Chapter 2. As Fristad travels through the space between spaces, another presence makes itself known.
This chapter was written by Asanetargoss, author of The Book of Dreams.
The man had waited several hours, suspended in this dark place he did not understand. At first, he didn't know how to react to his impending death. After a moment, he decided he ought to pay respect to the memories of his family and friends. Once that was over, however, he didn't know what else to think about.
He shook his head. "Here I am," he thought, "just floating in the middle of nowhere, a place so pitch-black that I can't even see my hands in front of me, with nothing to look forward to and nowhere to go. I'm just stuck here, completely idle and useless. All I can do is think. Why is it, then, that I can't make the most of these last few moments of my life? How much time do I have left, anyway?"
"I do not know, Fristad," the female voice inside of his head replied, "this current is very long. You could always try not thinking."
Fristad became frustrated. "I didn't ask for your advice! The last thing I want to do right now is wait complacently for the end. Of course, you would never be able to understand because you're just an inanimate object with no common sense..." his fists clenched, "...or empathy... or sense of purpose."
"So, in short, I have no human weaknesses. On the other hand, here you are, a victim to your own emotions, complaining of a fate you cannot change. Must you be so obnoxious? You are pathetic."
"I hate yo-"
With an eardrum-shattering bang, Fristad found himself jerked backwards and plunged into a kaleidoscope of changing colors, which passed by like the flashing light of landscapes inside the car of a passing train. Fristad turned his head and squinted. Images seemed to hover still in front of his eyes one by one before flying away. He saw, blurred, but still visible, a man wearing goggles and a labcoat; what seemed to be an enderman but was covered in scales, tunneling through rock with a pickaxe; a village burning under a floating, shiny-faced man; an army of dragons; a young boy with dirty blonde hair sitting in front of some rectangular object that had a glowing side on it, tapping different places on some plastic thing lying on the desk he was in front of; a group of teenagers playing Dungeons and Enderdragons, and then Fristad sped up enough that he could only see splotches of colour and light.
"Oh Notch. Oh J- Jeb. Th- this is it! This is it! I'm gonna die!" Fristad blurted out impulsively. His lips were trembling.
"Fear not, Fristad! There is hope for us just yet. I see an end to the current..."
"What do you mean? Where are we going?"
A moment passed in silence before the voice could answer.
"Very, very far from home."
The torrent of colors stabilized into a blueish grey. Fristad felt his feet gently press against slightly spongy ground. He stood upright slowly, his back suddenly burdened by the return of gravity. He looked around and saw himself surrounded by trees, bathed in the faint light of the approaching dawn.
Fristad took a big breath and let out a long, angry scream.