Work Text:
To whoever gets my room:
Hi, My name is Pomni. If you are inheriting my room, I guess I'm already gone. Maybe you got to go to my funeral.
Funerals are some of the most somber days we have around here. Have I been to 12? I think?
You may brush them off at first, but if you last a while, you will learn to relish the stories of the old people from your seniors, and you will pass the stories of the friends you make on to the people who come after you, telling them stories of people they never got to meet.
I am writing this letter to leave a 'record' of myself in the circus. Caine may just delete it in the end all the same, but I want to at least try. To be able to prove that I existed, and maybe help whoever comes after me.
I'm not sure how long I have been here. It gets very difficult to keep track. We tried at some point, but caine eventually deleted it all together. No one was sure which day of April it was when that happened. We stopped trying after that. If I had to guess, id say… maybe 10 years? Again, it's hard to tell. We don't age. At least, not physically.
In that time, I saw a rotating door of new faces. Ol' Kinger and I are the only ones left from when I first got here. Everyone else abstracted, sooner or later. And I am coming up on my turn soon. I can feel it.
Kinger, in his madness, is actually mostly immune to the continual mental decline that ends in abstraction. Funny enough, his inconsistent memory seems to be what keeps him 'sane.' Or at least what passes for sane around here.
Maybe that is the secret: the memories you keep slowly wear you down, grind down your resistance, your hope for a future until there is nothing left. I've seen it many times before by now. People arrive, there is a 'freak out' period, and they adjust, but they keep trying to escape, keep holding out hope, and that's what gets them. I still occasionally think about escape, about what I know about the world, about Caine, but I have learned that I can feel my sanity slightly slip when I do. It's best to just forget about all that altogether, to forget about whatever 'old life' you might have had. It doesn't matter anymore.
Haha, thats probably not what you want to hear, though is it? Not right now, at least, you are probably still in your 'freak out' phase.
I fear abstracting, but at the same time, I find it somewhat exciting. What happens? Is it death? Real death? We can't die here, so the finality of death is exciting. Or maybe that's how we actually go back to the 'real world.' I guess I'll only know when It's my turn.
And, as I said, it will be my turn soon enough. The newbies are what tell me. They look at me strangely, with fear and pity. I zone out for a while, and when I come to, they look disturbed. I'm not exactly sure what I say or do at those times. But it hardly matters.
I think knowing my own 'death' is approaching has given me some more perspective. More importantly, I am motivated to prioritize my time. Figure out what I want to use my limited time left on. And I chose Kinger. The only one left from the original crew. I may have already said that. Over the years, he has become somewhat of a father to me. I care for him, enjoying our time together. In our off time, we like to spend time alone together in the dark. It brings us both some calmness, and we enjoy each other's company. The time we spend together, alone, basking in each other's aura, savoring the silence between us, is the one thing I am afraid to lose.
It's the one thing I will miss once I am gone. But him…. I have no idea how much longer he will survive. He has stagnated in his madness; he doesn't get any worse or any better. I would guess he could live here forever, his memories constantly fading and renewing seemingly at random.
I hope he remembers me. With the same fondness and reverence he still talks about his wife. Even after all these years.
For whoever gets my room. Whoever is reading this, Treat the old man well. If you are patient, he may end up as a father to you, as he did to me.
When you find and finish reading this, give this letter to Kinger, and tell him I love him. But, I would say make sure you take it back from him. He may lose it, then you'll never get it back. I would appreciate it if you could leave this letter somewhere in this room, for when you also go the way of me and everyone else. So your successor who inherits the room will find it, and again, give it to Kinger. In this way, I hope to give the old guy intermittent happiness. Even if it is ever so brief.
Yours Truly
-Pomni