Saving Space
Feb. 24th, 2017 08:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hermialysanderGasping and clawing at their body, fingers digging into the skin of their arms and scratching at their neck, the copy gurgled a scream, their entire body wracked with spasms. Slowly, the sensation of needles piercing their skin subsided. The vision of shadows and mumbling voices distant, a hazily remembered nightmare.
The copy lifted itself into a crouched position, upper body resting on its forearms, head limp. Breathing deep, heart a frantic staccato drum in its chest. It opened its eyes, a wariness to its blinking gaze. Sight blurry and unfocused, it concentrated on a path of bluish tunnels, running the course of its hand and snaking up its wrist, the bloody ropes weaving back and forth beneath its dermis. Distorting into dozens of spidery legs.
Slumping forward, the copy wretched as it struggled with an overwhelming sense of vertigo. A puddle of clear fluid slowly spread out, inching toward the seam in the floor. Wiping its mouth with the back of its hand, it watched as the clear liquid seeped and caulked in the floor's crack, drying to a viscous sheen.
For the first time, it noticed a plate about the size of a saucer with oblong pills. Varying shades of green floating in sharp contrast to the clinical whiteness of everything else. It looked around. Am I alone? Hello? Did I say that aloud? Help. Please!
Pushing the plate away, it watched as the pills scattered. Rolling this way and that. Squinting its eyes, it concentrated on distinguishing from one corner of the room from another. It seemed to lesson the feeling of floating. With cautious rigidity, it attempted to stand. Back straight, muscles tense, it struggled to maintain balance. Teetering, it took a shuffling step forward then another. The copy managed a few steps more, before dropping to its knees, afraid to struggle further within its prison of unknown depth and proportion.
Grasping its head, it made swirling motions as if it expected to find hair instead of bare skin. Massaging its scalp, it trailed fingers down its face, and lower to its arms. Wrapping itself in a hug, it trembled.
Must focus! Did my lips move? Lost. Tangled. Emotions disjointed. Am I me? Is this a place or a state of being? Answer me! Anyone?
Frustrated, the copy stared at its hands. Long, pale fingers. Soft to the touch. No fingernails? Wait? What were fingernails? Again it reached up to its head, as if to push hair from its face. Finding nothing to push back, it clenched its hands into fists and slammed them down onto the floor.
Pain, sharp and jarring ricocheted up its arms. Shocked, it leaned close to the floor. Eye level with the elongated fissure. A crack going nowhere. A simple seam on an otherwise smooth surface. Tracing the outline of the seam with its fingertip, the copy closed its eyes and concentrated on the textural differences between the smooth surface of the floor and the shallow indention of the crack. Back and forth, seam to floor. Over and over.
Static broke the silence. An echo of electronic back talk. What was that? The copy stopped its hand from reaching for hair that wasn't there. Black strands, thick and chin length blotted out the room. Fluttering its eyes till the room became clear once more, the copy stood. Turning its head from side, it waited for the sound to repeat.
The copy lifted itself into a crouched position, upper body resting on its forearms, head limp. Breathing deep, heart a frantic staccato drum in its chest. It opened its eyes, a wariness to its blinking gaze. Sight blurry and unfocused, it concentrated on a path of bluish tunnels, running the course of its hand and snaking up its wrist, the bloody ropes weaving back and forth beneath its dermis. Distorting into dozens of spidery legs.
Slumping forward, the copy wretched as it struggled with an overwhelming sense of vertigo. A puddle of clear fluid slowly spread out, inching toward the seam in the floor. Wiping its mouth with the back of its hand, it watched as the clear liquid seeped and caulked in the floor's crack, drying to a viscous sheen.
For the first time, it noticed a plate about the size of a saucer with oblong pills. Varying shades of green floating in sharp contrast to the clinical whiteness of everything else. It looked around. Am I alone? Hello? Did I say that aloud? Help. Please!
Pushing the plate away, it watched as the pills scattered. Rolling this way and that. Squinting its eyes, it concentrated on distinguishing from one corner of the room from another. It seemed to lesson the feeling of floating. With cautious rigidity, it attempted to stand. Back straight, muscles tense, it struggled to maintain balance. Teetering, it took a shuffling step forward then another. The copy managed a few steps more, before dropping to its knees, afraid to struggle further within its prison of unknown depth and proportion.
Grasping its head, it made swirling motions as if it expected to find hair instead of bare skin. Massaging its scalp, it trailed fingers down its face, and lower to its arms. Wrapping itself in a hug, it trembled.
Must focus! Did my lips move? Lost. Tangled. Emotions disjointed. Am I me? Is this a place or a state of being? Answer me! Anyone?
Frustrated, the copy stared at its hands. Long, pale fingers. Soft to the touch. No fingernails? Wait? What were fingernails? Again it reached up to its head, as if to push hair from its face. Finding nothing to push back, it clenched its hands into fists and slammed them down onto the floor.
Pain, sharp and jarring ricocheted up its arms. Shocked, it leaned close to the floor. Eye level with the elongated fissure. A crack going nowhere. A simple seam on an otherwise smooth surface. Tracing the outline of the seam with its fingertip, the copy closed its eyes and concentrated on the textural differences between the smooth surface of the floor and the shallow indention of the crack. Back and forth, seam to floor. Over and over.
Static broke the silence. An echo of electronic back talk. What was that? The copy stopped its hand from reaching for hair that wasn't there. Black strands, thick and chin length blotted out the room. Fluttering its eyes till the room became clear once more, the copy stood. Turning its head from side, it waited for the sound to repeat.
