Work Text:
This is wrong.
Another day passes by the glass windows.
You are sitting in an office, in your office where you work, and in front of you are sheets of thin white paper, stacked to form a deformed rectangular cuboid. Important words are written on them. You are reading them, very carefully, and writing reports and answers and paragraphs with an instrument with blue ink inside, you know it disperses the ink via a small metallic ball which rotates. It is a ballpoint pen. Yes.
You are working. This is good.
A door opens and two individuals enter. You know them both, and you are moving your facial muscles. It is an expression of frowning, displeasure, not a smile, although your mouth does move as well. Maybe you hate them.
A kiv is curling their receptors away, so skittish, they are more like a tir with the way they spill their emotions out so freely. A human is seemingly reassuring them with a confident glance. You are starting a conversation, a long, tiresome one, you know this, and-
And it goes
Through
You
.
They are going away. The room is looking dark. It is getting darker and darker by the
Second day passes by the windows which are made out of glass. Glass is used very often - in fact, in every building - as it is made out of sand, and sand is very abundant on earth. You know that sand is melted and thus glass is obtained. You also know that it is not actually such a simple process. You do not know how much more complicated it is than you think it is, and you do not even know what you think it is. The person you asked did not know that either, so it is okay.
Ah. Who did you ask? Was it you who asked?
Uh. You think
it was
your
mother! When you were a child! You were a very curious child, and you asked all sorts of silly questions, like how glass is produced or how pens write or what is the call. What call?
Right now, however, you are no child, you are very much an adult, for a human at least. Enough of silly questions, you must focus on
working. This is good.
The door opens and two individuals enter. You know them, and you are moving your facial muscles. It is the expression of frowning, displeasure, your mouth moves as well despite not being a smile. They did something. They feel bad and ashamed. But you do not know this, actually. You are guessing.
The kiv is curling his receptors away, so skittish, but maybe deep down he hopes that you will not understand his alien expressions. The c- human is seemingly reassuring him with a confident glance. You are starting a conversation, a long, tiresome one, you already know this, and-
And it
suddenly
appears
to y ou
tha t
they are going away, and in their eyes you see unease. the room is looking dark. it is getting darker and darker by the
you blink. this is wrong. why do you remember that? what do you remember? is that a dèjá vu? wait, no, it is written like déjà vu. or is it? do you remember that? are you writing?
you are writing reports and answers and paragraphs, with your ballpoint pen, but maybe it is not yours, and maybe you are not writing.
this does not make sense.
you write a word. yes, you are writing! good, this makes sense.
it looks familiar. it says "you". is it you? are you a word? is it me? are you me? me- what are you? wait
this does not make sense. th
Grab onto something.
Grab
it
and do not let go.
A bright day passes by the windows. Out of glass.
You sit in the office, where you work, and in front of you are your sheets of thin white paper, stacked to form a deformed rectangular shape, which is also yours in a way. Can you claim a shape to be yours? That would be great.
Important words are written on them, sadly they are not yours, but someone wrote them. You read them, very carefully, and write reports and answers and paragraphs with the ballpoint pen, your trusty pen, and you even know the mechanism with which it works. Sometimes it forgets, but you remind it, and it thanks you.
You like your pen. but does it like you? you should ask that one gaze. or maybe not. You
pens do not? t? alk
This is wrong.
the air feels too tight, maybe you should not claw at it as much? But is it not unsafe? To let it go?
why does it matter?
The door opens and two individuals enter. You know they did something, and you move your facial muscles. You frown, displeased. you know it. you know it you remember you know it you know you are not guessing it is in the air
it is i n
Air is the Earth's atmosphere. Air is a mixture of many gases and tiny dust particles. It is the clear gas in which living things live and breathe. It has an indefinite shape and volume. It has mass and weight, because it is matter. The weight of air creates atmospheric pressure. There is no air in the void. Earth's atmosphere is composed of about 78 percent nitrogen, 21 percent oxygen, 0.9 percent argon, and 0.1 percent other gases. Animals live and need to breathe the oxygen in the atmosphere. In breathing, the lungs put oxygen into the blood, and send back carbon dioxide to the air. Plants need the carbon dioxide in the air to live. They give off the oxygen that Earth's inhabitants breathe. Without it animals die of asphyxia. Air can be polluted by some gases (such as carbon monoxide, hydrocarbons, and nitrogen oxides), smoke, and ash. This air pollution causes various problems including smog, acid rain and global warming. It can damage living beings's health and the environment. Air is invisible: it cannot be seen by the eye, though a shimmering in hot air can be seen. The air in corrucystic spaces usually contains extremely low amounts of oxygen. They cannot support life. Is this your life? Are you living? do you live?
-"is it not strange, juniper?"
the kiv's eyes are full of sorrowful bitterness. this is wrong.
your office has no walls. is it your office? in pure meaning, it is yours, but the space it exists in-
"of course, the realization slips your mind"
ㅤ
what is he talking about? what the fuck. you swell up with confused rage, eyes bolting to the br-
she is no t here. not here.
no.
she is here. you just need to look elsewhere, right. you need to forget the eyes you were given and feel the space around you, and you do, you get it fast, and-
"say, what memory do you treasure most?"
you want to cry. you know people cry, bright cousins and obesks both, but you do not remember how.
her remains are there, torn. mangled. eaten. you turn to the kiv, and he looks different. he is hurt. his form is. his thoughts are.
what memory do you treasure most?
..
...
..................
but this is not my memory.
a rabid feeling of hunger overtakes me. i am dying.