Stuttering temperatures rip away unconsciousness. A loud screech from afar.
Dust, sand- but only the kind you find in the mind.
Billowing puddles of fume and fear.
She groans.
Weak shakes of the head.
The scuttling itch of dry bark scatters across her back through layers of torn cloth.
Something close smells like burned plastic.
A familiar female voice creeps into her hollow head.
“Hey.”
She opens her eyes or at least thinks she does. All that is to be seen is a blur unleashing a vicious assault of color. Between shards of vision that burns her eyes, she can make out the forest; it cannot be the one she knew. This forest is bold and bright and vibrant with unnatural hues that strobe and flicker. Streams of unknowable material scatter across the air and the noise is brutal.
The girl seals her eyes and allows a wave of pain to engulf her senses.
“This is what happens when you don’t finish things,” whispers the soft voice.
“But that doesn’t make sense,” we think. “If you don’t finish something, how can it come to exist?”
“If you start something, how can it not?”
The voice is too familiar, and the girl opens her eyes to see who this fool could be.
Before her mind registers anything, a sharp clap snaps the walls of her throat.
The resulting failed screams are horrendous.
“Keep your eyes closed,” says the voice. “And follow me!”
As she wonders how to do both at the same time, a soft hand grabs hers in response.
For the briefest of moments, violent silence clutches reality with the heft of a heart attack.
In this quiet she feels a familiarly faint place- a soft dark spot hidden within the walls of being itself, slivers of it sticking penetrating the warmth of awareness as they signal passage to something beyond.
She tries again to open her eyes, but worthless wants and nagging needs flood her mind instantly. An inch or two from the right side of her heart there is a brief tug. A slipping muscle? Or perhaps the faint nag of miscommunication.
Soon the pain overwhelms her awareness.
The world dissolves.