Somewhere We've Been Before.

Together.

Welcome to White Space.

You have been living here for as long as you can remember.

...

     Omori awakens, finding himself on the frigid floor, the chill seeping through his black tank top, and striped shorts, and into his bones. The stark, white surface surrounds him, an endless expanse of nothingness that feels familiar and unsettling. As he sits up, the cold air brushes against his skin and he takes a moment to gather his thoughts.

     His gaze drifts around the desolate space, landing on a small, fluffy cat named Mewo, who sits perched nearby. Her jet-black fur blends in with the blinding whiteness and black objects around Omori. Mewo's eyes glimmer with a hint of mischief as if they know secrets that Omori has yet to uncover. Diagonally across from the cat lies a sketchbook, its cover is worn and inviting, a box of tissues that seems oddly out of place straight ahead of it, a laptop that looks as if it has seen better days, a door standing tall and a good distance from the black-lined area in which Omori stays, and lastly, a pitch-black light bulb, it doesn't seem very sensible.

     There is no color to be found in this realm, which is just how Omori prefers it. The absence of vibrancy mirrors the emptiness he often feels inside, a blank canvas that reflects his state of mind. He flips open his sketchbook, eager to pour out his thoughts and feelings onto the pages, but his heart sinks as he discovers the pages are blank, devoid of the sketches and scribbles he had left behind. It's as if his creativity has been stolen, leaving him with nothing but frustration. He closes the sketchbook with a snap, the sound echoing in the silence.

     He turns his attention to the laptop, hoping it might provide some distraction. He presses the power button, but the screen remains dark and unresponsive, a stark reminder of his isolation. A wave of discontent washed over him; today's reception in White Space had been less than welcoming.

     Perhaps Headspace would offer a more favorable experience, a place where he could immerse himself in the colorful chaos that his friends brought him. With determination, he rises to his feet, shaking off the lingering chill that clings to him.

     He approaches the white door, its surface smooth and unblemished, a portal to the unknown. Taking a deep breath, he reaches for the handle, feeling a bit of anticipation. Is everything the same as it was before, unlike White space today? He'll find out soon enough. With a gentle push, he opens the door, stepping into the light beyond, ready to embrace whatever surprises his friends and others may have in store for him.

...

    Aubrey is up, her vision gradually clearing to reveal a vibrant scene that feels both familiar and foreign. It resembles the sanctuary where she and her "friends" once spent all their time together, where they shared secrets, dreams, and the occasional whispered fear. Yet now, it stirs up memories she wishes to forget, especially the betrayal she faced on this particular day when her friends couldn't even bother to look at her.

     She was just 14, 14 and Aubrey had felt overwhelmed, a storm of emotions swirling within her as she grappled with the loss of Mari. Mari had been the glue that held their group together, a beacon of light in their adolescent lives. Her laughter had been infectious, her spirit unbreakable. But when tragedy struck, it felt as if the very foundation of their friendship crumbled. While her peers seemed unaffected, moving through their grief with a resilience that left Aubrey feeling isolated, she was drowning in sorrow and confusion.

     It frustrated her that they hadn't reached out to each other or her on such a horrible day. She had wanted to be part of the healing process that they all needed, she wanted to lean on them as they all shared the same dreadful grief, to share the good memories with Mari; occasionally sharing the bad, she just wanted her best friends. Was that too much to ask? Aubrey felt like a ghost in a town she used to love. The thought of never seeing her friends again felt like a stab to the neck that could never be healed.