[A/N: I realized, when I was writing a different chapter, that I physically cannot move forward with the plot without adding some sort of context towards our favorite blue boy's past, so here's a few flashback scenes. Please be aware that I have no idea what it is like to be in an altered mental state, and I'm purposely being vague so that I'm not giving any spoilers for future chapters.]
[...]
Heat pulsed through his body, and he couldn't feel a thing. Thoughts floated by without an anchor, and images flashed by, but he couldn't catch them, like silvery fish darting down a shallow stream under the bright midday sun. They were too fast and shiny to really see, but they made a dazzling show for a short while.
Fiery cognac eyes and an apron floated by, like a stick in the stream. It was whizzing, objectively, but it was easing its way through the water, relative to the rest of the things running through his head. Water; that would be nice. It'd also be nice to feel something beyond the heat.
The boy wasn't even sure if he had a body anymore. He couldn't sense the ground beneath him or the wind above him. But he was sure they existed. He had no proof, he had no experience either, but they were there. He knew this like he knew he was a boy, and the sky was blue. There was simply no questioning it because it was just the truth. He didn't know how he knew what a body was when the boy couldn't see, or that leaves were green (or even what green was) or how exhilarating leather felt beneath his skin, but he knew. The boy knew this like he knew everything else. There was no evidence, no fact to point it out, but the boy trusted what he knew, and he knew what was right.
There wasn't much else other than the heat. There was no light or sensation beneath the boy's fingertips or the sun kissing his pale lips. It was just hot, hotter than it should be. The boy groaned instinctively, in a way that every human does when in discomfort, but he was absolutely sure it wasn't supposed to slip out. There was no logical reason, but he shouldn't make a noise. He couldn't even breathe too hard, or else something horrible would happen. He didn't know what, but he had the sensation, like icy fingers poking his spine, a tie knotted tightly around his throat, a breathy whisper just beyond his earlobe, and a short punch to the gut.
If he brought too much attention to himself, it would bring about something akin to the end of the world.
The boy might've stayed that way for years or for a few seconds. Was he even breathing? He didn't know. If he was alive, why couldn't he feel anything beyond the oppressive heat? Why was he in this limbo? Was this hell? Had he failed so horribly that he went to hell? But what did he not do? How did he know these things?
No answers were shared.
[...]
Eventually, the heat went away. It was replaced by a coolness that relieved the boy. His state had changed, so something must've happened. But what? The vast nothingness before he didn't answer, though he wasn't expecting it to. He hoped it would; that would be nice.
[...]
Time must've passed, because the boy couldn't accept otherwise. Was he insane if he was wrong? He already knew that something wasn't right with him. He knew things without ever having to experience them before. He knew things that'd never happened, yet they happened every day. He knew they did, so they must've. But he had no reason to believe himself, now did he?
So thus, time must've passed; otherwise, the boy is wrong. So very, very wrong. And if he's wrong about the time, then he's wrong about the beautiful sun-touched boys on concrete, wrong about the loud squeaks on the polished floor, wrong about the way the boy's blood sang when the ball flew through the hoop. And if he's wrong about those things, then they never happened.
If they never happened... was everything a lie? No, no. That couldn't be true! The boy loved the things he knew; he cherished them dearly. If they're wrong... if they never happened... that means the boy had to let go of them. And if he didn't have what he knew, then he had nothing. A boy with nothing is nothing.
And that is the most unacceptable thing of all.
The boy would not be nothing; he simply refused.
[...]
Sometimes, the boy asked the "Nothingness" around him questions. Did the "Nothingness" know the sun? Did they ever see the eloquence of cherry blossoms? Did they ever feel freezing, rushing water between their toes? The "Nothingness" never answered, and the boy kind of expected that.
The "Nothingness" had nothing, knew nothing, and that's why it was nothing. So, of course, it wouldn't answer. Out of shame or the sheer fact that it could not, the boy didn't know. Or even perhaps, the boy did not speak. It wasn't a pleasant thought to think that you make no noise in the infinite "Nothingness." It made you feel small and insignificant. The boy banished the thought as best he could, but it always strayed back, like a lonely little dog looking for a friend.
Sometimes the boy humors that lonely dog, but not for long. The dog scares the boy, and he doesn't like to be afraid. The boy preferred to think of incredible things like leather under his skin, the satisfying swish of white rope, and the laughter of people the boy did not know.
[...]
The boy nearly had a heart attack when he first felt something. You have to understand that the boy was used to the "Nothingness" around him. It wasn't at all fascinating to be eternally surrounded by the "Nothingness," but quite the opposite. Even still, it was familiar. Something the boy clung to like a pathetic child. The boy knew that the "Nothingness" wasn't how the world was supposed to be like, but he didn't have a clue how to fix it, so he just drifted on like a lazy leaf in a seemingly endless stream.
So when the boy felt smooth linen beneath his hand, it went a little something like this:
His heart leaped into his throat. His mouth opened in a soundless scream, and he spasmed in reflex. In his legs, chest, neck, and even his arms, he could feel his heartbeat pound and pound and pound. Louder and louder, it went, feeling as though his heart would eventually make the blood explode from underneath his skin.
Soon enough, though, he calmed down enough to realize, wait... his arms, legs, and chest... he felt that. The boy felt his mouth open in shock, and he felt soft sheets under his hand. Feeling.
That was the time the boy realized that he was no longer surrounded by the "Nothingness." There was now something much more. Proof. Here was physical evidence that the boy was right. He knew things. He had things.
For the first time, the boy was not nothing.
[...]
Huzzah!
The boy is not a nothing, and that's reason enough for him to celebrate. But even still, he's only a something. The boy is positive that he was more than a "something." Before, at least. The boy isn't sure what happened to cause this sudden change, but the boy can fix... well, he doesn't know that for sure. But he knew that he was real, and if the boy believed in himself and what was known, everything would work out just fine; he just had to be patient. It worked out so far, so there's no reason to fix what isn't broken.
[...]
Now, each and every second of his being was suspended in anticipation. The boy waited and waited for the moment he'd feel another thing. The linen was something the boy didn't think he'd ever get accustomed to. After being with the "Nothingness" for so long, it was hard to adjust to something new. It was plenty enough for him, yet not enough at the same time. The linen was heavenly, but the boy knew that feeling alone was not enough to prove he was right. He needed more facts, more information.
He needed sight.
The thing was, the boy waited so long for feeling. He didn't know if he could last for sight. He didn't know if he'd ever even get to see. Nothing is the only eternal thing. If the boy is something, then he cannot be everlasting. There is no compromise, only this or that. So at one point or another, the boy must end. It was another matter entirely if he'd go away with sight.
[...]
The boy did not remember much. At least, he didn't think he did. He knew the sky, the sun, the clouds, and the wind. He could recall the feeling of snow brushing against his face and smooth, polished wood under his hand. The boy knew he had an entire body, with a functioning mouth, nose, eyes, etc., and he knew that, for the most part, other people had the same.
But the boy could not remember the bodies of other people for the life of him. He knew what they were supposed to look like, where the nose was supposed to go, and how eyes were supposed to look, and the like, but he did not remember specific details for specific people. Why?! Why couldn't he remember other people? He- if he ever escaped the "Nothingness," would he have anyone to talk to? Was there anyone waiting for him outside the "Nothingness"? If there was no one out there, what was the point of leaving the "Nothingness"?
No, that's a stupid question. Even if there were no one out there, that didn't mean it was worth it to stay in the "Nothingness." It just meant that the boy would have to keep himself company. People were not the only things outside of the "Nothingness," there were other things, like the grass, the trees, and dogs. All of that should be plenty enough reason for the boy to leave the "Nothingness."
It took a little encouragement sometimes, but the boy kept his goal of leaving the "Nothingness" behind.
[...]
The feeling of linen had grown beyond just the boy's hand. It'd grown to a gentle weight around his midriff, and silky smoothness wrapped around his arm, the plushness under his head. The boy was becoming aware of things beyond the "Nothingness," and it'd be ridiculous to say the boy was anything short of ecstatic.
The boy knew that, as he became more aware of the world around him, he'd soon be able to proudly announce he can use another sense. Whether it was scent, hearing, or otherwise, it was a novel idea. He couldn't wait. The boy wanted to taste the sweetness of strawberry milk. He wanted the ocean salt dancing on his tongue and the fire warming his frozen hands. He wanted to see dazzling amethyst, sparkling emerald, deep cobalt, fiery red, gleaming carmine, and glowing amber. He craved to feel rough calluses brush his own and soft black fur to swish between his legs.
The boy wanted what he knew and what he knew went far beyond the "Nothingness."
[...]
The boy learned to hear something next. The boy was not as surprised this time since he's been waiting for this with his entire being. He was ready for it.
The boy remembered sounds from Before, but he never realized how magical everything feels when you experience it for the first time in a long while.
KKKRRRRRRRKKKK
First, it started with static. The boy swore he shot into the sky with how exultant he became. He could hardly feel the soft linen sheets around him and the soft fluffiness underneath. The noise grew with time, even though it was impossible to know how much passed.
"May all... dreams... tonight... safe upon... moonlight... know... pain or care... I'll fly... sleep... sleep..."
The boy wasn't 100 percent sure, but... wasn't that a song? It'd been so long! The boy couldn't catch the whole verse, but... yes, it was a song! The disembodied Voice wavered beautifully. Music was definitely one of the finest achievements of all mankind. A soft piano tune played sweetly in the back of the boy's mind like a white noise that he nearly missed. How could he have forgotten this?
There was a strong sense of deja vu. The song was painfully familiar, but he couldn't quite finish the lullaby. Yes, it was a lullaby! How did the boy not think of this before? Those countless moments where the boy thought of everything he knew. How did the boy miss such a magical experience as music? He remembered the sun, earth, and sky, but not song?
What else was the boy missing?
[...]
The lullaby circled throughout the boy's mind. What was the name of the lullaby? Why did the boy connect so strongly with it? How did the rest of the song go? The boy wanted answers. He was desperate. More than ever, the "Nothingness" seemed to be an unwelcoming, silent entity holding the boy down. The "Nothingness" was barring the boy from freedom. The lullaby only proved that there was so much more than the boy didn't know, knowledge he didn't have.
Would this unattained knowledge mold him into a someone, rather than a something?
[...]
"But such is the way is the way of the limelight; it sweetly takes hold of the mind of its host."
More and more, the Voice added more lyrics to the boy's collection. He hoarded each new word jealously. He never wanted to forget these things. If he lost even a single piece of knowledge, it would setback his progress. The boy had already lost so much time. Now that he knew there was so much more out there. He had an idea of how to become a someone again.
And the boy was ready for change.
[...]
[A/N: The song referenced was "Lullaby for a Princess" by ponyphonic. I totally recommend it.]
