Second Life: A Second Chance

Ikimono Sont Nous (I)

I wake from bed with a sharp pain emanating from the center of my head, all caused by the lack of energy as forced upon by myself following a night of intense crying. Unusual as it may seem, I offer no feelings of regret from the episode I had underwent through yesterday, finding myself to instead, be highly benefiting from that experience. The memories of David and I have finally stopped replaying on repeat inside my mind, now more than ever, with the memories of he and I no longer invading my sanity with their droves of tempting sadness and longing. Shifting my body in a sitting rather than a lying position, I look around the semi-dark atmosphere of the small room for the cube, which should be set down to the left of me. Finding it in place and feeling it's position as unmoved, I move my right hand downwards to press the button from the cube's roof. A projection made up of blue lighting immediately appears before me from the cube's front most side, forcing me awake with its bright white illumination, breaking the grasp of post-sleep haziness. The projection's contents read in black the time: 06:00

Slightly squinting my eyes, I look around the room once more, noticing to my slight displeasure that the other male who was supposed to come to my assigned room never went to bed as all his things are laid out on the floor, in a highly disproportionate manner. Decided in helping the other male with his things, I quickly get up off the bed, with my head held high, and look down at the mess before me, facing my entire head parallel to the floor, before bending over from the center of the room, now a foot away in distance from my bed, to pick up some of the things pertaining to the male, before throwing them carelessly on his bed.

Minutes pass since I had picked up the male's things from off the floor, where I make my way to the self-cleaning room for washing purposes. At the self-cleaning room of the larger room where I slept in, I lather myself with the same bar of soap from yesterday, under the gentle sprinkles of the warm and soothing water.

Minutes pass again, with I exiting the self-cleaning room, feeling fresh as the water that I used to wash myself with, wet yet warm, like a heated pickled prune to the touch, yet still rejuvenated by the water's refreshing steam.

Inside the main room where my bed is located at, I head into the bed's direction, casually walking to it from the door of the self-cleaning room, all while occasionally glancing at the neat organization of all my things on the wooden block next to the lower side of the bed. Smiling at how pleasantly ordered my side of the room is, I merrily continue on my way to the stack of white clothes presented on top of the bed, grabbing first a garment from the short stack while I change into another.

Now clothed inside a fresh pair of clothes, I look around the bed of mine, before immediately remembering myself of the time, where I switch my attention to the cube, feeling a bit satisfied with my use of the time upon waking. Seating myself on the bed, I let out a chill of relaxation, right as I look up at the ceiling. Interestingly, I notice that I had never turned off the lights of the room before going to bed. Slightly bothered by the continuous amount of light coming from the ceiling, I rise back up from bed, taking one step in the direction of the light switch, where I suddenly am distracted by a long and somewhat heavy black bag. Picking up the bag off the floor with my left hand, I proceed to take a good look at it as it lays on top of my lap, where I search the contents of the bag, searching determinedly for David's knife.

Searching for the knife across all of the bag's compartments, I come across almost empty until I accidentally feel the edge of its sharp blade gently poking at me from the bottom of the bag, below a pillow I had packed beforehand. Careful in how to approach the knife, I reach my left hand over on the other side of the bag where the handle is, gripping gently the soft handle in order to pull out the knife cleanly and safely. With my left hand held tightly on the soft coating of its handle, I pull the knife completely out of the bag and practice a few playful stabbing motions into the air, preparing myself with it in case I would ever have to use it. The knife from David that I hold, to which I am wielding, serves one function and one function alone: to fight, to fight for one's survival, if necessary.