Float

Kilgannon · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **Kilgannon** on Tue Nov 20, 2012 4:45 am

Before you begin reading this, I would just like to credit another thread, The Island, as written by NotAFlyingToy. The following is a pretty indirect epilogue.

Falling, for what seemed like an eternity.

But what was I falling from? What was I following through? Was it through the dark recesses of my mind, or was it through the air after having thrown myself off of that cliff. Perhaps it's none of these things, perhaps it's just the white void that I see all around me. Nothing else, there's just me, falling, and white.

It's hard to keep the time in a place where it doesn't exist. I can't tell you how long I spent falling, nor can I tell you how long I wandered the white void after 'landing'. That's not quite the right word, I didn't necessarily land on anything, I just stopped falling. I don't feel any solid substance under me as I walk, I'm not even sure if the action is required for me to move about as I do.

Seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years. I can't tell you how long it's been. I don't think I want to know, myself. But recently, at least, I think it was recently, I've been hearing things. Your voice, and then others. I can't make out what is being said, but I know it's you, and I sense urgency. It's something beckoning, something comforting. At other times, I can hear sounds of machinery, and I'm not sure what to make of it. What is producing these sounds in this hell of a void. And is that where I am? Hell? Is this my eternal damnation for all that I've done?

Sometimes I even hear you crying, and I worry. Are you crying over me? Is this my afterlife, and am I forever damned to hear you, but not respond? This kills me more than any death ever would. It eats away at me, gnaws away at my insides. I believe I am going crazy in this white void. But I don't know how to escape the void or my insanity.

I've giving up on walking now, and I've been floating around this void for who knows how long. I don't know why I gave up walking, because from what I remember, there is no feeling of exhaustion in this place. But my memory is failing me, when I got here has begun to slip my mind. I've forgotten who you are, too. I just feel as if I know your voice, and so I address you. I think I know by now that you cannot hear me as I hear you, though.

All I am accompanied by in this void now are noises. All sorts. There's you, there's others, there's machinery, movement, clambering. It's growing more hectic, and the beckoning just grows more urgent. I feel myself slipping, and I don't think it is a good thing. I believe my time in this void is over, and I fear where I'll go next.

It's been a while, and all has been silent for I don't know how long. The white of the void has grown more vibrant, the light it produces now seems to devour me. It is devouring me. It closes in, blinding me as I try to raise an arm to block out it's light. But that doesn't work, my arm has become the light, and I am swiftly devoured. I begin to think that I am the void now, but then...

I wake up.

StandardFiend · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **StandardFiend** on Wed Jan 02, 2013 2:52 pm

Sorry it took so long to get around to this, but I was really busy with classwork up until not long ago, and I've been working around to the things I'd been meaning to do. It's too bad nobody got in here before me, because this is really quite good and deserving of attention.

The first thing I will get out of the way is my only criticism, which may not even be one. The tone of this piece doesn't really match its predecessor, nor its theme of self-focus as opposed to The Island's focus on the external, the other. However, you may not have been trying to emulate that aspect of it, in which case this doesn't matter.

On to the things I like about it. You write in a very poetic prose; your diction is relatively simple (don't take that to mean naive) but meaningful, and it does your work credit. You don't bog your images down with fancy words, as I tend to do. There's something very raw about it, and in the end this piece is more grounded than The Island, which tends toward an aerial nature. There's much more, here, to grab on to as a reader.

That's really all I can say. You have a solid grasp of language and a willingness to use it for the betterment of our literary universe. If you haven't yet, I would suggest you try your hand at poetry, see where that takes you.

Also I have to commend you for giving credit where it is due, something I cannot say for The Island...

Kilgannon · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **Kilgannon** on Wed Jan 02, 2013 4:08 pm

Yay. c:

And yeah, the only relation Mass and I really agreed on here was that it was the same character in an even more confused/disturbed mind-set. Don't worry about how long it took you, I was only joking with the recent comment because I hadn't even seen you say that you'd do it until then.

Funnily enough, I write my own lyrics, which I suppose would look like poetry when scribed (due to them being hip-hop lyrics). and I've been known to freestyle at New Years parties when pretty fucked up. So, I apply the same sort of flow. Thanks for the comment, man, I'll definitely have to get back at you when Mass and I start our book. c:

Muppet · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **Muppet** on Fri Mar 15, 2013 11:56 am

I'm quite lost, honestly. I could not find the rhythm of your words, but I didn't find any fault in it. You use words to paint a world that even the reader feels lost and confused in, as all good writers are capable of doing, immersing them in your written word. I felt the panic, I felt the sorrow and anguish of even those beyond the curtains of this mans mind. It was well written, obviously. You should be proud.

Savader · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **Savader** on Sun Mar 17, 2013 5:05 pm

Possible spoiler below...?

I liked this. And the way I took the mystery as to what was happening, is that his person, whoever he is, was in a coma. The voice he was hearing was his lover, speaking to him as many friends and families of coma patients often do, and the very end was him slowly coming out of said coma. Due to how he appeared to be losing his will to continue on, could signify that he was getting close to passing on/the point of no return from the coma, however, he managed to pull through at the last moment, waking up to the lights of the hospital room which engulfed him, his physical eyes not used to light.

Whatever the true meaning behind it, it was rather nice. Thanks for sharing~

StandardFiend · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **StandardFiend** on Sun Mar 17, 2013 5:14 pm

The story on which this piece was based was, itself, heavily based on (in fact, I would venture, almost directly copied from) a story called Dear Esther. It was never confirmed, but there was heavy speculation that what you just described, Savader, was indeed what was happening in Dear Esther. Kudos for picking up on that.

Kilgannon · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **Kilgannon** on Fri Mar 22, 2013 9:56 pm

Actually, I've never played Dear Esther or even know what it's about. Aheh, I just read Mass' story, then decided I'd do a follow up using a different point of view. ^-^

StandardFiend · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **StandardFiend** on Sat Mar 23, 2013 12:11 am

You really should, it's a fantastic game(ish thing).

Float

a topic in The Writer's Lounge, a part of the RPG forum.

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