I think I mentioned that an earlier post about something I call “mental doodles”. Like writing without a fixed purpose. I haven’t done one in a while but today I just felt like it and wrote this. Opinions and comments? (Click the “Read More…” to see it. If your reading this on LiveJournal, well I’ve read that it’s bad form to use “cuts”).
My hand burned cold after I touched that black fire. The whole portal vibrated with the wisps of this icy pain. It is only though my will that I kept myself rooted, floating, here before it. The fire would occasionally roar, lashing against my form. But it was a roar that called you. Like standing before a great abyss and feeling the brief desire to jump. A call that pushed as much as pulled. But I was ready. I knew that I couldn’t do it if I had something to go back to. My bridges were burned, my soul was free. I had no choice but to listen to that pull. And it tugged on my melted heart, making it beat a little faster. I placed my two hands on the void portal, closed my eyes and jumped into its all consuming embrace.
The first thing I noticed was that the floor was cold, like metal. The second thing was that I was naked. But I was not uncomfortable. When I opened my eyes I saw the ceiling. White. I lay there for a few moments, not moving. I felt rested, un-fatigued. I was not worried or scared. An acceptance had fallen over me. I sat up and looked around me. A white room. No doors. No exits. No windows. No sources of light yet the room was bright but not glaring. I found this odder than the table that sat in the middle of the room and the woman with the severe hair and work-drone suit. She was pretty behind the glasses and the clipboard, I guessed. She looked impatient, so I got up and took the empty seat in front of the table, facing her. She seemed momentarily perplexed.
“Aren’t you going to ask if you’re dead?” Her voice was pleasing but functional.
“Everyone asks that.”
“I’m not dead.”
“How do you know?” She really did seem putting out by my reply. “Hmm…” she scanned down through a list on her clipboard. “I’m afraid we can’t let you stay.”
I felt something dribble through my fingers and I looked at my hands, blood was seeping from my palms but I felt no pain. Blood trickled down my face. “I have nothing to return to.”
“That is most unfortunate. But not our problem.”
“This is my body…”, and I mentally pulled forth the sigil I had designed. I held it in my mind. I focused on it only, searching deep inside my consciousness, looking for the whole to the greater mind.
The blood stopped. “This is problematic,” she said as she adjusted her glasses.