Turn.
Ok, that still works. Time for something a little more adventurous. More than…the grand adventure I was already one. Captain Hook is one of my favourite people of all time, but death wasn’t the adventure he had imagined it was.
Move. Cool, that works too.
Move left. Ok, so apparently in the nothing world, left is right.
Move right. …and left is right.
Move left. Now left is forward.
Stupid curved space.
The request for lint still stands.
I mean…who would want to die if this is all that awaits? No one would commit suicide anymore.
Of course they would. People are messed up.
Require: lint.
Yeah…knew that wouldn’t work.
Dear Santa of the afterlife, all I want for Nothingmas is some lint. Love and cookies, Stef.
Still bored here…
Hey Ryan, is this your fault?
I mean…if you brought me back to life as a baby, does that mean I can’t pass on now? That I’ll be stuck like this forever?
Forever? Really don’t want that.
Brain telegram to Ryan:…um.
Scratch that.
Second draft of a non-existent brain telegram to Ryan: Thanks for trapping me in hell. As a baby I didn’t know any better, why not just let me die?
Scratch that.
Third draft of imaginary thingy: Thank you. I’m not wordy and sappy. You know what you did, thank you.
PS: Can you bury me with Alexandria please?
I’m a genius, and as such, I’m incredibly stupid sometimes. I only just now thought of opening my phantom mouth and talking. I tried to speak, and I could feel my mouth working, I could feel the air moving in and out of my lungs…which kind of brought up another interesting question: Why the hell is there air here?!
Could be fake air, like your fake phantom limbs and the fake thoughts we’re having.
Scream, scream, scream…I can feel the pain building up in my throat.
You can feel pain. Interesting. Very interesting. Why would a dead person feel pain?
Pain in the afterlife, that kind of sucks.
I hope the years are flying by, I want to reincarnate into my chaos butterfly-self sometime soon.
I’m bored. And I think I’m hungry.
I should be having big important, profound thoughts. I should be looking out onto the edge of the nothing and imagining what lies beyond it…preparing myself for what inevitably – gods, please let it be inevitably – is to come.
Shouldn’t all of that caffeine earned you a few extra lives?
I can hear.
Like really hear, not the voices I was hearing before. They were in my head, or I was in theirs, whatever. I wasn’t using my ears to hear those.
I can hear my own voice. Because it’s me, the first thing I heard was binary.
If I was a superhero, my name would be Binary Girl. I’d lasso peoples with zeroes and whack them over the head with ones. Hey maybe I’ll do that when I…
When, genius?
Right. Can’t do anything anymore. Won’t ever do anything again. Won’t get a chance to hit people with digits. Won’t get a chance to…
I remember how to hear on the same day I remember how to cry.
Great. Just great, Spyder, you’re so messed up.
It’s getting dark. I don’t get that. Why would the afterlife get dark?
Oh…maybe it’s that time.
There’s shadows behind the walls…I’m just kinda expecting everything to break down and fall away, me included. I’ll fall free of this disassociation, get reconnected with my phantom body in time to fall into the darkness and the whatever comes next.
Ok, I’m ready to go.
Fire when ready.
It’s been fun.
You came, you saw, you hacked?
Come on shadows, come and get me. I’m ready to go.
I think.