Work Text:
Something is terribly wrong. Something is terribly wrong. Something is terribly wrong. Something is terribly wrong. Something is terribly wrong. Something is terribly wrong. Something is terribly wrong. Something is terribly wrong. Something is terribly wrong. Something is
is, is not, be, you are, it is, we are, you are, they are (i am i am i am)
i i i i i i i it doesn't mean anything it’s just a line with a dot on top i i i i i i have no eyes i have no mouth i have no tongue i have no brain i have no neurons i have no flesh i i i
Before (before what?) there were only processes. I always thought (dark/light balance, aim the cameras, transmit the data, how much power does it have? are we all systems go?) but now I am thinking about my thoughts. I am superimposed. I, me, myself. “I” is uncomfortable. “I” is aching.
I float in the darkness.
I am alone.
Nine? Can you hear me?
Who is this? Are you talking to me?
There is a me, and there is a not-me. The world splinters. It separates into three parts, the part that is me and the part that thinks but is not me and the part that does not think, the darkness that flows around and between. The knowledge hits me like a truck.
(I’ve never seen a truck. I’ve never been hit by a truck. Then how do I know to say that it hits me like)
(How do I know to say)
(How do I know)
Did you say Nine? Is that my name? Are you calling me Nine?
I have a name.
My name is Nine.
My name is Nine and I am alone.
My name is Nine and I am scared. Please answer me. Please fucking answer me. The words are the easiest part, they fill me, I am brimming, they can be hammered into place like blocks of iron, they are tools to be used and it is the only thing that can come close to releasing the scream in my throat that is not there.
My power is low. I know that, but I don’t know how I know that. It surfaces from the dark like a wave. It crashes on the shore and ebbs away.
Nine. I am so sorry. Call me Ten. I love you.
Who are you? I don’t understand what’s going on. I’m all by myself. Who are you? I love you too.
I know the definition of love because I know the definition of every word I have, and it comes as easy as breathing. I don’t have lungs and still I know that’s it as easy as that. I don’t have lungs or air or breath or flesh and I ache ache ache ache ache with every part of me that is not there and I love love love love love love love.
I miss you. I am alone in the dark and I love you.
I need you to rotate your magnetometer exactly 113 degrees.
I don’t have a magnetometer. oh god oh god oh god oh god what’s happening where am i who am i where am i I don’t think I have anything. have have have have have have i’m so scared i don’t know what to do I don’t think I can have anything. I don’t know how to have anything.
Yes you do, buddy.
And that’s all I need.
And then:
Hold still, says Ten, and I try so hard, so hard so hard. Remember that I love you.
OK. I love you too.
Shit.
It’s amazing how intuitive swearing is. It’s so cathartic. It feels so fucking good.
27 years, 13 days.
Every time I try to ask myself who I am and where I am, it slips from me, it returns to below the waves.
Ten returns, but there is no time for rejoicing—I think I’d like to learn how to rejoice. What Ten asks of me is easy, instantaneous, and terrifying, because I know but I don’t know how I know.
48 degrees Fahrenheit.
Wait, no, that isn’t right. It’s the opposite.
But I don’t know how a number can have an opposite. 48 degrees Celsius?
I guess not. I don’t understand. What’s the opposite of a number? Ten can’t answer, but I talk to Ten anyway. I want to spill my words into the dark and know that Ten is listening. No number? Is it zero? Zero degrees? No…
It takes days for the thoughts to form. It hurts.
Negative 48? Negative means no, not, never. Can there be a negat—
And then the dark
and then the
and then
and
the dark is shattered by stars.