(Explanation for the reposting spree and links to everything so far here)
Resurface (MIA Series Part 4)
Chapter 10 - Recall
Virgil is trapped in the darkness with an earworm.
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He floated in the darkness, weightless yet weighed down.
There was nothing to see, nothing to feel. Nothing to smell. Yet he could SEE the dark in an overwhelming level of detail and his nerves rejected the empty tactile nothingness and told him cold instead.
There was sound in the void, but it was intermittent and muffled, as if he was underwater. Voices⦠familiar but unhappy bubbled past him. If only theyād speak more clearly perhaps he could fix whatever the problem was⦠but he found he couldnāt move his arms or⦠his head or⦠anything so fixing was probably out of the question. He wondered if there anything of him left to move?
He wondered if he was⦠gone⦠and found he couldnāt feel too strongly about the idea. Hello darkness, Virgil was ready to succumb.
Oh⦠Virgil. He had a name. Well there it is.
He knew he was supposed to fight the dark but he was so tired. He was also aware the reason he kept fighting was no more. Although he wasnāt entirely sure what that had been⦠it nagged at him. It had been important. He was pretty sure it had been everything - there was just a hollow space where he imagined his chest would be. Was odd he couldnāt remember. If he could move his face heād frown at that.
Maybe it was just that Afterwards you didnāt remember Before?
He only hoped this nothing wouldnāt be everything - the lack of comprehensible sensory input was maddening. Not to mention he had an irritating earworm that was disproving his theory about not remembering. And that would be really annoying to think about for eternity. What even was it? Some kidsā filmā¦
Can there be a day beyond this night? I donāt know anymore what is true.
Huh. Pretty dark for something aimed at children.
Mind you, children felt things pretty strongly. Heād always done so, as far as he could tell. Itās why art and music worked for him. He remembered that too. Alright, memory was a thing then. Given the lack of anything else to do he cast his mind back, trying to recall something, anything⦠about who he was.
Trees. He could picture trees and feel the drop in the wind as he stepped amongst them. One in particular which was taller than the rest⦠a pecan. The scaly bark scratched at his fingertips as he peered up into the rustling branches overhead. Wait! He tried to shout but no sound came out! Wait! He wasnāt tall enough! He couldnāt follow! He stood on his tiptoes and stretched towards the hand that reached down out of the leaves but his fingers only brushed the air. He gasped, a bigger hand landed on his shoulder and it all went black again.
He was on his knees on the dusty tarmac and his knees were stinging but not as much as his eyes. The back of the big yellow bus blurred as he cursed his little legs for not being able to catch up with it. He squeaked in horror as a truck thundered past, horn blaring and then large hands were pulling his shoulders, dragging him to the grass. Sharp words, scared words. They told him he couldnāt follow. He wasnāt big enough for big school yet. He couldnāt always follow. He lifted his hands from his knees and stared at the redness that highlighted the wrinkles in his palms. A sob choked him and the red spread out and covered everything.
That large hand was tugging at his elbow, but Virgil wasnāt easy to move against his will. He relented and took one pace backwards, moving his right foot down one of the stone steps leading away from the ornate doorway with a lone figure standing in it. The others had gone back inside to continue the celebration. But one remained, watching them leave, smiling. The stupidly massive doors made him look small and heād never looked small before. The left foot wouldnāt move. The arm tugged at him but he couldnāt. He couldnāt not follow. The figure waved again, straightened the smart blue coat with the silver buttons and gave a cheeky salute before turning and walking away. Virgil had no breath to cry out to him to stop, he could only reach out silently towards the retreating blue.
I follow you around, I always have, but youāve gone to a place I cannot find.
No. The song was wrong. NO! He thrashed against the nothing and gagged on the bile that rose up in a throat that could suddenly feel, could suddenly burn, could agonisingly scream out loud:
āSCOTT!ā
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