Journey

00: White Space

The White Space.

I've been living here for as long as I can remember.

For as long as I can remember?

Foolishly, I look around the White Space, attempting to search for something new in the room, something I haven't seen here yet.

As my eyes dart around the White Space, I notice that my short black hair has been tied into two braids by someone other than myself, and my attire is different than usual: a white tank top and white sweatpants. My hazel-shaded eyes continue to search the room, taking note of the bare furniture around the White Space.

A single pink bed, a table accompanied with a chair, a dark-lit and malfunctioning bulb and a sketch book where I've painted all my pain and misery away.

These are the only things which I notice in the
White Space, and these are the only things which have been here for the last...

...

I'm not sure how long it's been; I want to leave, but I can't - I've tried walking away from the White Space, but no matter how much I try, I somehow always end up back here.

There's truly no escape - no door, no shining light of hope, no hand reaching out to me, just a permanent white space of nothingness.

The White Space. The White Space. The White Space. The White Space. The White Space.

...

"Hussaiba. Focus on what's important."

A voice of a man calls out to me. The voice is familiar, yet I can't quite grasp my finger on who it belongs to.

"Hussaiba, you need to calm down. None of this is real."

This... isn't real. The voice tells me this isn't real, so I guess I should believe it. On the other hand, can I really trust a voice which belongs to an anonymous shadow?

I don't feel like speaking to the voice, so naturally I just keep quiet and continue to stare at the white tinted ceiling.

Ceiling? What am I talking about? There's no ceiling.

All there is above me is just... white. A mere white abyss of more whiteness.

...

"Hussaiba, please listen to me."

This time, it's the voice of another person, a female. Even so, it's still familiar. It's so, so... nostalgic... but I don't know why, or what.

Who is it? Who's voice used to be so gentle and loving? It's so... pure and forgiving. Who... who is it?

I can't remember...

Or perhaps it's more like I don't want to remember.

"It'll be alright, Hussaiba. Trust me..."

Yeah, that has to be it. After all, the whole reason I'm here is because I'm trying to forget the past, erase the past.

I don't want to recall the past, so I continue staring at the endless white path of more whiteness.

All I want to think about is nothing.

Nothing, nothing, nothing.

...

"Please, Hussaiba. Don't run away from the truth. Don't hide yourself. You can't leave us when we most need you."

I recognise the voice this time. It's Omar's voice.

Omar...

"Omar... I'm sorry, big brother..."

"I'm sorry I couldn't be there for you. I'm sorry I was such a horrible little sister."