Song
She wakes up with a scream.
She wakes up, and starts walking in silence.
The bird won't flee. She stops wasting energy.
The corridors never seem to end. She wanders aimlessly.
She tries to locate her position. She had forgotten she can't.
She follows her feet anywhere, as long as they lead her on.
She rambles on, to calm herself and the bird. It doesn't work.
She studies the devices that could call for help, before remembering there is no one left to hear.
To be pecked to death after dying twice? Seriously?
Her fate doesn't look brighter than before. At least she is still breathing.
She studies her jailer. This one runs on pure instinct, too.
Although no one jokes about it here, hunger is devouring her insides.
The key to survival could be imitation after all.
She keeps repeating the same actions as always. It cannot hurt.
She starts singing along the bird's next solo.
She starts listening to the environment, drops, acid and rust.
She sings because she is terrified.
She is careful – the smallest of noises could save her life.
She knows why she sings, and hates it, but it's all she can do.
She catches a distant sound, less disrupted, more familiar. She speeds up.
She cannot be heard anyway, right?
It couldn't be that voice… right?
Who cares, at this point. They are hopelessly lost.
Maybe the two of them aren't hopelessly lost.
Singing won't change anything, so she may as well do it.
A voice is a trace. She may as well follow it.
It is so human.
It is so familiar.
In the end, music always kept her sane.
In the end, danger aside, that voice always was her beacon to freedom.
The vibration of her song in the air makes her feel better.
It is definitely a tune, a clever string of notes. Her pace quickens again.
She makes up the words. It does not matter – the pain is evident nonetheless.
She finds no meaning, nor does she need to. She has no words to explain, not even herself.
The highest note cuts through the windows. Even crammed in there, she trembles.
She hears it at the peak of her jump. She makes up her mind.
She doesn't stop singing.
She doesn't stop running.
They are saved.
First of two belated birthday gifts - this is for JenovaII. Happy birthday darling. I never gave my own rendition of PotatOS Lament, and I thought I'd keep it for a special occasion.