Art provided by the incredibly skilled AmbitiousLeather8309.
“.̷̋͒.̴̆͝.̴̾̅B̵͊̈́Ë̶̂B̵͂̋B̷̀EH SPWOWE…”
You awoke some time ago , or more accurately, you ceased to be as you were. You attempted to move your head, you had none. You attempted to blink your eyelids, but you lacked them. Physically speaking, you are now nothing, you are a singularity of thought, an ephemeral structure of mortal consciousness that once existed far beyond this shallow and bleak hologram.
In front of you, or to be more precise, at the center of your conscious voyeurism floats a singular creature. You know this creature, what it is called, and his name, as along with his collective species are referred to as ‘fluffies’. This one, however, is not present in plurality, but a singular unit, a lone foal beside you in the abyssal expanse. You stare at it, it floats aimlessly in the void of which you also occupy.
You go to speak, to introduce yourself, only to find that you have no voice with which to carry you thoughts, and are reminded that you bear no body with which to gesture.
You remember your body, you remember it well, your name was Mason, you were a tall and well built man, your skin was a pale bronze and your eyes were grey. You remember that your short black beard was greying too, you weren’t much of a spring chicken anymore, not with those tiny flecks of silver upon your chin or crows feet in the corners of your eyes. You remembered how your wife would tease you. “you’re lucky I love a good silver fox” she’d giggle.
You hold into these precious thoughts, they are all you have, they are all y-
“.̷̋͒.̴̆͝.̴̾̅B̵͊̈́Ë̶̂B̵͂̋B̷̀EH SPWOWE…”
There it is again, that squeak, that echoing declaration. You return to reality, or more appropriately, un-reality, and look upon the indigo foal. You remember these things too, these products. Monika, your daughter, she had one, Candybell was her name; you even missed her pet too. But, tragedy was not yours to have, not now, not today, as you had a friend, and for that you were grateful.
“.̷̋͒.̴̆͝.̴̾̅B̵͊̈́Ë̶̂B̵͂̋B̷̀EH SPWOWE…” he repeated again, his voice was small but reassuring, the infinite was laid out before him and he was either too incompetent or possibly too flabbergasted to grasp it; nevertheless, this indigo foal danced through the abyss, slowly but surely rotating such as if he were falling through entropy itself with confident abandon, flailing at a hundredth the speed necessary to denote fear or panic. In truth, the little motions of his stub-like legs were a reminder of his organic nature, and possibly, an unconscious effort upon his part to correct and orientate himself back to rightness in a realm devoid of both right and wrong, up or down.
You trailed behind him. You wanted so desperately to reach out, to touch him, to make him aware of you, but you were formless as he was aimless; in such a sense, you were made for one another.
“.̷̋͒.̴̆͝.̴̾̅B̵͊̈́Ë̶̂B̵͂̋B̷̀EH SPWOWE…” he giggled, looking out into the blackness. Only now had you become aware that despite the realm of which you have found yourself lacking in any light, the foal was perfectly lit, as if he were here for you, so that you may witness him, so that he may even exist at all, so that you may even exist at all.
You thought about if you’d ever see home again, how you had come to be here. It wasn’t awful though, as at the very least, you lacked a physical form, and so were no longer burdened by hunger, tiredness, or crippling lower back pain from working the dockyard from four in the morning till seven at night. You did miss the taste of food though. Exploration through entropy would have been much easier to handle if you had a Snickers bar and cold beer, but staring at the indigo foal would do.
You watched the creature as he eventually rotated to face you, his expression was one of shock and sincere joy, but not for you, as you were but a fly upon the wall of his journey. No, he truly appeared to feel liberated in the grand cosmic. his eyes glimmered with optimism, his verbal affirmations never losing their enraptured tone or cadance. “.̷̋͒.̴̆͝.̴̾̅B̵͊̈́Ë̶̂B̵͂̋B̷̀EH SPWOWE…” he said… ‘bebbeh spwowe’, indeed.
He needed a name, you were sure of it. Yes, some tag or identifier with which to cut his gleeful wheat from the omni-nihilistic chaff about you both. Well, he was clearly what they refer to a ‘splorin’ bebbeh’, quite the little adventurer, in fact. His coat also denoted an appropriate name. Yes, Indy: short for Indigo, and named after the icon of your favourite childhood movie. In truth, you knew it was neither a creative name, nor was it a particularly impressive use of your cognitive abilities, but Susan was always the one who was good with names; hell, you let her name your kids by herself, you knew what you were good at, and it wasn’t naming.
Regardless of what skill sets you may or may not have, Indy was here to stay, and you were grateful for th-
“.̷̋͒.̴̆͝.̴̾̅B̵͊̈́Ë̶̂B̵͂̋B̷̀EH SPWOWE…”
There he goes again, there, he, goes, again. He fascinated you. When you first got here you screamed for days, meanwhile, this foal faced the same blackness, the same void, and he did not flinch. Was he made of sterner stuff than you? You simply had to know.
You tried for the next few days, or, at least you assumed it to be that long, trying to speak to him. You manifested your thoughts into a concentrated shout, you focused them, and he did not react. You had no distractions, you had no means to fumble the process, so why in God’s name could he not hear you?
You would grow bored of watching him, choosing instead to fade into your personal delusions and go back into your memories, although, as time has passed you by and run over you like a river, it had ground down your edges into smoothness and your memories were becoming less crisp upon each recollection.
Susan, your wife, her favourite shoes were Navy converses, she’d always wear them wi-
“.̷̋͒.̴̆͝.̴̾̅B̵͊̈́Ë̶̂B̵͂̋B̷̀EH SPWOWE…”
She would always wear them with her grey sundress. Only someone as vibrant as Susan could make a grey sundress look charming. It always contrasted with her bright red h-
“.̷̋͒.̴̆͝.̴̾̅B̵͊̈́Ë̶̂B̵͂̋B̷̀EH SPWOWE…”
“SHUT UP!” you thought suddenly, and immediately upon projecting that thought outwards, you felt an intense and overbearing river of guilt wash over you. You didn’t mean to snap at your only friend and comrade in this space beyond spaces, it just sort of happened. He seemed utterly unshaken, most likely unable to hear your thoughts, but regardless of that, you felt wrong for doing it, you felt unclean.
“.̷̋͒.̴̆͝.̴̾̅B̵͊̈́Ë̶̂B̵͂̋B̷̀EH SPWOWE…” he smiled warmly before letting out a tiny burp. This noise made you chuckle, that little gas bubble broke the severe monotony of your situation. Granted, a burp is not exactly a different word, or anything half as grand a gesture, but you’d take it for all it was worth. Maybe, it was proof that he was more than just a broken record, at the very least.
“.̷̋͒.̴̆͝.̴̾̅B̵͊̈́Ë̶̂B̵͂̋B̷̀EH SPWOWE…”
…
“.̷̋͒.̴̆͝.̴̾̅B̵͊̈́Ë̶̂B̵͂̋B̷̀EH SPWOWE…”
…
“.̷̋͒.̴̆͝.̴̾̅B̵͊̈́Ë̶̂B̵͂̋B̷̀EH SPWOWE…”
…
“.̷̋͒.̴̆͝.̴̾̅B̵͊̈́Ë̶̂B̵͂̋B̷̀EH SPWOWE…”
…
“.̷̋͒.̴̆͝.̴̾̅B̵͊̈́Ë̶̂B̵͂̋B̷̀EH SPWOWE…”
You weren’t sure how long you had slept for. Well, not ‘slept’ per’sé, but most definitely were not here, wherever the fuck ‘here’ even is.
God, you missed Monika, your sweet wife. Wait, no, that’s not right, Susan was your wife. Yes, but then who was Monika again? Fuck, it’s getting all hazy now. You were never a bright fellow, you could at least own up to that, but that doesn’t mean that you should go a-
“.̷̋͒.̴̆͝.̴̾̅B̵͊̈́Ë̶̂B̵͂̋B̷̀EH SPWOWE…”
“Fucking Christ, just stop. Just, stop” you sighed to yourself. This little guy means well, you’re sure, but he’s grating. Sometimes you feel like he’s absorbing your positivity. He seems to have a limitless supply of optimism, meanwhile, you seem to be losing yourself by the moment. You don’t hate him, you just need a moment to think, a moment to dig through the clutter in your mind to dig out those precious gems that are keeping you together.
“.̷̋͒.̴̆͝.̴̾̅B̵͊̈́Ë̶̂B̵͂̋B̷̀EH SPWOWE…”
There he goes, splorin’, regardless of everything, you wish you could be that blindly hopeful, but it’s getting rough. You need to get back home, to Edinburgh, to Susan and her red sundr-
“.̷̋͒.̴̆͝.̴̾̅B̵͊̈́Ë̶̂B̵͂̋B̷̀EH SPWOWE…”
If you still had eyelids, then at least one of them would be twitching. He’s, well, not as cute as he used to be, you spend far too much of your time staring at his asshole. Actually, now that you think about it, you haven’t seen him excrete anything since you got here, not a single turd, not a dribble of piss, not a spot of spittle. Was Indy really organic? Fuck, is he even real, is he just a projection? God, he’s tireso-
“.̷̋͒.̴̆͝.̴̾̅B̵͊̈́Ë̶̂B̵͂̋B̷̀EH SPWOWE…”
“SHUT IT!” you scream into your own mind, you envision yourself striking him with your open palm, you feel, but if only for a fraction of a micro instant, your arm, reaching out, before dissipating with the fires of your raw emotion.
“.̷̋͒.̴̆͝.̴̾̅B̵͊̈́Ë̶̂B̵͂̋B̷̀EH SPWOWE…” he obliviously chirps as you are forced to witness his gross little nutsack dangle mere inches from where your eyes ought to be. Thank fuck you didn’t have nostrils to smell them with.
You were tired, you’d retreat for a whi-
“.̷̋͒.̴̆͝.̴̾̅B̵͊̈́Ë̶̂B̵͂̋B̷̀EH SPWOWE…”
Or, at least you would try to. There was no rhyme or reason to when he would verbalize his exploration and drag you, kicking and screaming, from your daydreaming. You had already tried counting to see if there was some code or rhythm, but in truth, he would say it whenever the fuck he damn well pleased. You didn’t hate him, you just wished that he would be quiet for a day or two; and, in truth, you don’t really remember how long a day even is. Was it twenty four? No, that doesn’t sound right, th-
“.̷̋͒.̴̆͝.̴̾̅B̵͊̈́Ë̶̂B̵͂̋B̷̀EH SPWOWE…”
“I SWEAR I WILL FIST YOU TO DEATH!” you scream into the indigo foal, and once again he has the balls to not react. You know that he can see you, he knows exactly what you are saying, and what you want to do to him. He is mocking you, he is not your ally in this eternal hell, he’s the devil, he has to be, why else would he be your guide through entropy?
“.̷̋͒.̴̆͝.̴̾̅B̵͊̈́Ë̶̂B̵͂̋B̷̀EH SPWOWE…” he mocks again, your torturer, your cosmic jailer. You can’t even remember anything anymore. You had a wife, you had kid, no, two? Yes, definitely two. Your wife loved red trainers, absolutely, you… hope.
“.̷̋͒.̴̆͝.̴̾̅B̵͊̈́Ë̶̂B̵͂̋B̷̀EH SPWOWE…” he says again. You feel yourself boiling over, you are tired of this foal, no, you are angry, furious even. Indy was vexing you, and maybe, just maybe, if he wasn’t tormenting you outright, then all of this torment is just a result of being in his proximity. You aren’t exactly sure which option is worse.
“.̷̋͒.̴̆͝.̴̾̅B̵͊̈́Ë̶̂B̵͂̋B̷̀EH SPWOWE…” he peeped gleefully. You needed to touch him, to terrify him, to squeeze him and crush his bones under the weight of your fingers until he verbalizes anything other than his desire to travel the Infinite black ocean. You focus your rage like a scalpel, your human ambition, your most aggressive determination, you sharpen it to a fine needle’s point at the center of your mind’s eye and feel it again, the tingle of what ought to be your hand. The sensation stays and you crystallize it, it hardens, forged by black fires, negative passions, spite. You take the facsimile of your palm, you tighten it to a cudgel and cock it as you build a strike of unmitigated mass, fuelled with the love of every face that you will never see again and can no longer conjure, by every memory he has robbed from you, with every vexation that he has sapped from your body like syrup from a maple. You load it all back as he turns to face you in his regular orbital rotation. You stare into that stupid face, those wide and glimmering eyes, and that toothless, dopey little grin. You bite your lip, you taste blood, you feel more alive now than you have ever felt before and you let it all go.
Your knuckle collides with his cheek and there is suddenly naught but white, nothing but blinding brilliance. You experience everything, you see it all, you see the gas clouds, you see the stars that they birth, you float through a void that now teams with twinkling declarations of existence, tiny middle fingers to the eternal nothingness. You witness atoms become dust, and the dust becomes worlds. You see the birth of your home, and then you remember, you remember that Susan fucking hated those blue converses.
-The End-
