luvs2smooch: This is a little out there. I'm not really satisfied with it, and will probably change it a few times.

I'm floating.

Floating. The simplest, most common and oft-registered stimuli that exists. The first sensation you ever contact. A womb. A child within, unborn, waiting patiently for life, breathing, sleeping, floating. The first sensation.

Bathing as a toddler, splashing about in tubs of thickly-bubbled liquid. Water everywhere. The peak of enjoyment. And then, the relax. The power-down, the energetic child slowly becoming nothing but a silent piece of cargo for the water. Floating.

Floating…I'm floating. Why? I silence my own question. It matters not why, nor how, nor anything at all. Nothing. Nothing matters. Right? That must be right, I tell myself, because nothing exists. You don't see anything, do you? All around, nothing but…well, nothing. The white…it's breathtaking, isn't it? The sheer lack of subject material all around you…

No…I…I can't stand it…how did I get here? Where…where is everything? Where is anything? Christ, where…where…where am I…hhh…hhh…hhh…

i can hear you breathe

Who said that? I...hhh…hhh…I…c-can't…can't breathe...

having trouble

Where are you?…I—I'm going to die here, aren't I? I...I'm already going insane...

who says you aren't already dead

Where the hell are you?!? Who said that?!?...hhh... there's...there's no one here...no one at all...

are your eyes even open

Who...hhh... who are... you?

well, you don't see me, so I must be you

But…I don't even see myself…

of course you don't

What?...Why?

because

WHY?

because there isn't anything

What?...hhh...

you cannot see anything, can you

I...hhh...I see white...

that's because there is nothing to see

But...hhh...where...hhh...where is everything...

there isn't

What do...hh...what do you mean?

there isn't anything

hh...how is...that p...hh...possible?

you sure do ask a lot of questions

Well you...hhh... sure aren't help...hh...helping...

trouble breathing again

Shut up...hh...

just say it

Say...hh...what?

that little 'p' word

That l...hh...little 'p'--you want me to...

just say it

I...h...f-fine...h...p-please help...h...help me...

...w-where...h...where did you...h...hello?...I...h...h...d-damn...I--hhh! Hhh...

There you go. Isn't that better?

M-much better, actually...t-thank you...

Hmm? What's wrong?

I t-thought...I thought...

Thought I had abandoned you?

Yes...and your voice...it's much clearer now.

It should be. You just let me into your mentality one more fraction by allowing me to help.

So you're...invading my--my mind?

Well, it sounds quite brutish when you put it that way, doesn't it?

I don't believe in euphemisms.

I suppose that is a rather smart practice.

Yes, I've found that out myself. But what about you? Who are you?

Think about it for a sec. Getting anything? No? Well, what did I say earlier?

That there isn't...that there isn't anything here?

Exactly. So where am I?

Nowhere?

Good answer, but it's a lot simpler than that; I am nothing.

How is that possible?

Because you are nothing.

What?

You are nothing, and neither am I.

But...I--I exist...I have a name--

You did.

No! I still do...I do...

So what is it?

...Um...

I'm waiting.

...well...

Any time now...

Okay, so I don't remember it. That doesn't mean a thing.

It's nice to think that, isn't it? That you really aren't non-existent, that you have some degree of meaning, that what you were doing had some purpose to it...

What I was doing?

Oh, yes. You used to frolic about, ignorant and arrogant, chasing foolish dreams and killing yourself in the practice.

What?

But now, no. Oh, no. Now, you are nothing.

What are you talking about?

Nothing, nothing at all...

ANSWER ME!

Calm yourself, please.

Well--

Listen, as it is quite simple; you were something. Now you are not. And why?

...Why?

Because it leads to perfection...to perfection...

But--I don't want--

Perfection...perfection...perfect nothingness...

What are you--?

PERFECTION, SAKURA, THAT IS WHERE I"VE BROUGHT YOU...IN OUR PERFECTION WE HAVE BECOME ONE...ONE...

SHUT UP! JUST--

"SHUT UP!" I scream at the ceiling, jerking up violently, angry at a phantom that has fled my mind. I sit up tentatively and look up. Shudder and wipe the sweat, mingled with tears, from my face. The whitish covers draped across my shoulders contrast sharply with the sheer black of the night, and I feel some odd longing to be like them...nothing but a slate wiped clean from the face of humanity...

The dream is still with me, and the feeling, that insidious floating, remains, sending shivers across my spine. That voice...it sounded annoyingly, awkwardly familiar...where did I know it? It has haunted me before, that I know, taunting me, as its identification does now. What did it keep on saying? 'Perfect nothingness'...what did it mean?

I laugh. I know what it means, I know how it applies to me, I just don't know why Mr. Voice repeated it as he did. But then, does it matter? In the grand scale of all the stupid things I've done, does it really matter?

I brush aside the covers and stand up warily. Balancing on my own two aching feet seems nigh impossible. I manage to shuffle over to the window and lean against it, gazing out at what lies below and above me. The stars burn bright in the absolute darkness of late night, serenading the even brighter moon, and all the lights of the village, lamps and lanterns and candles, have been shushed for the nightly resting. The cobblestones look like rounded coal under the sleek sheen of fresh rain. It is all very picturesque, I think, but it does little, if anything, to ease this quell.

Of course, I think, It will leave on its own again. Then I'll finally fall asleep again, wake up, and go on through my day denying this problem, slowly working my way through it, forcing myself to take the hard way, to hurt myself more, because this is the 'right' way to do things. The 'right' way to see everything, the 'right' way to silence the many pangs of torture that follow me so.

And all..all because of him. And because of me, I suppose.

He's gone, it's over and he's gone. No, it never even began, because I never got any guts. He's been gone long, so long, and at this point I'm done with the hope. I don't want it anymore...and all I have now is hatred.

Maybe that's what it means...I turned myself to nothing in the search of perfection, in my search for him, and I did destroy myself, I did. And now, I've left myself empty, devoid of my stupid dreams. And through all the hurt...well--it feels good. I feel like I've gotten somewhere.

But it still hurts...

...Maybe that's what it's supposed to be. The lack is excruciating, and at the same time, the goal I never sought but propelled myself to, willingly only in my deepest levels of subconscious, with each wrong step and each little screw-up.

And that's why I was floating...

Floating in my own denial...

Angsty, isn't it?