Chapter One
The last and first I saw of her was the long golden hair passing through the barrier. It was invisible, but I knew it was there, for Emily’s form shimmered into the vacuum behind her as she crossed.
That is what I remember of the world outside the tesseract. Nothing more.
It is difficult to maintain consciousness here. Or now. Or then. I am not quite sure anymore.
Memories flicker in and out of my mind like the dim neon polychromasia above me. But only one I know is genuine. Perhaps because I cannot distinguish the memories from the prophecies. Perhaps because there never really was a difference.
The sound of my empty breathing is the only note that reaches my ears. No, it is not a sound - more like a nebulous obscurity in my vision. Something that is not really there, but pretends to be, tries to be.
As I attempt to find the present in the plague of illusions before me, I venture to open my eyes. Nothing clarifies, at least in my perception, and the nausea continues to clutch me, for above me (or below me; or is that the future that I am seeing?), the faded neon hues persist in their barrage. Yet my mind leaps to a sudden alertness, because it recognizes the frame of time within itself that matches that which I am seeing. Or perhaps it recognizes multiple. I cling to one, simply because I want desperately to maintain the vigilance I am experiencing, and not to regress back to the dim fuzziness of that which I think I just left behind. I shift my head so that I am facing the shimmering air beside me, expecting to see the dying girl, but I find that my neck refuses to revolve. I writhe amidst the phantasmagoric clouds, grasping it, screaming at its arrogant rigidity. But it is moving. It is the continuum around it that does not change scenery: this remains wholly the same as it was before. Before the future. Is that what the past is? The underrated period that is ceaselessly undermined by hopes of the successive? Where does that leave the present? Then I am somewhere else; below where I am now, I think, and in the future. I have found it, what I was searching for, and I pound against it, the screams blinding me. And then something else stands out to me: a distant memory, a prognosis; what is the difference? But I am surrounded by tenebrosity, and a great joy has overcome me...but what? What is this joy? And what is this slender carcass? I thrust myself back into the present.
A name. Emily. Both past and future struggle to claim it in my conflicted mind, but for now I categorize her as past. It is simpler that way. I push away the interference patterns that form as images of her both dead and alive collide before me.
I had never made a move so drastic before as opening my eyes. I must have been in here forever - no, for again I am with Emily in the darkness. The image fades as my body teleports between the present and the future - no, past; it must be past - between the blackness and the strange light all around me. It is disconcerting, this transition, but it brings forth a comforting emotion as well: nostalgia, I believe.
I see myself getting up. Feel myself. But I am not ready yet. I allow myself to drift amidst the omnibus of time frames, the unorganized stack before me. When I feel I am rejuvenated enough, I will myself upward, but strangely, there is a miscalculation: I am not yet to the instant where I am supposed to stand. At least, I do not think I am. But I must have been, for I right myself without resistance. But I was standing before, I think, not laying down, because this position does not feel right. I drift into my supposed lying angle, only to find that it could just as well be considered a standing one. Lo, it seems all directions are the correct one.
What is this whiteness? As I take a step forward, I notice a soft, shimmering gas emanating from the past whereabouts of my leg. It drifts through the air, then suddenly evaporates. No, evaporating is not the right word; it simply is existent one moment, and nonexistent the next. I attempt to look back on it by taking a backward step through time, but strangely enough, I cannot see it after it has already passed. No, this precedent category of chronology offers nothing of this mysterious substance, yet when I sprint instead into the future, I can see much of it. It seems I will be moving soon.
And so I waste no time, though time is like the mist that is physically behind me, for it is abundant and reachable with only the fluctuation of my mind, in setting out. What am I searching for? I do not know, exactly. I see many things ahead, but they are amalgamated and disorienting. I find one, cradle it. Then I look at it. Again, that name, that face. Emily. I store that crystal ball in a reserved space of my brain before I continue.
As I look around, I notice that it is not homogeneity that meets my eyes. Not only the labyrinth of colors I attributed to this place upon my birth - no, arrival. I begin to see shapes as well. One, in particular.
A square.
Or perhaps it is cube? It seems to resemble something of this nature. As I peer into the flashing sirens of light that form the shape, I see something else, something I cannot describe. But it looks familiar, and suddenly I realize that it is the future I am gazing into.
I see blood. I see the translucent mist. And then I have seen enough.
As I stride forward - or float, yet it seems that it is simply the power of mind that drives me onward - I begin to fear this cage I am in. The blood I saw continues to float before my eyes, taking the shape of traps, of monsters. Is it my own? Is it - I struggle to recall - is it Emily’s? And what as far as murder does this ubiquitous lambency have to offer? I feel myself sliding into my own future, where I see an old man...a knife...and the same dark blood....
I am running now, or at least am going faster than before, and simultaneously attempting to launch myself farther into the future. But only a few elongated minutes pass before I am weary. Time must remain unaltered as this pale fog flows out of me.
So I rest, trying to avoid the cubes that vex both eye and mind. I doubt that they replay the same scene over and over, but I cannot risk journeying back into their depths.
A sound pulses against my vision. I cannot recognize it, but it seems to be emanating from below, so that is where I head. But I am cautious. This ocean holds great peril. I have yet to discover what, in truth, it is.
My forehead hits a solid surface, and I am flung back. This time it is my own yell that disturbs the air. It throbs, and I feel my hand reaching upward to soothe the pain. Now I drift, shifting in and out of consciousness. I dream of a wall of squares.
XXXXXXXXXX
When I wake, or at least enter a steady state of awareness, my forehead still aches, but less so. I bring my eyes to look inward, and grab at a foretelling that seems near, one that is devoid of injuries. My forehead ceases to ache, but though I know it was sudden, it seems so natural, so instantly gradual. At this hour, things are calm. No sound distorts the hues.
I slide forward through spacetime, though slowly, not wanting to relive the discomfort of the impact once more. I hold my hand outward as I move, and eventually I again feel the surface. It is smooth. As my hand strokes the invisible barrier, it seems the cubes in the distance move in accordance, as if I were touching them. As I gaze at them, experimentally utilizing my apparent telekinesis, it strikes me that they could, in fact, not occupy the distance at all; they could be right here, disguising themselves with the illusion of remoteness. As the thought plants itself in my mind, the cubes seem to suddenly warp, to lengthen, to shrink, to envelope me, and then they are right here, right in front of me. They exhibit another animated frame of time, all the same one, the shapes outlined by the fusion of blinking colors; this time, I realize, it is the past, and though it is not me I am seeing, I know that it is mine. It shows what I must do to pass.
As I begin the task, a faint cloud appears. Another sound. It spells out a word.
Help.
There is a human inside here. I am not alone.
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