A feeling of ending. A feeling of ending more broad and absolute than anything physically possible. A feeling of ending that is no longer anchored to any single point in time.
A feeling of rising. A feeling of rising from above the clouds, up higher and higher. A feeling of rising to a top of something that has no true highest point.
A feeling of urgency. A feeling of agency. A feeling of agency dying. I have a purpose that I do not know and I must carry it out.
I am surrounded by glass. I am outside of the glass. The glass is shaped like a CRT monitor atop an elevator shaft stretching an unimaginable number of miles down to Earth. The glass is a part of my body.
I need to go. Someone needs me to go. So I go, and functionless rods of grey-black metal emerge from my glass carapace.
This is it. This is it. This is it.
Anticipation.
After years of drifting, I notice the faint outline of a new planet. My new home. I drift and drift and eventually I can see its surface. I can see beautiful creatures roaming a shoreline, eating seeds and berries in between splashing each other with the water.
I want to land. Someone needs me to land. Landing is my purpose and I must carry it out.
But I know that it would be wrong of me to do such a thing. My body would poison all of those creatures as soon as I landed and they would all be dead within minutes, I know it. Or the radiation I emit would cause all of the plants to wither. That must be it. Or maybe something on my body would start a chemical reaction that would make all of the water disappear.
Maybe the planet's orbit is extremely precarious and the impact from me landing would send it spiraling into a black hole. Yeah, that must be it.
I think I should keep my distance.
I am sitting on a bed in a hotel room. It's a rather unremarkable room in comfort and amenities but very adequate. I can see the walls and the furniture but they are all blurry and I can't make out their texture or color.
I feel ELECTRICITY CURSE sitting next to me so I lean my head on their shoulder. ELECTRICITY CURSE is not a real person but they are an afterimage of so many real people that I can't help but love them, perhaps the most out of anyone in the whole world. I love them because they remind me of people I love. I love them because they are so gentle. I love them because they were created to be loved. I love them because they're not a real person. I love them because I'm not a real person. And so on.
This is one of our many stops on our excruciatingly long journey to a safer reality. We are almost there and I am enveloped by a feeling that I have been dislodged and that I am skewing ever so slightly into the future compared to when I should be existing. I feel ELECTRICITY CURSE's hand on my side and I am returned to the correct time.
I hear the coffee machine working. I hate coffee, I always feel sick when I drink it and the smell of it makes me panic. ELECTRICITY CURSE, on the other hand, loves the stuff. That's enough motive for me to mind it less.
ELECTRICITY CURSE turns toward me. They place their hands on my shoulders and start telling me something. I can't understand any of the words. When they finish talking they collapse on top of me, resting their head on my chest. I gently run my hands over their hair and tell them:
It's not long now.
It's not far now.
We can make it.
We will make it.
This is all a dream.
When we wake up we will be apart, and we will not be able to make it.
It's not long now.
I don't remember much of this one. ELECTRICITY CURSE kissed me and I got really scared because I know they want to hurt me.
I am standing on a pier protruding from a dark grey concrete dockyard, standing beside DISACCHARIDE CURSE as we look over an array of machines. DISACCHARIDE CURSE is, like ELECTRICITY CURSE, a composite afterimage. As we watch the machines we are eventually able to deduce that they are building a beautiful sailingship, aligning its bones with each other, sewing its muscles into place, recalibrating its endocrine system. DISACCHARIDE CURSE and I agree that the sailingship is named Venus Decay. It's getting cold out so we decide to go home.
The next day I awaken to see a mare standing over me. She whispers in my ear:
"Venus Decay has capsized. There is nothing you could have done. I'm sorry."
I look around the room and see DISACCHARIDE CURSE sitting in the corner opposite my bed, silently crying into a bouquet of stuffed animals.
Not knowing what to do with myself, I return to the pier. Sure enough, I can see Venus Decay roughly 50 meters off the shore, torn to pieces and scattered among the waves. A few gurry sharks have already come along to take their share of the better parts, but they're so small next to the ill-fated sailingship.
"Sad, isn't it? That one had so much potential."
I turn to my left and see a sailor casually approaching me, eyes locked onto the wreckage. I ask if he knows what happened.
"You ever hear the story of Icarus?"
I nod.
"Good. Classic cautionary tale, that one. Nice story even aside from the lesson, too. Good writing, good characters. Anyway this sailingship wanted to be Icarus. Got cut loose from the pier and immediately put on a pair of wax wings that it got from who-knows-where and, well...you know the rest."
I thank the sailor and return home. DISACCHARIDE CURSE is in the same place as when I left, but she seems to have calmed down somewhat. I sit down next to her and relay what I learned.
"Venus Decay wanted to be Icarus."
"Venus Decay wanted to be Icarus?"
"Yeah, that's what a sailor told me."
"Mmm...that sounds good. We should be Icarus too."
"We should be Icarus too."