"Nevermind."
A statement often used to create a sense of finality for the more mundane events befalling life.
After all, if one lingered on every single challenge life offered, it would only lead to utter depravity. Nobody can handle the near-insatiable amount of stress constantly presented to them.
"But still, it is quite the shame. If I actually knew what the hell was going on, I could've maybe reacted differently."
A small voice resounds through space. A space so devoid of anything and everything that it almost feels sad. Not that it minds its own nature. Or lack thereof.
Even a single, minuscule guest wouldn't change this eternal fact.
The voice scowled. Not at the bizarre situation it had been stuck in for what felt like an indescribable eternity, but at its own words.
"You talk too much, you know? I mean, damn, this is probably your millionth time repeating this exact string of thoughts. Haven't you grown tired of pitying yourself?"
A mocking chuckle echoes back. Of course self-inflicted, as always.
"And I'm going to repeat it again and again, until whatever this is stops. Or until I fade away. Depends on what comes first I guess."
A scoff of indignation cuts through the emptiness.
"Okay, alright. Let me humor you.
Even if that question could be answered with a yes. What are you going to do? What the hell are you even going to change, huh?
You're stuck in God-knows-what kind of shithole. You talk to yourself like a lunatic. And not a single thing has happened in what feels like multiple fucking eternities.
And even then. You don't even know who you are.
So tell me, how are you supposed to change anything when you can't even face that simple truth?"
Silence follows. Brief, but not for long.
Then the squabble resumes.
"To be honest… yeah. I agree."
A bitter laugh—dry, tired.
"Oh, absolutely. I might even double down on it, actually. Because the truth is, I get how I feel about this place."
A pause. Imaginary breath. Like bracing for a plunge.
**"I fucking hate it here.
I hate it so much it makes me wonder what dying might feel like. Not in a poetic, tragic way—just out of pure fucking curiosity. Because what does it matter anymore?
Questions feel normal now.
And normal… that's the thing I'm losing."**
The voice falters. Not out of fear—out of exhaustion.
"So I repeat. And I repeat.
Until I can't.
Because what else is left?
What else is there to do but spit in the face of this creeping, slithering obscurity. Like some ancient harbinger of…"
It stops. Struggles to find the word. The feeling to its frustration. Something to climb onto.
Nothing comes.
Just another imaginary shrug.
"Losing myself… it probably is a kind of death, isn't it? Memories make you. Without them, you're just… noise. And me? I'm already halfway gone.
Futile.
Inevitable.
Just dragging it out, one echo at a time. That's all this is. A slow fade into the nothing."
For a while, everything went dark. Even the musings of its other self stopped.
It felt as though its consciousness had settled on something far away.
Something that was lost on its journey through the void.
A fleeting mix of emotions bubbled up from deep below, but they were blurry.
Incomplete depictions of something the voice might have had once.
Something it might have even adored.
Before it could slip too deep into that haze of uncertain recollections, a scoff escaped it.
But for the first time in what felt like forever, there was a hint of actual amusement behind it.
"Look who's trying to act all poetic, like you've had any experiences to even base that on. But even then... do you really believe what you're saying? And more importantly, do you fear it?"
The voice softens, somber. It doesn't need to think for long.
"Yes, to both. And as long as I remain here, nothing will change."
There was no hesitation to that reply. For the first time in what felt like forever, something stirred within the voice.
Certainty.
A rare clarity, stronger than despair. It understood its fate. It understood the doom obscurity had laid out for it.
If it kept drifting, it would fade away. Like it was said before, no one can handle too much for too long.
No one.
"Then there's a very simple and effective solution, you fool."
"And what would that be?"
"Wake up."
And then, everything shifts.
It's subtle at first. Not a jolt. Not a crash. Just a tremor at the edge of its awareness.
Something stirs. Something moves.
It slithers. Not across space, but across the fabric of its being. Something that shouldn't exist. Something wrong.
Anxiety blooms.
A cold, primal dread tightens its grip.
Its perception warps. Skewed, disoriented.
The void doesn't feel still anymore. Something's different. Something's here.
Then the ache begins.
A pressure builds, dull at first. Like a hammer slowly pressing inward, unyielding, deliberate.
A drumming. Then pounding. Then piercing.
And for the first time, it becomes aware of something that might be a head. If it even has one.
And then it hits.
Pain.
Not a spark, not a flash.
A flood.
Sudden. Searing. It devours.
It tears through what little of the self still clung together, an avalanche of sensation too big for the container it smashes into.
It digs deeper. Hungrier. Not satisfied with the surface. It wants in.
A scream breaks free. Raw, animal. It shatters the silence like a stone through glass.
Cold follows. A chill that isn't weather, but meaning. It stabs, not settles. Sharp and spreading.
The voice begs.
It doesn't know who it's pleading to. It just needs it to stop.
The screams rise. Frantic. Desperate. Inhuman.
But the void only twists. Sharpens. Tightens.
No one answers.
And in that silence, the truth lands. Heavy. Undeniable.
It is alone. Utterly, utterly alone.
And with that truth, it stops fighting.
It lets go.
Lets the agony in.
"At least it's over," it thinks, numb, hollow, just before the last piece surrenders.
And then.
Nothing.
The pain is gone. Only fatigue remains. A thick fog blankets its mind. Still, even through that, it can feel something breaking through. Something more.
Everything is still dark, and the familiar emptiness returns.
But this time… it's different.
It feels more. Not something tangible. Just more.
Ughh~~
A groan. Familiar.
Frustration and discomfort, reactions the void gave plenty of chances to use. But even this…
"Huh? Why does this feel so… weird?"
Even the scowl, once imaginary, feels real now. Defined in a way. Taxing even.
It feels weary. Weary in a way it hasn't before.
Change was something it dreamed of endlessly. But now, in the face of it, the alien nature of this shift feels threatening. Maybe even dangerous.
Hell, it could be an existential threat altogether.
And yet ...
"It feels refreshing. Fuck! the consequences be damned! I love this."
The newly gained senses spark something long forgotten.
Joy.
The weariness remains, buried now beneath the wonder. Set aside for this strange reunion with a feeling once thought lost.