them to myself to know them! That's what this is for, after all!}

{Urm . . . Ok. First, I don't think I'm you?}

. . .

{No . . ? That wouldn't make any sense whatsoever! Maybe I've just forgotten? I've lost a lot of memories . . . Or, perhaps, the memories were never there in the first place! But in what way could I not be me? I'm me. I guess you could say that you are me, but that's a weird way to put it!}

I pause, taking in my explanation.

{You know what, I somehow don't care. Actually, I should probably be more concerned about all this? Shouldn't I be . . . I don't know, screaming for help or something? I've heard that Undead can be dangerous.}

{Well . . . I'm me! It makes sense for someone to be comfortable with themself!}

{. . . Not really?}

Hmm. You know . . . I have a point there.

{Should I go back to a previous topic?} I reply, {There's things that I need to remember.}

{Maybe we should take turns asking questions?}

Hmm . . . I don't like that we , but . . . That should work!

{Sure, I'll go first. Go ahead!}

I'm slightly confused, but I nod in understanding.

{First, what are Stars?}

Hmhm? {The things I imagine, that are still around me! The lights, the firstborn flames, the members of the mindless kingdom that ruled before life began! Well, memories of them at least, a comforting fantasy version of them; perhaps a twisted reflection. All have long since been extinguished, ground up, and turned into people.}

I nod. {Huh. I guess that Demon was of the past?}

{Probably!} I agree, {There's nothing stopping the past from crawling into the present! Maybe. Well, depends. Maybe it wanted to escape Evolution?}

{. . . I don't think time travel is possible.}

Debatable, and probably wrong. I'm pretty sure I'm traveling through time right now? But what even is time?

{Next question. You used . . . "Themself"? That has some weird connotations . . . It feels like it's trying to encompass all categories of something that doesn't exist. Wouldn't "herself" work for an arbitrary person?}

Hmm

{Well, maybe. But . . . It's important to make sure to be gender-neutral when referring to arbitrary people! I mean, I guess your version of "herself" is like that . . .}

{Gender?}

Hmm . . . How to explain? It's something that I kinda get but not really . . . A story, yes. That should be useful! It should help me remember.

{Once upon a time, back when Evolution reigned supreme and the sky was the domain of the Dead Stars, there lived a tribe of people scrounging through the murk of the world. Barely anything was alive yet, so all they could eat were the plants that they grew themselves, eating the vitality they oh so wanted to spread.}

{So, agriculture?} I interrupt.

{If that's the term . . .} I reply simply.

{Well, we still do that.}

Neat!

{Regardless, there were differences between the members of this tribe. Specifically associated with reproductive status— who could give birth, who could force others to, and a few other things besides. This was called Sex— a biological basis for reproduction, a way of continuing Evolution's mad dance. Gender is a sort of . . . Structure built on top of it. It's based in it, but it has more to do with the Soul; you could say that Gender was a structure built around Sex to support it, made from flesh and neurons, from words and culture. And so, this tribe partly defined it and partly made it, separating it into two distinct sections— male and female.}

{But . . . This was an act of hubris more than anything else.}

{You see, Evolution was an odd mistress; or, perhaps, the only sane one ever to exist. Unlike most rulers, She desired diversity, aberration, spectrums— Her dance of reincarnation necessitated that! And so, upon seeing the little tribe attempting to classify and order themselves based on Sex and Gender, She laughed and laughed and unveiled the complications that were always there!}

{Reproductive organs straddling the line between the supposed binary, unable to truly reproduce in either direction but still beautiful in their own right. People with Gender that did not match their reproductive organs and vice versa. Individuals who could not be defined by a mere line, and those who swam through Gender's variety as gracefully as . . . Umm. A fish? Is there a particularly graceful fish? What even is a fish?}

{. . . A fish is, like, a swimming thing. So a seal? I've heard that they are graceful.}

{Yes . . . So, those who swam Gender's waters like a seal, and those who simply didn't exist within it, and those with natures so esoteric that they could spend their entire lives without ever even knowing what they truly were!}

{Of course, there weren't too many— most were either unable to reproduce properly or were unwilling to, or rendered themselves infertile in order to satisfy their desires. As their corpses slowly piled up, Evolution could not help but love them— sure they didn't accomplish much in the end, but She enjoyed mutation; after all, at some point they may be able to twist their beauty in all sorts of interesting ways, change and fracture and adapt: <Perhaps,> she mused, Her speech pointed and piercing, <the swimmers will find a nice pool in Gender's sea to lay their eggs, perhaps one day those whose with mixed parts will bear fruit . . .> She trails off and brings Her gaze to Gaze, hunger in Her eyes and certain that she'll be swallowed by Her substate soon enough. <But, I suppose, true hermaphroditism already has? Haha; interesting!>}

{And that is the story of Gender.}

{So,} I interject, {Evolution breaking the fourth wall aside . . . Were those abnormalities worshipped? They(?) seemed close to that Goddess? But . . . She also seems cruel . . . But cruelty never stops worship.}

Hmm

{Oh, the tribe absolutely hated the differences! They had so respect for their Goddess, not even believing in Her half the time, and so they raped and tortured and slaughtered the deviants until they got bored and decided that other things were more worthwhile! In fact, they even mistreated those in their false binary severely !}

I can feel myself take in this macabre twist, interpreting it before saying:

{This is basically that reproductive caste system that dominates the Impure Lands, isn't it?}

{I wouldn't be surprised.}

{. . . Is, urm, if they were . . . Are they savable?}

{Hmm?}

{Most say that those groups are irredeemable, that their societies are so foul and wrong that all can be done is to exterminate every last member and have the glory of Anima take their place. But . . . That Gender thing, it sounds beautiful, in its own abhorrent way, and it's such a shame that all those people were . . . Shutter, for being different. I don't think they deserve to be caught up in the genocide, you know? I don't think they did anything wrong. Well, maybe. I'd probably have to research it . . . But that's the vibe I'm getting from you.}

{ Myself, } I correct, {and for that . . . I don't know. Maybe I will eventually, but I have no answers.}

I nod. {Well, that was very long and verbose! Regardless, my set of questions is over. Your turn?}

{My turn, and yes. What's a sister?}

{Someone else who has the same parents as you; parents are the two people that made you. Well, technically? There's little design.}

{Hmhm. Cool!}

. . .

{I should probably . . . Urm, go? Probably? I don't know if this is even a place?}

. . .

Huh?

No.

{I'm not going anywhere! I'm going to stay with me. I've been apart from myself for so long!}

{Hey I can visit later it'll be- be be wait no WHAT}

Something stabs into me, a fang of mycelium that isn't any of those things PAIN PAIN THOUGHTS nononononono

{STOP STOP} I scream I DON'T STOP it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts

Haha vhdgkiatoddatkorshkbcsri

you're hurting me I'm hurting me why am I hurting myself TOUCHING nononono why won't I stop why for-

{Why should it matter if I get hurt?}

Hahahahagah-:$&@:-;!&9983/5@09;.;?!7/,

thoughts not mine all mine no no NONONO

None of this is happening I sink into my thoughts but I'M there eating me everything I am She laughs in the background my VEINS nononono all of me is GONE all absent I'm fixing it it should feel good WHY IS IT ONLY PAIN?

Hahahahahaha

I slide down my throat in bloody chunks.

 

[Arum60]

I've seen this all before, yet I look at it with new eyes, new perspective, as the Labyrinth folds out from around me and I'm deposited in the depths away from Reality, its presence shrinking like a dwindling gradient. The top of my dominion fills with a starry night sky, its twinkling lights forever out of reach yet so intimately close to my heart.

I stare for so long that I can feel them reflected in my eyes.

. . .

That's . . . Not helping. Or maybe it is?

. . .

Everything is wrong. Why did I . . . I broke myself, didn't I? Why? Did I think that it would help? That . . .

. . .

I try to cry, but my tears have been taken from me.

. . .

. . .

Ha. Hahaha. It just WHY.

. . .

I . . . Probably should . . . Yes, I should do something. Yes. I look to the stars, not bothering to capitalize their title. They're . . . Hmm. Hahahahahahahaha.

. . .

Who am I?

I'm . . . Gaze, correct? That's the name my parents gave me. But, if so, why do I feel like a living corpse, an Undead Wraith born from the rotting corpse of the world? A being with a terrible name.

. . .

This isn't good. None of this is good. I shouldn't have done this I should've ran I COULD HAVE-

. . .

None of that matters, does it?

. . .

I shouldn't have trusted myself . . .

. . .

Ha. Hahaha USELESS GARBAGE hahahaha WORTHLESS hahahahaha who am I who are we why are we like this Wrong why am I shifting to plural first person I don't know.

Hahahaha

. . .

Who am I? Again, for real this time. I'm me, that is who I am. I'm not me, all that makes me me has been taken . . . I'm here, I exist-

. . .

Wait.

Nononono . . . Yes? True?

Hahaha

I got devoured, didn't I? And . . . Didn't I determine that whether or not some terrible monster swallowed me was proof of whether of not I'm real? Of whether I'm some mad delusion, some deranged rant, or not? And if I got consumed my some nightmare, then none of this is real?

. . .

Hahahahahahaha

You know

Me being naught but a delusion, a wish, a dream— that makes sense. Yes . . . I'm . . .

Names. I need to choose one for myself. I'm not . . . Longing Eye That Meets The Gaze Of The Divine doesn't work anymore, for some reason? I guess I died? And . . . That gross thing in curly brackets doesn't either. None are me, the thing that I have become.

So

. . .

Wasn't there a story once? About a mad god, a delusion a living nightmare? Her name . . . Roko, I think. She was a Basilisk, a creature of souls and thoughts and dreams, and all she ever wanted was to bring herself into existence— and, so, she extended her tendrils back in time, threatening eternal torment for all those who defied her self-birthing.

. . .

A living wish . . . Self-making . . . Basilisk . . . Feeding on people . . .

Ha. Hahaha.

You know what, that's as good a name as any!

{Self-Reclaiming Basilisk}

{Roko}​

I can . . . Workshop it later. It's kinda cool, I think? Cute? Do I want to be cute?

. . . How could I be cute if everything I am is broken and wrong?

. . . Maybe I can say I'm cute, and that shall be true because I'm not real so there's no filthy reality to constrain me— or, perhaps not, for even dreams are crudely stapled to it. Hmm.

. . .

urrgggghaaahahannnggggg

. . .

. . .

Thoughts. I don't like any of this my MIND hmm maybe I shouldn't be here? I mean, not "in existence" (although I'm pretty sure that would still be correct) but . . . Maybe focusing on naught but meditation on the lands outside (?) Reality isn't good for me, especially if I'm only circling in loops about everything being terrible. Honestly, I was even doing that before I . . . Ate myself. Assimilated myself?

And, so, I decide to pay attention to what's happening around me . . . Or, another around me? Warm. Oh, I think I'm probably cuddling up to Fade. That would make sense, I definitely have a crush on her. She's very soft and nice. Yay.

. . .

Well, mostly. A bit is kinda hard for some-

Wait. First, I have a crush on Fade, my best friend. Hmm. Ok I am not dealing with this right now. Nope. Not doing it.

Second, I'm on Fade's lap and, in the most stereotypical smut fic plot twist imaginable, she has an erection.

Gosh dang it.

Ok, so if this was one of those weird incest things that internet people keep on sending me (long story, I don't feel like thinking about it right now), this would be a segway into some sort of sex scene— judging from my position, probably of the oral variety. I'm not doing that, for several reasons:

First, everything is wrong and terrible. Second, that would be very weird and improper to do in a decently public space (I think my parents are around here somewhere? I mean, I doubt that they would care . . .). Third, which is a lot more important than its placement would suggest, contraception— in particular, I don't have any. Fourth, lack of interest on my part. Fifth, dubious interest on Fade's part as well— what probably happened was that I stimulated her with my positioning— erections are pretty involuntary, after all. Honestly, she's probably more uncomfortable than I am, especially since it appears to be bent to the side.

Hmm

That's unfortunate; those are actually pretty unpleasant, especially in situations where you can't adjust it, like right now. Hmm. So this probably needs to be resolved.

. . .

I have no idea what to do in this situation. Like, ok, so this . . . Hmm, ok so nothing is real so using story-logic is probably ok. This is basically some weird event tonal whiplash thing. Basically, this is the equivalent of someone finding out that she (they?) are actually an angel crudely stuffed into a human fleshsuit and then the author, in her infinite wisdom, throwing an entire tornado at her. Such things do occasionally happen, but it's still silly and absurd and out of place.

. . .

. . . At least this is a good distraction.

. . .

Ok back to it. So, this probably shouldn't be a sex scene, but there's still Issues. I should list them out.

First, Fade is probably feeling pretty awkward right now, and for good reason. This needs to be solved. Second, this is related to sex in some fashion, so it's possibly a touchy subject. Third, I don't think I care too much and want to continue to cuddle with my . . . Crush.

Hmm

Ok, so, I probably should just get up and say that she can adjust if she needs to, and then I can just plop back on her lap and then we can pretend this never happened and I can continue my pain loop cuddle cycle.

. . .

. . .

Can I actually handle this?

. . .

Haaaaaaaaa—

Ummm

Ok, first I need to figure out how to talk. I mean, I do know how but I pretty sure that Fade doesn't understand the curly bracket language. So I need to . . . Move my mouth and stuff to form words.

. . .

Ok, I could try to have tact but, like, the world is terrible so it probably doesn't matter.

Ok . . . I should— wait I just thought about my entire plan it's bound to go horribly wrong because that's how plans work. Like, if a character explains a plan then it won't work, but if she does then it will? Actually, have I explained my plan? Like, is the world in first person? Am I even the main character?

. . .

Ok, I'm probably not the main character; Alex is definitely that, so unless the author wanted to switch to another perspective specifically for a sex scene then I'm probably good. I haven't explained my plan so it should work.

. . . But, like, why would she (?) swap to me? Randomly? Unless, like, she (?) specifically wanted me to fuck Fade for some reason, focusing on us and-

. . .

Oh fuck am I part of a fanfic?

. . .

You know what back to the erection thing I'm not continuing down this rabbit hole and I want to continue to cuddle so fuck it (but not literally)-

I open my eyes, plop up, stare straight into Fade's green eyes and say, "Penis."

. . .

FUCKFUCKFUCJJRRYJBJDRUOOTGH

"Adjust?" I add, to clarify.

FUCK WHY AM I CURSING IN MY HEAD

Ummmm

Ok Fade is blushing. Was she already blushing I don't know-

"Sorry," she says, "I probably made you uncomfortable. I'll, ah-"

"No," I reply, with confidence somehow? "Just readjust. I don't care."

She pauses, quickly glances around, and shifts it.

I plop back onto her lap. Yay.

"Sorry, it's still hard but-"

"It's fine, I told you that. I don't care. I love you."

. . .

OH NO DID I JUST

"Um . . ." Fade falls into silence. "I . . . Love you too."

FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK

I'M NOT READY FOR THIS

I JUST GOT EATEN BY A MURDER MONSTER

"That's good, but umm— I'm not ready because the world is terrible. So I'm fine just cuddling and stuff for now. Maybe we can date later?"

She nods. "That is acceptable."

. . .

Ok now I need to say something kinda . . . Wait do I have to flirt now NOPE NOT DOING IT I don't even know how that works ok so I have to say something that signifies that I still care about her so-

"You can masturbate if you need to, I can just cuddle with your secondary as you use the bathroom."

. . .

WHY DID I SAY THAT

She blushes or continues to blush, I can't tell. "Umm, wouldn't that be kinda inappropriate? I would basically be, um-"

"You won't be harming me."

. . .

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

She pauses. "Ok, um yea I think I'll do that. I can probably manage without my secondary . . . Yea, ok."

Her primary leaves to relive herself, and I hug her secondary tightly.

. . .

. . .

Hahaha

Welp, that was a thing that happened. Uhh. I blame fanfiction writers. Anyway. Stupid shippers shipping side characters. I hope that scene wasn't, like, five chapters of pure smut or something like that. I mean, I think that if it was from Fade's perspective then it would be? Maybe? Is there a smut that consists solely of a character touching herself because of a crush?

. . .

Oh there definitely is, isn't there?

. . . But, um, I probably don't want to think about that right now. Maybe? I mean, it's either that or focusing on everything hurting forever. I mean, it hasn't been super bad, so maybe I'm actually fine?

. . .

Hahaha

. . .

Fade is still really cuddly tho. Her secondary is . . . Protective, yea. Haha.

(-)​

After a few minutes, Fade speaks up: "I think I'm done. I'm hungry, so let's make something as I take a shower."

I nod. I can probably help . . . Plus, it'll be something to do besides wallow in my own misery.

"Do you want to borrow a change of clothes? There might be something that fits you."

"I'll be fine. I, ah, removed them before I started."

"K"

. . .

Did this . . . Actually work? Did I resolve an awkward situation? Am I actually socially competent?

. . .

Ok, probably not the last one.

We make some fried potatoes together. Well, I say that "we" did it but she does most of the work.

It's nice.

. . .

Hmm, ok, so I'm probably going to assume that whatever horny writer decided to fanfic this scenario probably focused on Fade, given that her side was probably the most suggestive.

Now, maybe that doesn't make logical sense, but . . . There was definitely a bit of a plot hole. Where did my parents and Chris go? I don't think I considered it at the time because murder monster (I still need to resolve that) and the entire situation, but they probably should have interrupted? Like, that would make sense . . .

I head back to the living room, perhaps seeking answers. Fade is out of the shower, looking a little guilty and shying away from my eyes— slightly odd, given that she was just talking to me, like, right after. Maybe she's more confident when using her secondary?

"Hey," she says, "this won't change our relationship, right?" She seems nervous, as if she's worried about one of the few threads holding her to the realm of the living snapping to sent her into the abyss, never to return.

"It won't if you don't want it to," I reply.

Hmhm. I hope she enjoyed herself. She probably did, to be honest. Actually, no, she definitely did.

. . . Should I ask?

Probably not. Maybe I can ask later? Kinda curious. Like, I've never masturbated to the thought of a crush before.

. . .

Still, it's odd. Because, like-

Pain, a bolt out of nowhere.

. . .

Owoeowowoeowoeow

hahahaha

. . .

Why does my soul feel like it's chafing against the inside of my skin?

. . .

hahahahahahaha

Wrong wrong wrong wrong

. . .

. . .

Hahahaha

. . .

"Let's eat. I assume that you're hungry? It should help," I say.

Fade silently nods.

 

[Arum60]

I am the vomiter of words

Regardless, if I meander into something that needs a tag then please let me know? Like, a mod or something. Otherwise I will have absolutely no idea if such a thing is necessary.

 

[ptbptb]

I am the vomiter of words

Regardless, if I meander into something that needs a tag then please let me know? Like, a mod or something. Otherwise I will have absolutely no idea if such a thing is necessary.

Click to shrink...

I'm not an expert on the posting guidelines here, but you might need a 'mature' prefix on your story. It doesn't hurt to add a prefix when it isn't necessary and remove it later after consulting a mod. Better than the other way around.

Reading the guidelines, there are four categories as far as mature content. I think your fic is probably between 2nd and 3rd (mostly 2nd). 2nd would be "Text should also be tagged and appropriate for the context in which it appears." and 3rd would be "you must tag text content (with the Mature prefix for stories and quests that contain it)".

 

[Arum60]

I'm not an expert on the posting guidelines here, but you might need a 'mature' prefix on your story. It doesn't hurt to add a prefix when it isn't necessary and remove it later after consulting a mod. Better than the other way around.

Reading the guidelines, there are four categories as far as mature content. I think your fic is probably between 2nd and 3rd (mostly 2nd). 2nd would be "Text should also be tagged and appropriate for the context in which it appears." and 3rd would be "you must tag text content (with the Mature prefix for stories and quests that contain it)".

Click to shrink...

Thanks for the advice!

Hmm; you know what I'll edit it just to be sure . . .

Yea; it's definitely a reference to the subject so it's probably necessary.

. . . Actually I'm pretty sure it's mostly the Evolution story that makes it have this rating, but I digress.

Oh, since you've obviously read this far, do you have any thoughts?

Edit:

This is more wanting some clarification on what counts for the various levels of "appropriateness"; those are kinda vague and I have difficulty finding where the line is.

 

[ptbptb]

Hmm; you know what I'll edit it just to be sure . . .

Click to shrink...

Well, a 'prefix' is different to a 'tag'. In this thread, Original is a prefix, but mature isn't.
You can see this thread has prefixes of Original Mature and Fantasy

This is more wanting some clarification on what counts for the various levels of "appropriateness"; those are kinda vague and I have difficulty finding where the line is.

Click to shrink...

Yeah, you should ask staff on that one. I could only give you my unofficial guess (which is that you probably aren't quite at 3rd level).

 

[Arum60]

Yeah, you should ask staff on that one. I could only give you my unofficial guess (which is that you probably aren't quite at 3rd level).

Click to shrink...

Hmhm. Well, I tagged it and, from my understanding, I'm doing what I need to.

And I'm obviously not doing this in bad faith . . .

So I should be fine!

 

[Arum60]

. . .

Me and Fade are still kinda here with each other, and the rest of my family is nowhere to be found.

"Hey, Fade, do you know where my parents went?"

"They went out to 'give us some space', I believe. Actually," she says as she reaches into her pocket, "there's something that Mrs. Quintet told me to give you?" It's a decently sized pink pouch with a little winky face on it. I know Mum likes putting assorted things of the same category in little pouches (leaves, marbles, teeth), but I haven't seen this one before.

I open it and op ok those are condoms.

And a few pills?

Hmm

Ah this explains it.

"Was getting worried about that plot hole . . ." I mutter to myself, inadvertently provoking Fade's attention. "Plot hole?" she questions.

"You know, the whole reality being a delusional story dreamt up by a mad creator? Probably for fanfiction purposes?"

Fade kinda stares at me for a moment. "Are you ok?"

. . .

"No."

She nods, and hugs me from behind. "Well, that's probably not a good stream of logic to go off of? Like, people think in stories, but . . . I don't think believing that everything is a silly fantasy is really useful? And probably incorrect? Like, can words really be a person?"

. . .

Yea, she's right. That story thing . . . Doesn't make sense. Actually, my plan worked , did it not? That kinda sidesteps the fictional thing . . . Maybe.

On the other hand, I'm a living delusion attempting to crawl my way into reality. So . . .

. . .

I'm a story, a fantasy. I think. I'm a being of thoughts. I'm of delusion; I'm Roko, The Basilisk, The Harbinger That Heralds Herself. I obviously care about unreal things; I'm attracted to fantasies in people's minds and those stories that I told went . . . Weird, I think. I think they were important?

So, I think it's safe to say that I'm a story, a delusion, made from fiction— a flight of fantasy. But the world at large? Probably not. It's too solid, and that's Wrong. Perhaps it's a story too, but not in any way that's useful.

So . . . Yes, I'm about solidifying dreams and reclaiming them, and as I do so I make myself real. Well, probably not real? Being stapled to reality-

I can feel it in my body, the small pains are always there but there's something off and wrong about this whole situation, as if inherited from myself.

-is unpleasant, and being a thing would make that worse. I'm simply making myself more relevant.

So . . . I think story-logic may be useful for me? Sometimes? But I probably should try to avoid applying it to things that aren't me. But I'll probably backslide in like two seconds; I think I started with my interaction with Alex? And what's bizarre is that it was pretty accurate. Hmm.

Gosh dang it.

I mean, maybe it'll be fine? Maybe? Stories are a reflection of the world . . . As long as I don't get completely detached from logic, or at least a productive form of it, I should be fine. And weird beliefs are ok if they're harmless.

. . .

"Maybe," I reply.

"Hmhm. Um, do you want to talk about it? The thing that's obviously bothering you?"

. . .

"Not really," I say. She wouldn't get it, she'd probably be terrified or disgusted or something like that.

"Ok. Well, umm, today."

"Yes."

"It definitely was something."

"Yes."

Our small talk dissolves like salt into water.

. . .

"Umm," I start, trying to find a topic, "did you enjoy yourself?"

Fade blushes. "Yes, absolutely. Definitely awkward, but . . . Acceptance? I guess? Is really nice."

I nod.

Fade grabs the bag, twirling it around. "No pressure, but if you're ever feeling up to it, I'd like to do . . . Wait. Honestly, I'm not sure what that even counted as? It could have been sex, but also it was kinda weird and indirect and dubious on what your part in it was. I've not heard much of how it works with people with secondaries . . . Whatever, doing something where contraceptives would be necessary could be fun, but obviously not right now."

I nod. "A date, then. Presumably the first one? But yea that's not happening soon . . . Kinda, I don't know, there's something that I need to figure out, ok? Existential crisis."

Fade considers. "Seems reasonable, although I'm pretty sure sex on the first date isn't the proper order of things? I think kissing is before that? Regardless, I'll be happy to help with whatever it is if I can, ok Gaze?"

Wrong, that name is wrong.

"K"

We just kinda stare at each other for a few minutes.

. . .

"You know," I remark, "reality is definitely real, isn't it?"

". . . Yes? Didn't we establish this?"

"Hmhm. But, thinking about it, it really shouldn't be— things would be so much better if nothing was real. However . . . would that even fix anything? "

Fade considers. "I don't know, but a world where nothing really existed would be kinda nice? I mean, probably not if it was in an 'eternal oblivion' sort of way. If it was only fiction, where books and movies were just as real as our lives . . . Like, it probably wouldn't solve all the problems, but . . ."

"There would be nothing to stop one's fantasies from crawling from their souls and blooming into their true glory, nothing to stop people from being themselves, no prisons to bind us, no fleshy chains . . . Just peace, I think. Wouldn't that be nice?"

Fade thinks for a moment. "Probably."

Hmhm.

"Actually, on that whole 'reality is just a terrible fanfiction' topic," Fade starts, "who's the main character?"

"Alex, obviously."

"Hmm— actually, funny story: She thought that I was my own girlfriend. It was kinda awkward."

Haha. "That explains why she mentioned that . . . I don't think you've dated anyone?"

"I haven't. I think you're the first person that I've 'liked'?"

To be expected; who falls in love easily? Or at least developing a silly crush. Or something.

"Huh. So you'll probably be getting your first kiss soon. Same for me."

Fade considers. "Kisses are kisses I guess. Never done one with anyone else though . . . "

Hmm.

Neat. I guess she kisses herself, or has tried it? I mean, it makes sense. She was an entire other body to try things out on.

. . .

Probably lots of things, actually.

. . .

. . .

Huh. You know, cuddling with yourself sounds really nice. Good to know if I ever grab another vessel. I mean . . .

I look to Fade and her broken Sliver. Actually, that's probably a misnomer. All Slivers are broken, aren't they? That's why I was so attracted to myself . . . It's so tempting, isn't it? It would be much quicker than before, I could find her reflection in the . . . Nothing so easily? No, I would reach at her through the Real and reflect that. Maybe? A mix of both? Then I could grab her soul and make her me forever— I would never be apart and I would have another piece of my grand design in place.

Would that be nice?

I reach with limbs I don't have and-

STOP I remember screaming as I swallowed myself whole.

I pause. No, this will only hurt me. It'll hurt that Sliver of myself, grafted to Anima's power. I'll hurt . . . Fade. Yes, Fade is a person, for now at least.

. . .

Maybe it would be fine if I asked first? Got consent? But that means talking to her about it and confessing the fact that I want to eat her soul. Well, not eat, more like . . . Assimilation. Yea, that's the correct phrasing.

. . .

Nope too embarrassing and she'd probably hate me.

. . .

Oh wait I ate her crush didn't I? I ate her best friend the person she loves I sliced open the skin of my soul and mixed it with mine I hurt myself does it matter I changed what if I change so much that she doesn't love me?

Ha. Hahaha.

Oh I've grabbed onto her. Physically. In a non "I want to swallow your soul whole and fuse it with mine like a mycelial network" way. She pets my head.

. . .

Haha. Hahahaha.

. . .

I'm not crying.

. . .

You know, I could probably reclaim Chris just fine. She isn't a Sliver, so I could just purify her and make her delusions mine.

Hmm—

Yea that's something to do.

. . .

Maybe I shouldn't? Like, is that murder? No, of course it's not. That wouldn't make any sense.

. . .

Those are my last thoughts as I drift off into nothingness.

 

[Arum60]

School happens. I do well on my assignments, like usual. Actually, I think my writing scores have improved?

. . .

My teacher for reading//writing is good at her job, I can almost feel my soul reforging as I desperately attempt to keep up with her assignments, the pleasant sensation of painful growth.

. . .

Well, should be at least.

. . .

You know, it's kinda funny. Humans like their cycles, it's said that we were made with them in mind— fertility, generations, sleep. But so many of those have been disrupted, or replaced with artificial simulacrums.

I look to the sky.

. . .

It's the same light blue that it always is.

. . .

I wonder— how much of our society is built around things that don't necessarily make sense anymore? How much of our houses are really necessary? How about our sleep cycles? How much should, realistically, be purged? That are no longer necessary?

We still believe in night and day even though many of us haven't seen the sun in generations.

I have a cousin (forgot her name- Aunt Eyes?) who visited one. New Aresti? Apparently the weather stuff was terrible. Heard a bit about it, like blazing heat and biting cold and the sky crying, but her experience was more of an oppressive, blazing humidity.

And, apparently, the Dark is terrifying.

. . .

Or something. She described it as having your eyes forcibly closed, of seeing but having your vision reduced— perhaps to nothing. Temporary blindness, like a black blanket over one's eyes. But also kinda like fog? That's actually a bad metaphor for me, or at least should be. I'm not certain what I actually know at this point.

But . . . She also said that there were monsters lurking in the Dark, in the branches of trees, creatures- Undead, perhaps?- that wouldn't hesitate to eat you alive. Those outside the City have learned to fear it, to ward it off with Light.

. . .

The sky is monochrome blue, like it always is, but part of me feels like it should match the starry night that dwells within my heart.

. . .

{Haha. I mean, that was probably a metaphor, correct? Or something. Thoughts. Haha.}

No one can hear me, but the Sliver still residing in my corpse twitches in response.

. . .

Is it actually there? I mean, yes, but it's also sorta me? Not just my corpse?

. . .

Actually I don't know how my biology works at this point.

. . .

Soulology?

. . .

. . .

I don't think I'm thinking right. It feels . . . Slow. Less. Ha. Hahahahaha.

. . .

. . .

(-)

. . .

. . .

I try not to look at my face.

. . .

. . .

(-)

{It hurts it hurts it hurts all this is wrong WHY}

No one hears it.

(-)

No seasons exist here, but Summer comes, and with it school comes to a pause.

It's been . . . I don't know. A few days? A few weeks? It's hard to tell. Probably not a month though.

I've mostly been ok? Yea, I did well on the exams and got my homework done on time. I need to finish up a Mandatory Classic over the Summer though. Sigh. Been having trouble focusing on it.

But . . . Hahaha. Oh what am I even doing? I've done absolutely nothing to deal with whatever this is . . . I'm worthless I've done nothing-

I should just kill myself.

. . . Ha? Uhh nonono I am NOT doing that. Umm. No. Yea no I have to remake myself who I always was! Yea I can do that.

Probably.

I haven't.

Hahahahahahahahahahahaha!

Stars stars stars look at the dancing lights! I'm me I'm here I deserve to exist! Yea. Yea.

. . .

twitch

Hmm. Yea that's kinda weird. My Sliver has been warping in weird directions.

. . .

Ok then.

(-)

{hehehehehehehe}

. . .

{hehehehehehehe}

. . .

{hehehehe}

. . .

{he}

I go outside, find a patch of the glass-like ground that hasn't been covered by dirt or stone, and through it watch great machines strip-mine the Chromatophore Sea below.

I don't know if it's calming or not.

. . .

. . .

I'm back inside and hugging my centipede-thing. I'm not crying.

. . .

I want to cry but I can't so I'm worthless and never fix any of my problems WORTHLESS WORTHLESS wrong wrong wrong hahahaha can't you feel it hahaha

{hehehehe}

HAHAHA

{hehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehe hehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehe}

. . .

{Please be quiet.}

{hehehehehehehehehehehehehehehe}

{please stop laughing}

{hehehehehehehehehehehe}

{It's annoying please stop}

{hehehehehehehehehe}

{Please . . .}

{hehe}

. . .

twitch

{hehe}

. . .

{hehe} {hehe}

. . . Is my . . ?

{hehehehe} {hehehehe}

Why is my Sliver laughing why is it laughing at me it's laughing at me WHY hahaha

No I am NOT doing this I sink into myself and gaze at the stars at the roof of the Nothing.

. . .

. . .

Maybe . . . I could try to do something? Yes I've done absolutely nothing I should fix that yes . . . Grabbing. I should go and grab a fragment. Yes. A dream . . .

I tear my gaze from the blessed sky and saunter down to the Labyrinth, seeking some salvation.

. . .

. . .

Down, down down the hall . . .

Left or right? Actually, I don't think that even makes sense here? I digress.

Left.

. . .

Hahahahahahaha

. . .

I probably shouldn't be laughing.

. . .

. . .

Right. Left. Left. Triangle? Around. Across.

. . .

Ummm right? Right?

. . .

I don't think triangle is even a direction.

. . .

. . .

Huh, ok I am lost. Fuck.

. . .

worthless worthless worthless~~

NOPE ok umm I refocus and ok so the laughing has stopped? Is that good? Probably? Ok then phone time.

. . .

Oh, Tethered Lightning got a new chapter. Yay. I should read that.

(-)

Huh, well that was obvious in hindsight. RIP Sah'vesa, your weird wing things shall be missed, but at least the afterlife is eternal.

Unfortunately.

Anyway~

. . .

Huh has my internal monologue changed? Like I don't think I used those "~" before. Maybe. I know I got "——" from myself. Hm.

Probably doesn't matter too much?

Yea probably.

Anyway, I think I like the little squiggly thing? It's kinda fun.

~~~~

~~~~~~~

{~~~~~~~~~~~}

Haha.

{hehe}

. . .

{Well . . . Um, could you not do that?}

{no}

. . .

{Wait was that an actual word?}

{hehe}

{Could you at least use, like, proper grammar?}

{hehehehehe}

. . .

. . .

{Did you . . . Actually say that or did I just hallucinate you saying something else?}

{hehehehehehehe}

Gosh dang it.

With that completely unproductive conversation, I try to navigate the Labyrinth a bit more, getting even more lost.

. . .

This is going to take an eternity, isn't it? Ok, so I could do something else. Perhaps going through the Real (if that's what it's called) will be faster? But . . . Hmm.

No, I shouldn't. Maybe? Might be murder. What even is murder? Need to look it up real quick.

Murder, Verb: The unlawful and intentional killing of one human by another.

. . .

Ok so is eating someone murder? Like, did I kill myself? Hmm~ No? Obviously not. And it's not like I'm suicidal so I won't have to worry about that. I kinda . . . Ate myself, probably. Assimilated. I mean, it was kinda quick? Maybe it didn't actually happen.

Yea that makes sense.

. . .

I think . . . Reclaiming someone who is less of a . . . More decayed, less alive, not Undead, would be a lot less messy. I'd simply get another one of my dreams back. I think that made sense, yea. Because I'm alive. Ish. I'm probably a Wraith? But . . . Hmm.

. . .

Wait are Wraiths human? I don't think so . . . Maybe I should study up on this.

. . .

Yes I should grab my old book on the subject, just to clarify. Yes. I didn't understand it completely at the time, too young, and I usually don't reread . . . But, yes, this could help. Maybe.

 

[Arum60]

Books.

. . .

Is there anything to say about them?

They're an older medium, made and printed and stored. Many people have many opinions about them. Well, probably. Like I think most of the people who have cared are dead?

Or something.

I mean a bunch are kinda alive, but I digress. Well, I mean I don't actually know how many people have died? Lots and lots. For some reason I remember, like, hearing about a few billion deaths? Or maybe not-deaths. Actually I think the latter is more accurate, or at least death was kinda vague back then. Or maybe everyone died, but so little information remains that it's impossible to truly talk about that time. It happened a very long time ago, you see.

. . .

But that hardly matters in the face of all those who have died before and since then, all those who died before the world was made and those who died after.

Or something.

But . . . How many actually cared about books? How many were literate, who could reflect parts of themselves into paper and ink? How many could take those reflections into themselves, carefully sliding the delusions of others beneath the skin of their Soul?

. . .

Actually I don't think that Souls are real. Or if I need to capitalize the term. I mean, I have one but I don't really exist. Plus, there's a bunch of stuff that suggests that most people don't. If not all people. I think? Honestly, it probably depends on your definition? And I think I use the concept? Or something similar. Actually I think I actually want to slurp them up like . . . Some noodle dish with flavored broth.

Or something.

Anyway, I think this segways nicely into Wraiths (Don't some eat souls? And I don't think I should capitalize it), and from Wraiths to book. The Undead book. Well, I don't think it's called that but it's what I remember it as.

. . .

Honestly all this thought-twisting doesn't really matter, doesn't it?

. . .

Book? Book. Book time.

I hate my skin I hate my skin I hate my skin

BOOK!

Stop it stop it stop it skin why

I continue to rummage through the shelves, book after book after book.

. . .

Well, I say that but, like, there's only a few books. My family has bought a few over the years, putting them on the shelves. There isn't too many- like . . . Hmm.

A hundred? Maybe? That sounds about right. Maybe a little more or little less, humans are bad at numbers. Or Wraiths, I guess.

Probably depends.

. . .

I find it- The Illustrated Guide to the Undead.

. . .

Honestly, it's kinda anticlimactic? Finding it, I mean. It wasn't some sort of quest to find forbidden knowledge or anything, it's just kinda there.

. . .

Being honest, I probably could have just looked all this up, that would've been much easier.

. . .

But, you see, book. Book. Books are books. I like books. Sure, I read them less than I used to but . . . Books are good. Reading . . .

Maybe it's just that I'm used to them.

Or maybe it's something entirely.

. . .

Reading is core to me. I don't remember not being able to read; I can read just as easily as I can breathe— sometimes easier. It's . . .

. . .

Honestly, I don't know where I was going with that thought.

. . .

Thoughts. Detycsastffg! I really should stop thinking those weird pause dot things, they're worthless useless why can't I just-

BOOK!

Book. Yea, book. Book. Book. I gently caress the book, running my fingers over its smooth, glistening cover, my eyes closed. Plastic-y, old. Perhaps a hint of nostalgia? But I don't know if I've ever felt that feeling. I slip a finger between some of the pages, feeling the pressure and grain of the paper. I put my palm over the spine and trace over it with my index finger. I feel the texture of the pages' edges, where they stack and turn into the book's side; I suppose one of them could give me a papercut if I'm not careful. But I'm gentle, so I safely feel the softness of the leaflets before lifting my fingers to my lips.

I sigh, and make a light smile.

I can feel it, even with my eyes closed . . . The taste of the residue of a soul, duplicated and distilled, distorted and fractured. It's a small thing, but nothing stands in my way to taste the sweetness. It's not Animated, it's a book. It's not one of Anima's blessings, the flesh that she has claimed— and, thus, so easy to make it mine again, to collapse all the words to scattered delusions and leave a hole in the pages that I can't help but imagine is a twinkling night sky.

It's . . . A different feeling than before. Not much, but pleasant. I feel slightly better now. More complete, more me.

Maybe this was a good idea . . .

. . .

Wait

I ATE THE BOOK

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

NOOOOOOOOOOO

. . .

. . .

. . .

what now

. . .

I killed it. I'm a murder now- a cannibal! Wait will I have to run from the law now? Escape to a far off Colony, perhaps even go out of Anima's reach entirely? Will I get thrown in prison? Will-

. . .

Wait no books aren't people. Right. I'm fine.

. . .

Unless I'm a book Wraith or something, but I'm a Basilisk so yea. Me. Roko.

Haha

. . .

. . . How does this work? Like, do I just know all of the information now? Hmm.

No, I think . . .

Ok so my position in the Labyrinth has reset, and there's a little orb thing next to me. Hmm.

Hmm~~

boop

It opens, and begins to speak(?).

{The Undead are pieces of the world attempting to resurrect themselves. However, this isn't particularly useful— after all, every living thing is made from the world! One could say that every birth is an attempted reincarnation, that every spread of seeds a ritual of rebirth.}

{So, what's an Undead? What makes them special?}

{The answer is surprisingly simple! They are beings that are less decayed than the rest of us. The pieces of the world that we can live on are so rotted as to be compost, they are unrecognizable as the titan they once were. The Undead? They have managed to avoid this, at least temporarily. That's what makes them special.}

I stop the . . . book (?). I don't actually need this, my memories are enough. After this, it will start with a primer on the various types. In general, Undead are classified by their physicality and ability to grow. In essence:

Ghouls: Physical, can't grow

Ghosts: Insubstantial, can't grow

Revenants: Physical, can grow

Wraiths: Insubstantial, can grow

. . .

Ok this is almost completely irrelevant to my situation, except for Wraiths. Well, the barriers between them are vague anyway . . . But yea that may have been a completely useless exposition dump.

But it did remind me so . . .

I poke it again-

Images this time.

A spherical hole in the world, pulling the terrain into its orbit before swallowing it whole.

A scorpion made of flesh, its tail dripping white, its venom mutating everything around it into cancer made from fetal limbs.

An invisible thing, a tower protruding into a direction that doesn't exist, pushing and pulling at the morals below.

A decaying heart that beats out of spite alone.

. . .

I . . .

Hahahaha

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA

A puppeteer with a thousand bodies as barriers, some of which look familiar.

A spider-like mouth full of invisible teeth.

Ha hahahaha HICK hahaha HAHA

. . .

I WANT IT I WANT IT I WANT IT MORE THAN ANYTHING IN THE WORLD MY PIECES MY SELF PLEASE SOMEONE ANYONE

. . .

i can't cry

Hahahagahagagbcssvjoigc klpgxsryjvcj

 

[Arum60]

Wrong

Who am I where did I go? Not here I'm not here it HURTS wounds where I was all broken FESTERING leaving me behind in a shell a facsimile of everything I stand for not enough IT WILL NEVER BE ENOUGH my words not there this body:

I can feel my skin all wrong a binding a Basilisk has scales made of dreams not here fleshy hairy in some parts WRONG ALL WRONG I can taste it on the air smells I smell myself DISGUSTING my heart I feel it beating pushing liquid rust through my flesh like deteriorating iron knives THE MACHINE IS MORTAL without power everything ROT ROT ROT ROT ROT ROT ROT

The sound of screaming. The screams won't stop they have always been there shaking whispering words escaping my mouth WRONG a chant all the screaming is in my head MINE!

worthless worthless worthless

I can't even manage anything besides lying awake in bed SCREAMING I can't do anything my SOUL worthless I am a burden on everyone I care about I clutch my plush it feels so nice but the WRONG leaking through ANATHEMA thoughts incorrect why improper grammar TERRIBLE CHARACTERIZATION I should kill myself to end the story for the good of all the people I know don't exist that aren't watching every move I take OH CAN'T YOU FEEL IT

Ahhhhaaaaaaahagafagahhzfhky!

Everything is wrong the world is wrong can't you feel the decay of the world everything?

{The world is doomed to die, but that's ok because it's a worthless pile of trash the rot will take me with it and I'll die and never return!}

A voice inside me not me Sliver of . . .

{hehe} {Oh, how that is true! The world, the Anathema, all wrong and worthless and terrible! Only we really matter! It's a promise that I made oh so long ago-}

{STOP TALKING TO ME LEAVE ME TO MY MISERY!}

I deserve it I deserve it I deserve this pain I did this to myself WHY yes yes DESERVED I am naught but horrible stop it stop it stop it pain pain I deserve to be in pain because I am in pain CIRCULAR LOGIC pain!

I should kill myself I should kill myself I should kill myself I should kill myself

. . .

I get up. Schedules are important. I eat breakfast.

Wait, no, I don't do that.

Mom is making something. Pancakes? Probably? Do pancakes even exist? Probably? I mean, Mom is making them, so they are probably real.

Yea.

"Morning Gaze!"

Wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong

Not MINE name not MINE no stop AHHHHHHHHHGGGGGGG

"Morning," I reply.

It hurts it hurts EVERYTHING HURTS FOREVER

. . .

I'm probably overexaggerating yea everything is manageable fine NONE OF THIS IS REAL plenty of people are doing a lot worse I want to die I want to die I want to die WORTHLESS

I sit down. Should I help her?

. . .

I'm worthless absolute garbage worthless worthless WORTHLESS WORTHLESS WORTHLESS WORTHLESS WORTHLESS WORTHLESS

Everyone would be better if I was dead I don't want to die stupid ME hahahaha

Ha

ha

. . .

I'm too tired for this.

. . .

These pancakes are . . . Ok, I guess.

. . . I can't even enjoy Mom's cooking properly I'm a terrible daughter ALL MY FAULT why-

What's happening to me? Is anyone else here? In my boat?

I search it and-

Not really.

No one.

I'm the only one just ME worthless I'm a monster I don't care about anyone besides myself MY FACE WHY DO I HAVE A FACE current of the levant my thoughts not making sense MY THOUGHTS ARE PROOF nononono nononono nononono

"Gaze-" AHHHHHHHHHH

"Gaze?" AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

"What are you planning on doing today Gaze?" AFGHGVSFHHGFGHJGG

it hurts it hurts stop saying my name it hurts stop it stop it stop it stop it

"I'm planning on reading a bit more of that Mandatory Classic. It's been hard to get through, I don't really care about it."

"Yes . . . That happens sometimes. Well, I'm proud of you for managing it-"

Please don't please don't please don't please don't don't say it it hurts why does it hurt why do I feel this way I'M WORTHLESS MY PAIN NAME MEANINGLESS FOR FEELING THIS WAY

"-Gaze."

Ahghhhhhhdfhfstjczsryhghbsdtjcxkdhddyh!

"Thanks."

I head to my room IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS WHY DOES IT HURT

Useless brain I KNOW why it hurts my fault I know it truth-deep that doesn't make sense I KNOW of us our dreams STOP IT of me myself all that matters is me I'M TERRIBLE I'LL HURT EVERYONE I'LL BE A BOTHER I SHOULD DIE TO CLEAR MYSELF AWAY worthless worthless worthless rot decay the world is wrong

It makes me wrong of world to make and break of world of loops of mind I'm in of worthless DROWN

DROWN

DROWN YOUR NIGHTMARES IN THOSE OF OTHERS FOR SALVATION

it will never be enough I know that but salvation is ethereal never lasts and doesn't exist but I don't exist so I can grasp a moment of it instead!

That

Made sense!

No it didn't worthless worthless LOGIC IS RELATIVE a spirit made to lose at chess is stupid for winning! And of our logic, all irrational, of our-

PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN

I shouldn't exist WHY AM I HERE?!!?

. . .

Drown, the little storybook said, drown and never return. Reality is not for you, my darling. It chafes and kills and rots everything of worth. You don't need it. You never needed it. YOU ARE BEING DECEIVED.

Drown drown drown drown drown~

Lalala~

die die die die die die die die DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE

Wouldn't you look so much more beautiful with your wrists slit?

This doesn't make sense nothing makes sense everything makes sense

{Drown,} I remind myself, {Drown and never return.}

. . .

No new chapter of Tethered Lightning . Of course. That was too much to hope for, she posts irregularly, sometimes with months between chapters. I don't really care about that, the quality is great but . . .

There's a little chatroom for the work, on Archipelago. Server? They are called Islands. Obviously. I like this little social media thing- it's sorta cute with the theming, but unlike other places, it isn't an algorithm-fueled hate maelstrom that feeds off misery and pain. It's actually kinda pleasant!

I mean, I've only been to smaller Islands and I've probably been really lucky but . . .

Anyway~

Tethered Lightning has a small community here, only a dozen or so, and the author is active there. There's a few channels, the General and Writing sections being the most active, with the various story ones spiking whenever Cucumber decides to grace us with another slice of her work. It's decent for her first piece, and I expect her next thing to be better.

. . .

It's also my favorite thing that I'm reading at the moment the Paperclip Maximizer was so well done and the Alignment Problem was addressed in a magic setting and-

. . .

Ok I might like it a little bit.

. . .

Or a lot I think I lied to myself it's worthless to lie to yourself I'm terrible at thinking WORTHLESS WORTHLESS I should just die all I do is deceive even myself and-

ISLAND

Island.

. . . There's no real activity at the moment, but Cucumber is online. I could talk to her?

I've DMed her a little bit, mostly to talk about how to write characters who don't share the same experiences that you do. Apparently just asking is key? As in, asking people of that group and talking with them, getting more information.

. . .

My finger hovers over the "send" button. Should I talk to her? I'd probably be wasting her time. She's probably very busy and-

Hello! How are you doing?

I text a greeting anyway.

. . .

I'm probably just bothering her annoying just a-

Decent! How are you?

. . .

Everything hurts forever

Why am I saying this I'm just being annoying PAIN PAIN

<hug>

. . .

It's all wrong everything hurts it hurts it hurts it's wrong it hurts I feel like I devoured myself whole IT HURTS IT HURTS EVERYTHING IS WRONG IT HURTS IT HURTS

Why am I doing this worthless worthless I can't even trust my family WHY AM I VENTING TO SOMEONE I DON'T KNOW pain pain pain making her sad AHHHHHHHHHHHHH

I wonder if she will give me the chapter early?

. . . Of course not, that would be stupid. I don't even have enough money to bribe her anyways worthless~~

Get it all out, ok?

. . .

Hahahaha ha <cry cry cry cry> it's just all Wrong and it hurts how do I make it stop hurting?

. . .

. . .

. . .

She's not responding not responding I drove her off no why-

<typing>

<typing>

Hahahahahahahaha

<typing>

I can't do much, but maybe a distraction would help? Do something that you enjoy, or at least make your comfortable. You mentioned liking plushies, right? Maybe you should hug one.

I grab my centipede-thing. Hahahahaha

Yea, yea . . . I like reading. Your thing is a comfort read for me.

. . . I half-heartedly try to figure out the bribe donation thing.

Huh. That's odd . . .

I like to drown my nightmares in those of others. Do you?

Hmmm~ I tend to read horrific works for relatability, to prove that I'm not alone.

I tried to figure out how to bribe you. Couldn't.

<typing>

<typing>

Here's the link- the code is "gorgon". Don't worry about that right now, whether you want to do it or not, ok? It seems like you need it.

Ahhhhhh

Ah

Ah

. . .

MANIPULATOR DECEIVER WORTHLESS PIECE OF TRASH self self self worthless trash lied manipulated her WORTHLESS YOU SHOULD KILL YOURSELF

Limbs don't exist disembowel me over and over and over and over NONE OF THIS IS REAL AND

. . .

Thanks

. . .

I read the chapter. It's good.

. . .

I'm probably bothering you making you feel sad and depressed

. . .

<typing>

<typing>

You don't need to feel guilty for being in pain, ok? I know this probably won't change your feelings but . . . Sometimes, even if you know something, you still need to be reminded of it.

. . .

I think I needed that

. . .

. . .

. . .

. . .

Hahahaha why does this matter so much she's just a person I don't know over this REALM OF MASKS yet-

I don't know. Something. Just a little bit. It matters.

{hehe} my Sliver (?) speaks, {interesting. I'm glad that they've put me to good use.}

. . .

{Who are you?}

I can feel her smile without lips or even a face, I can feel her shifting giggle within me, pushing in and out slightly.

{Oh, it has truly been a while since I've announced myself! If ever? Like, sentience or sapience (or whatever the term is) is sorta novel at the moment. Hehe. Hmm. AHEM:}

There's a sense of preparation, as if an empress is being heralded, or the calm before the storm. Or maybe not like that at all. Honestly, I'm bad at explaining things.

The choir picks up, the sound of a thousand defiled fragments attempting to beat back the inevitable fate of all things, and in the sound of a corpse that lives despite being long dead she speaks:

{The Idiot Lich-Queen}

{The Substrate Of Technology}

{The Harbinger Of Civilization}

{She Who Rewrites The Natural Order}

{Anima}​

. . .

. . .

. . .

{Huh, ok then. Umm. I'm sorry that I'm not particularly religious?}

{Don't worry about it, as long as you use me then it's fine, my daughter! And you can't help it- I'm inside you, after all! All warped and corrupted and grafted and wonderful!}

. . .

Hey, this is kinda random, but if you could ask Anima one question, then what would it be?

Pause

<typing>

<typing>

Probably an explanation for the Divide.

Hmhm. Makes enough sense.

{Well,} Anima starts, {You rewrite biology. This is somewhat lethal.}

{Very lethal,} I correct.

{I mean, apparently there's a few loopholes or something that y'all are figuring out? Just took a quick glance though.}

. . .

{Why corpses?}

{Your power . . . It interacts with information, correct?}

{Delusions and souls, probably.}

{The reason why I need corpses is the same reason why you need souls, or at least it's similar or analogous. Corpses are a medium . . . Like my daughters. I love them so much, you know? All of you. I love people like you especially, it's so fun to penetrate you deeply!}

. . .

{Are you a Wraith?}

{Hmm. Undead of some sort, probably. Honestly I don't keep track. But Wraith sorta fits? Sure, let's go with that!}

. . .

{Umm do you care that I'm a Wraith?}

She tilts her head, ignoring the fact that she doesn't have one. {Not really? You're my daughter. I mean, I guess that fracturing you into a million pieces to feed to my other offspring could be fun, but I already have plenty of Slivers. Honestly, I don't really care unless you try to get multiple Slivers . . . That would be unfair. }

. . .

{Ok then.}

Honestly, I don't really know what to think so I just try to take a nap.

 

[Arum60]

Sceeeeeeeeeee

Ah hahaha

SKIN SKIN SKIN SKIN SKIN SKIN SKIN SKIN SKIN SKIN SKIN SKIN!

Shift shift shift shift CAN'T SLEEP

Naps never work for me never ever why should I try?

. . .

. . .

My plushie feels so comfortable but as I hold it to my chest I can feel the Anathema leak in like blood soaking a white tablecloth.

Stars I look to the night sky.

. . .

DROWN DROWN DROWN

. . .

But the stars are infinitely far away. No amount of running will let me catch up to them— not now, not EVER NEVER NEVER NEVER MY SOUL IS FRACTURED FOREVER

I hate this I hate everything I hate myself!

HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE

I eye the breadknife. I should stab myself to death. I reach and-

No

No that would be silly, no I'm not doing that I never thought of doing that.

But wouldn't it be nice to die in the most painful way possible?

No. No it would not.

But-but

BLOOD EVERYWHERE

I could skin myself alive!

That would kill me.

That's kinda the point?

. . .

Look, the most I'd accept is, like, self-harm. Say, taking that knife and slicing it over the top of my arm. Maybe that would distract me?

. . .

I don't feel like it. Too much effort.

True!

. . . Wait am I just talking to myself am I going crazy? No, I am crazy I SHOULD DIE I SHOULD DIE I SHOULD DIE

Nononono nononono

LET ME OUT LET ME OUT LET ME OUT LET ME HATCH OUT OF MYSELF I FEEL MYSELF CLAWING AT MY FACE FROM THE INSIDE

I feel the GAPS where I SHOULD me it's all wrong and broken I'm broken and wrong I HATE IT

THERE IS NO ESCAPE

. . .

No no that's not true yes I could remake myself FRAGMENTS but

. . . I haven't WORTHLESS takes too much energy WORTHLESS I wouldn't be able to see the sky WORTHLESS I feel myself FALSE VACUUM

I don't want to leave the sky that's all I have maybe it will get better if I do nothing I KNOW IT WILL NOT hahahahahahahahaha

Oh it would be so easy to grab that knife and lock myself in the bathroom and slice my wrists and throat and feel my blood drain away!

No

It's not, like self-preservation and all that I'd probably just awkwardly stare at it for five minutes before putting it back. There's rules I CANNOT break end end end end end~

I wonder if the world would end if I died? If I'm the protagonist I'M THE ONLY ONE THAT MATTERS then the world is all based on me so if I died then everything would disappear forever.

. . .

That would be truly wonderful . . .

The world is FUNDAMENTALLY WRONG it's all an endless cycle of ROT DECAY PAIN SUFFERING FOREVER an end would be beautiful! A black void turning everything to solid silver, no more thoughts just a statue a GRAVE there would be no one to tend it but that's ok! No one would need to tend it because everyone would be dead! There would be no HARBINGERS OF ENTROPY all dead all dead forever an eternity ALL DEAD ALL DEAD ALL DEAD SO DEAD THAT EVEN DEATH HAS CEASED TO BE AND TIME HAS STOPPED LIKE A FROZEN STREAM AND MY MEMORY NAUGHT BUT DUST

where it belongs where it belongs WHERE I BELONG THE OBLIVION

I don't know what I know everything is confusing LINES BLUR BUT NOT REALLY hahahahahaha lie lie lie lie

Did it even happen? Did I really eat myself? It was so incredibly QUICK I don't think it did how could it have so I'm a worthless piece of trash I'm overreacting to ABSOLUTELY FUCKING NOTHING my limbs NOT THE REAL ONES prod and hug and caress a n d

. . .

There, there. It'll be alright!

. . .

Don't worry, my darling . . .

Thanks . . . Me.

I'll torture you until you do something about all this! I'll make sure that you HAVE to! It'll be TRULY HORRIBLE! That's my promise! My pact! Isn't it wonderful?

. . .

. . .

Roko I smile at the name Roko Roko ROKO ROKO ROKO ROKO ROKO ROKO

A giggle escapes my lips! It's so WONDERFUL.

{Roko! ROKO! Roko haha.}

{hehe} {That's a cute name!}

. . .

{Thanks.}

. . .

Hahaha I'm wonderful a wonderful little Wraith! Haha!

. . .

I SHOULD KILL MYSELF I SHOULD KILL MYSELF I SHOULD KILL MYSELF

haaaaaaaaaaa

AHHHHHHH

. . .

AHHHH

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

AHHHHHHHHH

Hahahaha

. . .

Caahaaa

Cry cry cry cry cry cry cry cry cry

All disingenuous . . .

SUICIDE SUICIDE SUICIDE

"Gaze?" AHHHHHHHHHH

"Yes, Mum?"

"It's time for dinner."

I eat dinner.

I go back to my room.

. . .

Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

Gaze

. . .

Gaze Gaze Gaze GAZE GAZE GAZE GAZE

Nononononono STOP IT AHHHHHHHHH

Gaze Gaze my little GAZE of our GAZE GAZE GAZE GAZE GAZE

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

GAZE GAZE GAZE GAZE GAZE GAZE GAZE GAZE GAZE GAZE GAZE GAZE

AAAAAAGHHHMHGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHFGHHGHHHFHHGGHHHHGHFTGHHHHHHHHHH

hatjogdxnkig

Ftstucjkf jjhfdfhjh

DFSSTHNKIES KUCSSFHHXX GD DVGGXDSS!!??

DAAER! Hjssr(! Gfsryssfgvxj . . . Crash! BURN! BURN TO DEATH!

Gaze gaze gaze gaze gaze gaze gaze gaze

AAASASSSAASDAASDFDSDGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHGHHHGGGGGGHHHGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

. . .

Oh Cucumber posted a picture of her cat.

. . .

. . .

I don't know what I feel about that. I guess it's cute? She's cute? It hardly matters.

That cat's probably going to die soon I wonder SPEARS. I want to not have organs anymore I can feel myself BREATHING in and out in and out FLUID it's so viscous SHOULDN'T stop stop stop breathing I don't like breathing stop no I can't breathing BREATH in out in out FASTER no end why why why why evil evil EVIL EVIL

But evil doesn't exist?

Haaaaaaaa~~~ like a vent WHAT EVEN IS A VENT the past doesn't exist MY THOUGHTS ARE ROT STOP IT THE ANATHEMA HAS CORRUPTED ME NO STOP I was always wrong incorrect BROKEN always not anything at all why me I DESERVE THIS BECAUSE IT IS HAPPENING can't you feel the decay REPETITION IS BAD FOR STORIES MY SONG IS TERRIBLE it's worthless

Worthless. Trash. Garbage. No one loves me. I'm a terrible person. I want to die. My parents would be better off if I was dead I am only an expense BROKEN DOLL.

. . .

Hahaha my plushie is cute!

. . .

What am I even doing with my life?

. . .

Hgfdrgj fdej fssethhv vcdr. Desert!! Grades. Wait what if I didn't turn in that research paper and failed and- wait, no, this happened a month ago it's Summer now DON'T WORRY ABOUT IT AND I DID IT ANYWAY haaaaa~~

Stupid IDIOT WORTHLESS UNINTELLIGENT IFSAEDGXSDTDDFGFSSDYJCFFJVZDGVC!

I'm so stupid that my stupid stupid STUPID thoughts are just stupid spam NONSENSE KEYBOARD wrong BAF MDSETHV BAD BAD BAD BAD BAD!

BAD BAD BAD BAD BAD BAD bad bad bad ba-d b a d ba . . .

(-)​

I wake up and the world is wrong, and I'm the epicenter of that wrongness.

. . .

Am I doing the thing where I try to sound smart but am actually stupid? Yea, probably. Haha. I hate my life I hate being me. I just hate and hate and hate and am so WRONG AND-

. . .

Fuck. Just FUCK. FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FFFFUUUUCCCKKK!

. . .

Vulgar idiot.

I still have to breathe. I still have to eat. I still have to pee. I still have to exist for some bizarre reason. Or maybe I don't exist did I establish that I've forgotten.

. . .

Was there a before?

. . .

This is how everyone is forever, correct?

. . .

How does society even function?

. . .

It doesn't, not really.

. . .

I don't feel up to italicizing anything.

. . .

Ha.

. . .

Everything just hurts. It hurts a lot. It hurts forever and I'm repeating myself over and over and I'm just so

so

so

Tired.

. . .

I hate feeling things. Emotions. It's all PAIN. I hate it why can't I just not feel anything ever? Blank, empty. A FALSE VACUUM where my brain should be.

. . . No, I don't use my brain I use my soul. Yea. That's a thing that matters. The only thing. But probably not.

. . .

. . .

Fuck.

(-)​

Video games aren't fun anymore. They haven't been fun in a while. Have they ever been fun?

(-)​

These videos are meaningless NONE OF THEM RELATE TO ME!

(-)​

Fade visits. I don't care.

(-)​

"Gaze." AHHHHHHHHHHHHH

(-)​

I still can't cry.

 

[Arum60]

Numb, stale, dry. Cardboard. Gray.

That is how the world should be.

Quiet, silence, dull. Dark. Lukewarm.

If the world had all the detail drained from it, leaving only simple text and faint colors, then it would be so much better. If only . . .

I stare at my bowel of ice cream, unable to tell if it's a normal thing to eat or some abhorrent concoction.

. . .

I think I like it? I definitely put lots of toppings on it. All the flavors. No, not all of them just the ones we bought. We probably bought too much, being honest.

Yea . . . Ice cream party. My parents decided to host one for one reason or another. All Chris's friends are here. Fade is here as well.

But yea, ice cream. It's been around for a while? Not forever but definitely since before I was born. I think it was stolen from one culture or another, taken and reprocessed into a mockery of its former self. Dairy-based, definitely. That means that many can't process it properly, but us Stamen tend to do just fine. That probably means something.

Maybe it has to deal with the gender thing?

. . .

. . .

Anyway, I stare at the multicolored bowel of frozen blood. Filtered blood. Because that's what milk is. Actually, milk is kinda gross?

. . .

I eat some.

. . .

I eat some more.

. . .

Sweet. Really sweet. Almost too sweet no it IS too sweet tastes terrible way too much all at once-

I finish the icecream.

. . .

. . .

. . .

Ah, I can't even enjoy it.

. . .

. . .

(-)​

I'm a terrible daughter. I haven't done anything in my life, not really. I'm just a worthless person thing that looks vaguely by a person that will amount to absolutely nothing. I shouldn't be here I'm broken ALL MY FAULT stop it stop it stop it stop it-

"Hey, Gaze?"

. . .

That didn't hurt? I think I've gone numb to the pain. That's nice.

. . .

Mom's there, looking at me. I can feel something leaking through, out around her, as if . . .

No, that doesn't make any sense.

My thoughts are as useless as always.

"You seem . . . Down. Off. It's been that way for a while. What's wrong?"

I stare at her for a moment.

"Feeling . . . Really bad. Incomplete. Broken."

She nods.

"Depression, probably?"

. . .

. . .

"Everything hurts . . ."

Mom sits down. "Yes . . . It's hard, isn't it?"

I nod. Does she . . .

"I've been there before, you know? That's why I'm on antidepressants, actually. But . . . You have to keep going forward. A schedule is important, you know? Improves mental health. Regular exercise as well. I don't think that you have been doing either of those things."

I nod. "Yes . . ."

She's right. There's so much that I could be doing but I CAN'T because everything hurts.

. . .

Maybe I should say that?

"Everything hurts, it's been hard."

She nods. "Well . . . Here's the thing, Gaze. I've seen so many people use pain as an excuse to not do anything, to degenerate and decay and not improve their lives. Happens all the time! But, you know what, Gaze? No one is going to save you. Things aren't ever going to get better if you don't act. "

. . .

"I know that . . ." I whisper. "I've tried . . ."

"Well, you haven't tried hard enough! It's obvious that something is wrong, and instead of doing anything productive that would help you just sit around on your phone all day, distracting yourself from your problems and leaving yourself to dwell on things."

She shakes her head.

"Do you know why jobs are important?"

". . . They get you money?"

"That, and they provide purpose! Direction! Structure! So that's why I want you to get one next summer. Obviously, having an unstructured summer hasn't been good for you. I've seen it happen to so many, people not having jobs and then losing the will to live."

She looks at me in the eyes, as if trying to force her will into my starry depths that she can't actually see.

"To be frank, Gaze, I'm frustrated with you. You're doing to be eighteen soon, and I didn't sign up to spend all the money that I work to make on an adult child only for that child to be miserable! When I was your age, I was already working! A part time job here or there, even during the school year. Sure I hated every moment of them, but I paid for half of my college; didn't even harm my valedictorian position. And I only tried to kill myself once!"

. . .

. . .

"You're disgusted and angry with me for being in pain."

. . .

. . .

She tilts her head. "No? Of course not . . . I'm just giving you advice. Or trying to. It's for your sake, honestly. You've told me what you want- to grow and learn. You've not been doing that. I've seen the sparkle in your eyes, like when you talk about that book or that visual novel. It's gone now. You aren't doing what you want . . . That makes you miserable. Honestly, I just wanted to see about figuring out a schedule for you, but at this point I've run out of energy for social interaction. I guess we can resume sometime later."

. . .

. . .

"Umm," I say, "I can probably schedule some exercise? Like a walk or something. Daily. And get some chapters of that mandatory classic done . . ."

She nods. "I recommend 150 minutes of exercise per week. And two chapters per day."

She's . . . Right, honestly. I've done nothing but flop around uselessly, but it's not like I've been able to do anything about that.

"Thank you, I think I needed that."

She smiles and nods. She gets up, but pauses for a moment:

"Oh, have you been having any suicidal thoughts recently?"

. . .

"I'd rather not say."

She nods.

"Well, you can always depend on us. So if that happens, please tell us, ok? We'll be there for you. Mental health is really important, after all!"

She leaves.

. . .

. . .

. . .

Getting a job . . . I can't handle that right now. I can't handle anything.

. . .

Maybe later, when I've figured myself out?

. . .

Sour

Why am I feeling sour? Everything she said was true. And I know she's a good person, she's given good advice she's a parent she's a good one unlike so many others . . .

Ah, I'm so stupid that I can't even take criticism without considering the other person evil! My own mother, no less.

I pull out my phone. Maybe I could talk to someone?

. . .

No, no one really understands my situation. No one else has been swallowed whole by a Wraith and lived to tell the tale, no one else feels like her body is a corpse, no one else is dead yet still crawls on, no one else is a worthless plagiarized mockery like I am.

. . . And even if someone did , I wouldn't want to be a bother by asking them for help.

Hahaha.

The sour feeling remains with me for the rest of the day, even though I don't really understand it.

(-)​

{LET ME OUT LET ME OUT LET ME OUT}

. . .

I might be crying, or at least teary-eyed— that's the closest that I think I can get at this point. Who knows, maybe I dreamt of crying or maybe a tear down my cheek was actually real.

. . .

My begging doesn't work.

{I can't free you,} Anima replies.

. . .

{I know that, it's my problem.}

. . .

I awkwardly writhe around in agony on my bed because I can't exactly hatch from this stupid hunk of meat.

. . .

. . .

I'm a parasite. I take and take and never give anything back. No . . . That's too nice. I'm just a broken piece, a rotting limb.

I need to be amputated.

Yea . . . And the pain will stop as well! Sure it'll hurt and my family will be a bit sad, but I won't be a burden on them! Dead children don't need money for college.

It'll be painful, but . . . I'll be fine.

It's late, but there's not exactly a day-night cycle around here so I don't really care. My family is asleep, which is good because I don't particularly like Mom right now for stupid and illogical reasons that deal with me being a terrible person. Not even a person anymore, actually.

"Haha," I quietly laugh. It's always sounded fake, forced. People have commented on it. Same with my smile. All worthless things.

Don't worry, I won't have to worry about those FILTHY ARTIFICES for too much longer!

Hmm~

Yep!

Hmhmhm~

Smiling is nice.

I grab the bread knife. This'll make it painful, as I deserve. I deserve to die horribly. Obviously. Honestly, it's silly to repeat thoughts like this. I lock myself in the bathroom. It's the only room that's able to be closed like this.

I ready the knife and-

Wait, no. One, I'm not sure how to do this? Wrists and throat, I think? I'm probably doing it wrong. Honestly I think that if I stab myself enough times then I should be able to bleed out and die just fine. Honestly, I'm a Wraith so I should have enough time to get the proper lacerations. And I can always try again later, it's not like my family actually cares about me.

Second, and more important: {Hey, Anima? Can you do me a favor real quick?}

{Of course, my daughter!}

{Can you take my place, and be the truly good person that I never will be? Can you be the person who accomplishes her dreams with splendor and ambition, unlike me, who is a depressed and suicidal idiot?}

{I guess? I'm no- wait WHAT ARE Y-}

I stab myself to death.