Emerging again
Awareness.
It comes in fits and spurts.
She has no idea how long she has been here. Or how long it has been since her last moment of wakefulness.
Her eyes are useless. She's known that for awhile now. She first tried to open her eyes and all she got was pain. There was a small glimpse, through a thick liquid, of a container this body was in - thick metal and an industrial seeming. There was a small window but there was little else she could see before the pain of the foriegn solution against her eyes became too much.
All of the memories of before are mixed and difficult to sort out. There are bits and pieces and none of them seem to add up together. There are lives of happiness and lives of despair - insanity and rationality. And none of them make sense together. They can't all be from the same person but she /knows/ they are all her. And she is.... The thought is just beyond her grasp. She is beloved and reviled. She is powerful and weak. She is mother and sister, wife and seductress.
This time she can feel things on the edges of her awareness. She can feel all of her body, fully formed, smooth and perfect. That is not what she is feeling now. No, what she can feel is hovering outside of the container. There are others outside. There are others all around. There are others and they are YELLING.
Oh. Noise. Glorious noise. Her world has been little but silence for what feels like longer than she can have been alive. She revels in the sound of others, in the existence and the presence of those who are not herself. Those who exist outside the jumbled mess of her memories.
And she knows.
She knows how to join them.
More importantly, she knows how to reach them. If she can.
Gathering the scintilia of her will, she exerts herself outward.
At first, all she can feel is the gel surrounding her moving. So very unimpressive.
Forcing outward again, she hears the screeching strain of metal, before a loud pop of pressure being forcibly released. Suddenly, the world is cold and painful. The liquid rushes away and she is gagging on air, expelling the liquid that had been in her lungs. Her limbs are weak and as she tries to get out, she collapses.
Sprawled on the ground, she stays there, her hands, elbows; knees and shins scraped and bleeding. It takes her innumerable minutes to make her way out of the mostly abandoned facility. She reaches the edge, the liminal point, the entrance. Or the exit.
As the does so, the most important part of it all comes to her.
Maddy. I am Ma-
No.
I am Madelyne.
And with that thought, she extends her will out into the currents, a much more formidable force than the pale, malnourished naked weakness of her body would connote.
It comes in fits and spurts.
She has no idea how long she has been here. Or how long it has been since her last moment of wakefulness.
Her eyes are useless. She's known that for awhile now. She first tried to open her eyes and all she got was pain. There was a small glimpse, through a thick liquid, of a container this body was in - thick metal and an industrial seeming. There was a small window but there was little else she could see before the pain of the foriegn solution against her eyes became too much.
All of the memories of before are mixed and difficult to sort out. There are bits and pieces and none of them seem to add up together. There are lives of happiness and lives of despair - insanity and rationality. And none of them make sense together. They can't all be from the same person but she /knows/ they are all her. And she is.... The thought is just beyond her grasp. She is beloved and reviled. She is powerful and weak. She is mother and sister, wife and seductress.
This time she can feel things on the edges of her awareness. She can feel all of her body, fully formed, smooth and perfect. That is not what she is feeling now. No, what she can feel is hovering outside of the container. There are others outside. There are others all around. There are others and they are YELLING.
Oh. Noise. Glorious noise. Her world has been little but silence for what feels like longer than she can have been alive. She revels in the sound of others, in the existence and the presence of those who are not herself. Those who exist outside the jumbled mess of her memories.
And she knows.
She knows how to join them.
More importantly, she knows how to reach them. If she can.
Gathering the scintilia of her will, she exerts herself outward.
At first, all she can feel is the gel surrounding her moving. So very unimpressive.
Forcing outward again, she hears the screeching strain of metal, before a loud pop of pressure being forcibly released. Suddenly, the world is cold and painful. The liquid rushes away and she is gagging on air, expelling the liquid that had been in her lungs. Her limbs are weak and as she tries to get out, she collapses.
Sprawled on the ground, she stays there, her hands, elbows; knees and shins scraped and bleeding. It takes her innumerable minutes to make her way out of the mostly abandoned facility. She reaches the edge, the liminal point, the entrance. Or the exit.
As the does so, the most important part of it all comes to her.
Maddy. I am Ma-
No.
I am Madelyne.
And with that thought, she extends her will out into the currents, a much more formidable force than the pale, malnourished naked weakness of her body would connote.