SNAFU
Cloey had eagerly spent the next few hours after her father's visit enthusiastically painting something very special for him. It was colorful, yes, but muted - full of bold and darkened tones, sort of a compromise between Darkness and the ineffable ebullience of Creation. The strokes started out slow and deliberate, but as time passed, she built up speed and momentum. Soon her movements were marked with a sort of focused intensity and unbridled enthusiasm. The increasing warmth of the amulet around her neck went unnoticed, even after she'd finished, very pleased with her work. She hoped Daddy would like it; her eyes sparkled at the idea of the lack of expression on his face when he saw it. His eyes might even glitter a little!
She left the painting in her studio, and took a vanilla bubble bath, all the paint disappearing from her form. In the bathtub, she decided to take a nap.
***
Something didn't feel right. Something didn't feel right at all - there was rushing, rushing, rushing, swirling masses of color and sensation and sound and... everything. The fabric of the universe was unraveled, piles of threads - but no, it wasn't like that at all, it was amorphous, it was tapping into the void, into nothing at all and everything at once. She burst out of the bathtub gasping, because she was drowning. The amulet was hot against her skin, but it didn't register. Her eyes were wild and her pulse was racing impossibly. Gathering her thoughts was hard - extremely hard - but she tried, and somewhere inside of the cacophonous madness inside her, she recognized the Chaos, and clung to that for a moment. She closed her eyes, and tried to push it down, but it only pushed back harder. She tried to find the threads, she tried to find the Work, she tried to find the loom, but it was gone.
All gone.
Then there was panic. Naked, on the verge of screaming, she stumbled out of her bathtub, trying to regulate her breathing. This was just a bad trip. It was a bad trip, she'd had them before, it would be just fine, just fine. She could talk herself down, she'd done this a hundred times, it couldn't be that different with Chaos than it was with acid or peyote or really bad mushrooms or mescaline or dust or frogs or designer chemicals that she couldn't even really properly pronounce. You just had to find your center, remember something really good, touch down with reality, something... something...
But the problem was with Blues Clues was that Blue always seemed like she should be a boy dog but really he was a girl dog. So then what about his/her friend Magenta... shouldn't she be a boy then? But she was a girl too. Cloey wondered if dogs were lesbians. She guessed it was possible, because if humans and chimps and ducks could be lesbians, then dogs should be able to as well.
But then she shook her head, and really pushed - pushed for control, pushed for coherence, pushed for sense... but it hurt it hurt it hurt, and more panic, more fear, and then infuriated, frustrated screaming... she didn't even realize she was screaming until the mirrors broke, until she was treading over the glass, and her feet REALLY HURT.
She wandered out of the bathroom, a mess. She'd lost the threads. She'd lost the wheel. She'd lost the loom and her knowledge and her sisters. The natural response was to simply start crying, which she did.
How had she messed up this bad? Nothing was quite making sense, but she didn't know anything... she didn't know anything at all. She couldn't see the threads - she couldn't make the theads, she was completely disconnected, and at the same time, all this mess was swirling all around her, all this insanity and Chaos. She'd done it to herself. Da had warned her, Aither had warned her, and now she'd gone too far, and she was all messed up. At the thought that she couldn't even turn to her family for help, she started sobbing in earnest, with hiccoughs and wretched messiness.
One thing that the swirls of oblivion all around her could not disguise - a thing that they actually accentuated - was how miserably alone she suddenly found herself.
She left the painting in her studio, and took a vanilla bubble bath, all the paint disappearing from her form. In the bathtub, she decided to take a nap.
***
Something didn't feel right. Something didn't feel right at all - there was rushing, rushing, rushing, swirling masses of color and sensation and sound and... everything. The fabric of the universe was unraveled, piles of threads - but no, it wasn't like that at all, it was amorphous, it was tapping into the void, into nothing at all and everything at once. She burst out of the bathtub gasping, because she was drowning. The amulet was hot against her skin, but it didn't register. Her eyes were wild and her pulse was racing impossibly. Gathering her thoughts was hard - extremely hard - but she tried, and somewhere inside of the cacophonous madness inside her, she recognized the Chaos, and clung to that for a moment. She closed her eyes, and tried to push it down, but it only pushed back harder. She tried to find the threads, she tried to find the Work, she tried to find the loom, but it was gone.
All gone.
Then there was panic. Naked, on the verge of screaming, she stumbled out of her bathtub, trying to regulate her breathing. This was just a bad trip. It was a bad trip, she'd had them before, it would be just fine, just fine. She could talk herself down, she'd done this a hundred times, it couldn't be that different with Chaos than it was with acid or peyote or really bad mushrooms or mescaline or dust or frogs or designer chemicals that she couldn't even really properly pronounce. You just had to find your center, remember something really good, touch down with reality, something... something...
But the problem was with Blues Clues was that Blue always seemed like she should be a boy dog but really he was a girl dog. So then what about his/her friend Magenta... shouldn't she be a boy then? But she was a girl too. Cloey wondered if dogs were lesbians. She guessed it was possible, because if humans and chimps and ducks could be lesbians, then dogs should be able to as well.
But then she shook her head, and really pushed - pushed for control, pushed for coherence, pushed for sense... but it hurt it hurt it hurt, and more panic, more fear, and then infuriated, frustrated screaming... she didn't even realize she was screaming until the mirrors broke, until she was treading over the glass, and her feet REALLY HURT.
She wandered out of the bathroom, a mess. She'd lost the threads. She'd lost the wheel. She'd lost the loom and her knowledge and her sisters. The natural response was to simply start crying, which she did.
How had she messed up this bad? Nothing was quite making sense, but she didn't know anything... she didn't know anything at all. She couldn't see the threads - she couldn't make the theads, she was completely disconnected, and at the same time, all this mess was swirling all around her, all this insanity and Chaos. She'd done it to herself. Da had warned her, Aither had warned her, and now she'd gone too far, and she was all messed up. At the thought that she couldn't even turn to her family for help, she started sobbing in earnest, with hiccoughs and wretched messiness.
One thing that the swirls of oblivion all around her could not disguise - a thing that they actually accentuated - was how miserably alone she suddenly found herself.