[ Video | Week 7, Day 3 ]
[ Displacement has, by now, become conventional.
Flicker of the lids, in years past, and she would find herself watching behind the cool windows of another's eyes -- crouching in a corner in her mind, or sitting, patiently, like a schoolgirl awaiting the announcement of a homework assignment. Recession. A quiet acquiescence to possession, a compromise. Herself, patiently moved to the background. The feel of the body on auto-pilot; spectral hands holding what she held in the manner which she never held it -- the lengthening of spidery fingers, and the cool distant laughter, each beat a bread crumb, the trail of which she would follow home.
Back to the body which becomes more hers each day it becomes less so.
This had been the first displacement.
Her second displacement: Future to past. Past to future. Shifting memories. Replacing the body of the woman whom she would become (and whom she now is), arriving in the future to battle the man who another her had fought in the past -- though that, too, had been the past of the future.
Slipping through bodies and time and illusions and realities.
The truth is (he might say), these words, these things, are all sand in the pinched neck of the hourglass.
The third displacement: Here and now.
Sunlight and greenery. Like that first day --
Like then.
Only there is no voice. No surround sound suggestion that the land is, in actuality, a body, a vessel, a sanctuary. No trademark of him that she can see or feel. No imprint.
Empty sky. A mute world. Birds.
A flickering device attached to her clothing. And she is looking at it, looking into it, with her lone eye inquisitively wide. She is no stranger to technology, whether it comes as weaponry or tools of communication. The question is why it is here, why she is, and who brought her to this place (it is always someone, never happenstance). An illusion or a future or another reality, this? There is only one way to test: ]
Mukuro-sama? Are you here?
[ Spoken into the machine. Small and wary and threaded with pearls of hope. ]
Boss? Ken? Chikusa?
[ Friendly and familiar names. Even if they do not answer -- if they are not here now -- to say such names (comrades), to have them on hand, is to gain some assurance.
She stares into the Hitomi, uncertain.
She will wait. ]
Flicker of the lids, in years past, and she would find herself watching behind the cool windows of another's eyes -- crouching in a corner in her mind, or sitting, patiently, like a schoolgirl awaiting the announcement of a homework assignment. Recession. A quiet acquiescence to possession, a compromise. Herself, patiently moved to the background. The feel of the body on auto-pilot; spectral hands holding what she held in the manner which she never held it -- the lengthening of spidery fingers, and the cool distant laughter, each beat a bread crumb, the trail of which she would follow home.
Back to the body which becomes more hers each day it becomes less so.
This had been the first displacement.
Her second displacement: Future to past. Past to future. Shifting memories. Replacing the body of the woman whom she would become (and whom she now is), arriving in the future to battle the man who another her had fought in the past -- though that, too, had been the past of the future.
Slipping through bodies and time and illusions and realities.
The truth is (he might say), these words, these things, are all sand in the pinched neck of the hourglass.
The third displacement: Here and now.
Sunlight and greenery. Like that first day --
Like then.
Only there is no voice. No surround sound suggestion that the land is, in actuality, a body, a vessel, a sanctuary. No trademark of him that she can see or feel. No imprint.
Empty sky. A mute world. Birds.
A flickering device attached to her clothing. And she is looking at it, looking into it, with her lone eye inquisitively wide. She is no stranger to technology, whether it comes as weaponry or tools of communication. The question is why it is here, why she is, and who brought her to this place (it is always someone, never happenstance). An illusion or a future or another reality, this? There is only one way to test: ]
Mukuro-sama? Are you here?
[ Spoken into the machine. Small and wary and threaded with pearls of hope. ]
Boss? Ken? Chikusa?
[ Friendly and familiar names. Even if they do not answer -- if they are not here now -- to say such names (comrades), to have them on hand, is to gain some assurance.
She stares into the Hitomi, uncertain.
She will wait. ]