Two. That's all it took. Two. One. Just one. Her name. The true name, true blue, too blue, shattering into ones and zeroes and shrieking static static static and that — that's where they're stuck. A voice that isn't their own caught strangled and silent in a throat they do not have. Lines of code. They don't. They don't breathe. Computers don't breathe. They don't feel. Can't feel. There's nothing to feel, nothing to feel with, only memories and it hurts.
Glazed blue stares past them. Through them. A minute passes. Two. Are the lights on? Is anybody home? Every breath, any breath is a thin, hitching spasm, too tight for comfort, skipping like a broken, forgotten thing. Shadows flicker. Little things, wisp-like; gentle as fallen feathers and sharp as knives, coiling close around her.
A faint twitch, slow as molasses. Fingers. (one, one, two, three, five) (four plus thumb) Four fingers and a thumb on a hand. Flex. Curl like they've forgotten how. Chest aches. (one, one, one, one — one, one, one one — one, two, three, four — one, two three, four) Remember to breathe. Remember how to breathe. Four count. Box breathing.
C'mon. Unstuck. Breathe. Four count. Fibonacci.
Lashes flutter. Glazed. Teal bleeding into blue one drip (one, one, two, three, five, eight) at a time. Th…ey? … They waver — too heavy, unsteady and unstable and fuzzy, listing dazedly in their … seat?
Their seat. Chair. Table. Seat on a chair at a table.
Lashes flutter. Teal eyes open, unfocused, focusing. Close again. Open. Fingers curl, uncurl, still so slow, and — still, still slowly, so slowly — they find the table-top. With their fingers. And also their forehead, a wobbling waver slumping into controlled crumple.
Tap. Tap. Tap, tap. … Tap, tap, tap … Following the sequence. The sweet, sweet Fibonacci sequence.
Chest aches. Tight. Loosening. Can't find their tongue. They definitely have one, where is it? Give them a moment.
… The shadows stir again.
But this time it's to pulse 'hiiiiii hello hi' in morse code. ]
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branchandroot
no subject
Date: 2025-05-23 07:50 pm (UTC)Three simple words.
Two. That's all it took. Two. One. Just one. Her name. The true name, true blue, too blue, shattering into ones and zeroes and shrieking static static static and that — that's where they're stuck. A voice that isn't their own caught strangled and silent in a throat they do not have. Lines of code. They don't. They don't breathe. Computers don't breathe. They don't feel. Can't feel. There's nothing to feel, nothing to feel with, only memories and it hurts.
Glazed blue stares past them. Through them. A minute passes. Two. Are the lights on? Is anybody home? Every breath, any breath is a thin, hitching spasm, too tight for comfort, skipping like a broken, forgotten thing. Shadows flicker. Little things, wisp-like; gentle as fallen feathers and sharp as knives, coiling close around her.
(Maybe it's a good thing Macaque stopped him?)
(one, one, two, three, five, eight)
They don't tap back.
(one, one, two, three, five, eight)
(one, one, two, three, five, eight)
Chest aches. (one, one, two, three, five, eight)
The shadows settle.
Fingers tense. (one, one, two, three, five, eight)
A faint twitch, slow as molasses. Fingers. (one, one, two, three, five) (four plus thumb) Four fingers and a thumb on a hand. Flex. Curl like they've forgotten how. Chest aches. (one, one, one, one — one, one, one one — one, two, three, four — one, two three, four) Remember to breathe. Remember how to breathe. Four count. Box breathing.
C'mon. Unstuck. Breathe. Four count. Fibonacci.
Lashes flutter. Glazed. Teal bleeding into blue one drip (one, one, two, three, five, eight) at a time. Th…ey? … They waver — too heavy, unsteady and unstable and fuzzy, listing dazedly in their … seat?
Their seat. Chair. Table. Seat on a chair at a table.
Lashes flutter. Teal eyes open, unfocused, focusing. Close again. Open. Fingers curl, uncurl, still so slow, and — still, still slowly, so slowly — they find the table-top. With their fingers. And also their forehead, a wobbling waver slumping into controlled crumple.
Tap. Tap. Tap, tap. … Tap, tap, tap … Following the sequence. The sweet, sweet Fibonacci sequence.
Chest aches. Tight. Loosening. Can't find their tongue. They definitely have one, where is it? Give them a moment.
… The shadows stir again.
But this time it's to pulse 'hiiiiii hello hi' in morse code. ]