Hi...so before you start up, just read this. And know that I love you.

NegaVerse: Part ? - Questioning

…I don't know who I am anymore.

White. Blanketed, buffeted, inundated by white. From the walls to the floors, the sickly sterile sinks, the small electronic devices beeping by your side. Sunlight is filtered in through a small window. A metal chair in the corner, light wrapped around its legs, occasionally fills with bodies – or body, but always crying. Voices, mumbling, muted voices surround you as you take the white cup in hand, swallow the small pill. The small glances you get into the world outside the four white walls and windowed white door are always later, when the lights are dimmed and the hallways are empty of anything but your own demons.

…/…

"Do you know where you are, Zoe?"

You shake your head. You always shake your head, and the man in the white coat sighs, scribbling something on a small clipboard. He asks more questions, gets similar results, makes similar scribbles. His small silver wrist watch peeks out briefly, sunlight dancing on the dials. You follow the shining circular outline as it bounces from the pale beige walls and the soft blue carpet before being covered up with a flick of the wrist. His eyes narrow as he looks to the digital clock on the far wall, just over the crooked diploma, red numbers flashing.

…/…

"Do you know why you're here, Zoe?"

A small, warbling voice. Watery jade eyes, red rimmed and baggy. Brown hair, dirty and frazzled, sits on small shoulders. Pale ivory skin is illuminated by the sunlight coming through the small window. The grey metal chair contrasts heavily against the red of her dress. The woman in the chair is pretty, beautiful even, and you wish you could be like her one day.

Sometimes a man comes with her. He doesn't say much. He stares a lot, eyes angry or sad or scared. His arm goes around her, or around you, and it feels comforting, protective. Almost perfect, save the shaking and stiffness of the motion, as if he wants to do more but is fighting against it.

…/…

"Do you know who we are?"

He asks that once. He's seated in the chair, elbows propped on his legs, hands crossed, head bowed. The soft grey suit pants are wrinkled at the knee, and his black dress shoes look dull. A red tie hangs loosely around his neck, his white dress shirt uneven and unbuttoned. Shadows of sacrificed sleep dance behind his hazel eyes.

You shake your head. A deep, angry sigh rattles in his throat. His fingers unlatch from their interlaced position, curl into his palm, dig into his skin. His lips press into thin pink line, his eyes narrow, his hands press against the sides of his curly blonde hair. He jumps up, eyes on you, then spins around to face the chair. His fists batter the cold metal once, twice, three times before someone comes running.

It is the beautiful brown haired woman. He stops, his knuckles a faded pink. They lock eyes – hers wide and frightened, his slits of pure inarticulate rage. Tears pool in hers, then in his, and they wordlessly embrace before crumpling into the chair. Muffled sobs and electronic beeps break the silence, and you feel like it is the saddest thing you've ever seen, even if you'll never know who these people are.

…/…

You dream, the first in…you don't know, of a life with the broken couple that once was, or may have been, or never will be again.

So...if I sent you on a feels trip (though I kind of doubt it), let me know. Or if I didn't. Or if you just want to yell at me for being approximately a million years late on this update, and that it's so short.

P.S. I may have a surprise in store.

Hint: it involves pop culture references and failing and falling.