"I don't want to be here," the little thing said, its voice a static-filled distortion in the nothingness around it. It turned, blinked its large, broken eyes at another portion of the indiscernible horizon, and called again; "I don't want to be here."

Of course nothing answered. Nothing ever answered. Through the dank and the dark and the emptiness, not even its own voice answered it. It was as if this nothing, this expanse of existence-less darkness, had no end. There was no wall for it's voice to chirp back against. There was no surface for its hands to fumble against, no break in the blindness of the ether that filled its lungs. Like water the nothingness warmed around it, close and choking, and then shattered with blighted cold when it moved a hand, a shoulder, turned it's darkened gaze on direction or another.

Or at least, it thought it could move.

It hoped when it's magic pulled and its body contracted that limbs were answering these instinctual convulsions. It prayed there was a head that actually turned, eyes that actually blinked and looked, a being that still existed, even in the consuming darkness. It had already lost so much. There was an ache in its chest that couldn't be filled. There was an empty in its soul that was almost as consuming as the void that stood about it.

"I don't want to be here," it called, moving with the patient delirium of a creature too shattered to realize it had thought these thoughts before, said these words before, screamed them until it's throat was raw.


Did it even have a throat to scream with? Was the voice that spoke really outloud? Or were they just scattered thoughts, the only thing that was left of something sentient and feeling - something that still pleaded to exist?


It turned in its place and glided forward a distance. It felt the ice of the darkness creep across its form. Felt the warmth as once again it settled. It blinked it's broken eyes, found a point in the distance that its distant mind discerned as being just a little darker than the rest of the darkness. An illusion of depth in a feild of emptiness.

"I don't want to be here," the little thing called, "Let me out."

Across the horizon the code flickered red.