AN: Apparently this site won't allow me to format the title with the fucked-up spacing it originally had. Pardon me for trying to be "creative."
Anyway, I'm back with more angst. Sorry, but this is a bit of a vent piece.
TW for depression/suicide.
Ephemerality
The world was right there waiting for him when he woke up, in precisely the same condition that he'd left it in.
It really didn't matter if he was around or not, did it?
Somehow, he managed to drown it out.
Everything he'd been shown or taught flickered before him and faded into the pastel bouquet in his arms. One by one, all of those horribly fragile things that he'd once prided himself on shimmered and vanished, shimmered and vanished.
It had gone on this way for so long that he was surprised when the final product was revealed to him on that day.
There was his life, his world, everything to him—condensed into color. Cerulean, lavender, crimson, eggshell, roses upon roses blooming in the verdant world where he and all that remained in his hand shined a brilliant smaragdine, cyan, lemon-cream no, he didn't want that level of recognition he'd take an ending in which he fell from space and disappeared into the twinkling azure saying "I'm home" he never had been he had no home but still he felt like he should say it
When everything in sight was colorful and bursting with life. He couldn't exist like that anymore. Not for... how many years? Oh, what's the point in counting.
There would be rain. He could smell rain. But the light that streamed in through the tightly closed window said no, I don't think so. Another day. Would there be another day?
At any other time, he would have said no, absolutely not.
Today, he knew for sure that he wasn't sure.
With that having been settled in vibrant dirt, he turned his attention inward.
Yes, there would be rain.
That was all.
He let his discoveries drift away, to be stumbled upon on another day. It would come, he knew. He was certain. Too many had come before, none the same but all part of the big color spectrum that he now saw, translucent, in front of him. Look, there. There were his memories. As much as he tried, he couldn't shake them off. And there. There was that thing he'd never say or write or think or feel, that which he could not admit to himself if he valued his life.
He did not.
His lips didn't move.
With the lights above his head, he watched. He could see it, them, him, her, this, that, all of it. It was there. I'm still here Shadow reach out reach out why don't you
shut up
he hissed to himself and rolled onto his side
not today damn it not today
hey Shadow long time no see
behind him, there was nothing no presence no history no
Shadow help me please I don't know what's happening
no no don't do this to me
you know there is one thing lemme let ya in on a little secret
and the colorful colorful pastel spread fell into disarray once he opened his eyes and saw what had always been there
= 0.
Oh, I see.
His fingers loosely grasping, tying, tightening. He rose as if from the dead. Where to now?
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