The easy blend of greens, blues, and yellows that surround him shift into a nonsensical kaleidoscope of colors. Harsh and churning. Overwhelming.
Blank: that's all he can see.
( ) doesn’t mean to be frightening, not unnecessarily. Yet even when ( )’s insistence grows near unbearable, causing the world to stutter all the more, the man does not stir.
Blank: that's all he can see. Solid black.
Desperation overrides ( )’s confusion.
As if struck on the head, a small yelp escapes the man on the ground below.
He shakily rises from the barren floor, eyes wide. Long stretches of darkness extend past his view, seemingly endless. His person, shrouded in grayscale, is the only remarkable thing either of them can see. And the air is thick like molasses, almost suffocating in its urgent nature. But he’s fine. He always is. If ( ) makes him feel a little dazed or frazzled, the man does not say.
“Oh. Hello there!” His left hand waves at no one. “Sorry about the delay. You know how confusing this is for me. Just waking up to all of this. Or none of this … heh.” He chuckles a little, black eyes crinkling to expose deep wrinkles on his face. When did that happen?
“Where I was?” He chuckles again, this time in both mirth and mischief. “Where were you?”
“Hehe. I suppose that’s true! Pardon me.” At this point, the man decides to lay down once more with his hands behind his head, facing the disembodied voice above.
“Yes, that’s definitely true …”
( ) imagines it wasn't very easy at first. It couldn’t have been: the intense loneliness, the lack of ambient noise. All the Nothing. It must have been quite the contrast from his everyday life as a…
Really, it is Nothing. Nothing to remind him of who he is, the trials and tribulations that reality entails. And yet for reasons beyond himself, he enjoys it all the more for it, drinking it all in. Unmoved.
“Where I was? I was...um...huh.” His brow furrows in confusion and a hint of frustration. “I’m sorry but I can’t seem to--I don’t know why--”
“I know, I know. This doesn’t make any sense! Although,” his eyes light up in whimsy, “that applies to most everything else I’d say.” He gives the inky ‘sky’ a knowing grin.
( ) is not in the mood.
“I suppose. Sorry, I really am.” His expression shifts into something quite sheepish. “I just--I really don’t remember anything. And if that’s the case--”
“Oh you’re sorry too? About startling me? Aww, that’s quite alright my friend,” he softly assures, offering a warm smile of reconciliation.
"Ok, so. I just woke up here, from who knows where. I can work with that."
"Well of course! What is it that every person does every day?”
"Right. So I ought to have started gathering the things I would need for this job. Because that's--that’s what people do. And I leave with whatever from wherever I stayed the day before."
"And after all that?"
A moment of pure silence. ( ) watches as the man’s expression grows solemn, pensive.
"I'm sorry,” the quiet man begins, rising to his feet. “I don’t really know what I’m saying. At all.”
“I feel like these are the things I’m supposed to say. Supposed to do. But they don’t mean anything to me.” He’s pacing now, anxiously, his steps a resounding Nothing.
“What is it that ‘people do’? I don’t …” he trails off.
( ) doesn’t know what to say.
When the man speaks again, his voice takes on a more wistful tone.
“I think I miss--I miss seeing …
“… Could it have been that long?” he whispers.
A kind of twisting feeling begins to manifest deep inside of him, making him feel dizzy and tired all the more. He's losing something, the man knows it. Something important--many things, all important things. But it's such a frightful thing having to recall--having to appreciate--what these Somethings may be. The very thought of doing so, for better or worse, makes him wince inwardly.
"I think I should go and rest for a bit. My thinking isn’t clear enough."
“I know but--”
The 'sky' opens up like a curtain, unveiling a nonsensical kaleidoscope of colors. Harsh and churning. Overwhelming. It's too much. But ‘too much’ is better than Nothing at all.