Awaken

Part One

 I am so bloody tired. It isn't even funny how much I don't want to exist anymore, days fade into nothing only to start over. Or at least what I can assume are days that pass, in reality it could be months or even years. I just know it's been long enough for me to forget. I used to see color and hear things that provoked feelings I no longer am familiar with. There's even little proof that I even have a body, let alone an identity, a face, anything. I could just be some random consciousness with nothing to do but ask useless questions and forget. But there are moments I am reminded of others, ones who used to be peers and now seek to keep me in nothingness.

Just little voices that clearly aren't mine, ones that whisper and change my realm of existence into shades of gray. One in particular has my interest whenever it arrives, it shows me such warmth and reverence, though not my most regular visitor. I have a feeling it knows me and we used to have such comfort in each other, but alas, I forget. Observations of the present do little if there is no reference to the past, or even acknowledgement of it, so I am stuck in a loop. Pining over this agent of light and warmth, is not nearly enough to consume my every day, but I do hear and recognize it more.

One voice is nothing compared to silence that surrounds me when those entities leave me. I can truly say that the quiet is a rare and treasured thing, but it can consume so easily. Until recently, it was my main companion during my time between the little voices, but now something breaking has my attention. The silence is broken, it left me to deal instead with a growing roar that only stops in the presence of one of my visiting voices. The only reason I give it any attention is because it has made me aware of my exhaustion. Giving me a gift of feeling something, I'm now cursed to hear this damn rumbling while I stay wherever I am knowing how bored I am.

Hello, Lost one...

About time for an intermission, this voice is the one of warmth, a soft quality that speaks volumes for how fragile it truly is. Funny of it to call me lost, can you even be lost if there isn't any notion of where you're meant to be?

The time is coming, don't worry. We're coming for you,

We?

Yes. We. It has been too long and we believe you have served your time. It may even be after I leave that you return to us. The others are eagerly awaiting for your sentence to be done. You'll come back to us soon.

There is a we, hmm? Many times has my visitor of warmth had spoken of a sentence, of time spent wherever I am, but usually not so sure in its' end. This is new, but not unwelcome. If I can return, then I must have left, but where? I would like answers but the start of the stupid rumbling kicks back up before I can hone my mind toward answering my own questions.

Stop trying to focus. You'll have other things to focus on soon. I'm sorry I cannot be there, that we can't. But we await your arrival, Lost one.

Rather ominous for my dear warmth, but it's right, I have many things to focus on. Like how loud the rumbling is getting, building to its' usual roar, until it surpasses and becomes deafening. I hear it, but why is it demanding so much attention to rob me of my focus to figure out what my warmth has told me. I feel the cold seeping back as the voice vanishes from my notice and realm. And then it happens. A stark change from boredom and exhaustion, instead calling attention to myself rather than the roaring realm.

Pain... so much exploding as the reality I've lived it begins to screech and tremble from outside forces pushing in. Tearing apart everything, and I feel intense pressure as I am molded into something familiar but still lost to me. Everything collapses, pressing into me, as the cold melds with darkness to create a new material to coat me. Snaps and pops sound as hard objects slice into my being, giving me a foundation for some form other than a consciousness. The cold seeps into them, and the darkness begins wrapping around that frame, punishing in their binding to me. I search for some reprieve when I touch something.