The crushing weight of unconsciousness pulled me under, into a black h*** of nothingness. I didn’t know where I was, what was happening or what I was doing. I seemed to float dizzingly, spiralling out of control in every possible direction. Was I alone? I couldn’t see anyone, there was no one else. Alone. I preferred being alone, I had once liked it. But this however was different, this was bad. Bad as in terrifying. Company with even the monsters that humiliated me time after time would have been acceptable, durable even. It would then be some form of company, better than none at all. Someone to share this experience with me, so that I wasn’t coping on my own. Someone to tell me where I was, what was happening, someone to tell me not to be scared, not to panic or be afraid. I needed to be told I was ok, I was safe. Someone to reassure me, comforting me. As much as I needed and craved for that to be the case, I knew I was alone.

I couldn’t measure distances, everything stretched on and beyond in a never ending void. I could see nothing, yet everything. Everything? Maybe that wasn’t the case. It didn’t seem to fit what it was I was seeing or feeling. Perhaps I was delusional? Delusional? Wasn’t that a human emotional state? Was I human? I couldn’t feel my body. I floated like a spirit, a soul. No, ‘floated’ didn’t seem as the correct term. Though, it wasn’t the truth, the fact. I had experienced a human life. I was a human. I am human. Memories crept forth slightly distracting me. I watched admiring the smallest, the minutest of details.

I was lying down. The green, lime substance was cushiony, it supported me, moulded to the contours of my body. It was damp, spongy and moist. There were long and short lines which spiked up pointing upwards. The pressure was mostly pressed on my back, the areas at my shoulder blades, back of my head.

Beside my body, there were a variety of shapes in a variety of colours scattered in all directions upon the lime, spiky, sponge. Small, circular russet brown, tanned, amber, red leaves, some hand shaped, orangey, pink fan leaves left in a disarray.

To my right and left were these long tubes of olive colour wrapped in a hot pink cotton material. Where the pink ended, there were the fan shaped leaves contorted, the oranges and pinks leeched into an olive tone, there were five thin slender fingers with small square shapes placed at the ends. Arms and hands.

I breathed in a scent; it was fresh, heavenly and smelled of the moiusture that saturated the air, the lime grass, flowers inhaling the source of food, releasing a mixture of scents and aromas that tickled my nose. A gulp of oxygen freed itself from my throat; a happy sigh of comfort and happiness. I was content, happily drifting off into my own world of bliss, freedom.

A rush of oxygen blew past me. Long, thin strands of dark brown whipped around my vision- they glimmered slightly in the faint sunlight-, another scent; a faint glimmer of warm, Strawberries and Raspberries. It made my mouth water.

The gust brought with it the sound of the towering vegetation coming alive, they whispered and rattled as they collided together dancing; they were sparsely covered in the small circular, fan, rainbow coloured shapes, mostly they were however left bare, stripped to their skeleton forms. Strips of skinny, curving lines were intertwined together casting cracks against the stunningly vast pool of blue and white clumps directly above.

A movement on the vegetation danced to the rythym of the thin gangly trees, a pale grey agiley leaped and twirled- a squiral, I noted.. The creature moved with such agility it stunned me, it glided, swooped and leaped using the guidance of the gust, its fur billowed and parted.

Beside the trees and directly above from where I lay was the vast pool of pale blue, it’s depth seemed to stretch on- I felt a need to swim and be lost in it’s depths. Pictures painted with white... One of which reminding me of an illustration belonging to an old story book; a tongue slithered out the contours of a gap between its collection of razor teeth, eyes fierce and leaked with rage, claws pointing down at me accusing , tail, slender yet muscular, devouring it’s prey.. suffocating the innocent. The dragon gave a mocking smile of triumph just before another gust came and wiped the blue clear.

I wanted to get out of the blackness, I wanted to be back in my memory and run with the wind guiding me onward, feeling the movement my clothes made as they whipped around my body, feeling the wind massaging my head and making my hair dance. I wanted to have my muscles to myself, to stretch them and to have the freedom of which it gave. I tried to move in any possible way- to lift my arm, my head- I tried and failed miserably.

I wanted to scream, to make a noise, plead for help, any possible way to be rid of this desolation. My lips. Where were my lips? I couldn’t find them. Did I have a face? I couldn’t feel my eyes, my mouth. I couldn’t feel my limbs, my muscles. Was I standing? There was no pressure on the heels or the balls of my feet. Yet how did I know I felt no pressure? How would I know if I couldn’t find my feet? There was nothing. Nothing, everywhere. I felt no vertigo, no indication to whether I was either on the ground or standing.

I wasn’t cold, warm or even hot. Did I have no body? No skin? No skin, no body to help me indicate where I was, to guide me using senses. I wasn’t shivering, but I wasn’t sweating either. I didn’t necessarily feel comfortable though.

I thought that if I could maybe hear, perhaps I would then know where it was I were trapped. I listened, concentrated on only that. Nothing. There was nothing. So silent. Eerily calm and silent. Not a pin drop, not even the sound of a feather gently fluttering and floating downwards. Where was that vital sense? Where was my hearing? Such excruciating silence. No sound of talking, no sound of approaching footsteps, no birds chirping singing sweet songs of welcome, no sound of music, no ominous rustling in the distance...

No light, no tones, no shadows, no colour. No sun, no clouds. No vegetation. No life. The memory was already disappearing into the distance. What was it? What happened? Were there colours? Objects? The memory must’ve happened far off in the past. I missed seeing colours. I forgot what bright colours looked like, how they drawn the eye at them. What did green look like? What did red look like? Pink? Yellow? Blue? Where were they? They didn’t exist here. Not here, in this black h*** that swallowed up everything in its path.

There was no way of telling time- it ceased to mean anything. I tried to count the minutes, the hours, the days, maybe even weeks that were passing.
This was death then. It must be. If there was nothing but nothingness, surely I was dead, or at least so close to death I was only inches away.
NO! Oh no! No no NO no NO!

That was the only life I knew, the only life I’d ever known...I had no realisation what lurked in the past during the time of which the world developed; I hadn’t existed then, my parents hadn’t even my grandparents, they were unaware even, they hadn’t been born yet.
I tried to think back to the time in which I didn’t exist...then, I didn’t have knowledge of anything, no thought processes, no body in which my soul lived... I didn’t even have a soul...I wasn’t aware of the changes in society, trying to think back to a time when I felt nothing, there was no existence of me..where was I? That one chance at life doesn’t even last long enough, we tried to make it seem as though it was plenty of time, too long even...lies! One chance to life on a surreal planet, to have a body to control and to marvel over the fact at how life truly did transform and how it all started..

.Once you’re dead, in a coffin...-as I was most sure I was at this point- would it be just the same as before you existed, where you ceased to feel anything, where you weren’t even aware you had a life previously and that anything you did in life would amount to nothing as you wouldn’t remember anything...I’d grown up in a religious family, taught to believe, never to doubt, never to question. Now I questioned- at a moment too late-Maybe there was no heaven, no hell, just nothingness of non existence and floating.
Maybe hell was too overcrowded to fit me in...
The final end. No going back. No seeing my family, my mother. Mother! Mum!
Mummy! I want her! I need her!
I have to know how she’s feeling. Is she sad? Is she sad that I’m dead? That I didn’t fight, gave up on life and died . Would she know by now if I had gone? Would she notice?! I can only hope she didn’t love me or care for me. She hated me. I forced myself to think that, believe only that.
They were lies though, so how could I kid myself into believing that? I was blinding myself into believing she didn’t care for me, I was being selfish, so sickeningly stupid and selfish, that I didn’t want to feel pain, feel the pain that she was experiencing probably at this very moment-whatever moment or time that may be. She was the only one I knew for certain that cared for me-how could she abandon me like the others when she had no choice otherwise, it was her duty to love me no matter what, she didn’t even have the priviledge to choose to like me or not, she had to. Useless. Pathetic me.
Why? Why?!
Why?! Why had I done this to her? To all of the people to cause pain to. Why did I have to do it to her?
I wanted to cry.

Trapped by mysery. Shrouded in the shadows of a deep nothingness of space and time.
There was no way of recovering, I didn’t know how. So I tried, tried not to do anything. I forced myself to hold back emotions, observations and any other memories that may resurface. Perhaps it would be best if I no longer existed for mum’s sake and to the sake of others. I wasn’t her only child, she had Mark and Thomas. She had a partner, I was sure of it. Only now I was accepting it. Often she’d happily chatter to me of this new friend she had, she never mentioned it was a male, but I could tell. I could see it in her eyes, the way they glowed and sparkled every time she talked of him, heard the fondness and admiration cloud her voice.

Without my thoughts swirling around me, it was even more silent somehow. The end was closing in on me, I thought I was growing weaker over time but wasn’t completely sure. The blackness was closing in on me, I could sense it. I was being buried one shovelful of void at a time, slowly choked.
I felt more alone, as most of the time I wasn’t even sure if I was really there. Had I gone without having the knowledge of it? It all became more confusing.

The longer time I spent not thinking, not trying to do anything, it got harder in so many different ways as I had so previously hoped. To test my strength, for the first time in a while of quiet, I tried and forced myself to think. There was nothing. Silence. There were no words, no commentary belonging to myself. I wanted to feel an emotion, but didn’t know how to do that anymore. Could I make any observations? I was too weak to do so. I was slipping, clinging to the edge of no more, ready to lose my grip.

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