[It's middling. The blade's tip presses down into his shoulder, but not enough to make more than a surface cut. His father speaks, but Malik can't quite hear the words as the cool metal runs up his jaw and to his mouth, almost as if to silence him. It's an icy chill that settles over him, much like the same temperature as the freezer he found himself fighting against earlier.
The sand continues to trickle in, and the ground begins to shift under him. The apology was enough to stop the attack, but his father remains standing in his way. There are only two options.
[ He cries out in pain, despite the shallow cut of the blade. The memory - no, the trauma - of the last time he father held a knife to his back amplifying his fear. It stings, blood starting to seep into his shirt, his entire back feeling like it's starting to spark with the memory of the pain he had endured six years before.
He looks up with great trepidation, careful of injuring himself further, looking like a real sorry sight with his bloody nose and bloody face. Disgraceful. Disgusting.
He tries to run. Luck is not on his side with a dice roll of 6, and he slips on the sand as it keeps flowing in. He scrambles to find his balance, even if he has to crawl again, towards the exit. ]
[Malik tries to run, and at the same time his father rushes forward in a moment to block his escape. The knife swipes, but Malik slipping on the sand means he narrowly misses having his eye taken out.
The sand slips, slides, and Malik falls forward. Even as he crawls though, his hand slips right between the cracks.
He finds himself falling headfirst, sand falling after him, opening closing above him quickly and the last shred of hope finally sealed away.
"They say, if you fall in a dream and don't wake up before you land...you die in real life."
But...fear is an incredibly powerful feeling, after all.]
[Malik falls. He falls, blood in his eyes, choking on the sand, and for a moment his surroundings flicker. His talons stretch and curl. The stone blocks around him fall alongside him. The distant ringing of the church bells grows louder and louder.
And louder.
And louder....
...until he hits the floor of the metallic apartment. His bedding has fallen with him, a pillow slightly cushioning his noggin. The ringing, as it turns out, is his alarm. A look at his phone says it's Monday morning. His injuries appear to be healed.
He can proceed as normal, and the light even works just fine. As he goes through his morning routine though, it occurs to him just how quiet it is today. There are no signs that anyone else even lives in the apartment anymore.
But isn't that what Malik wanted? He's free now. Free of obligations. Free of other people's judgement. Free of other people in general.]
[ This is everything he wanted and more. So why does he feel this way? This general malaise, this idea that something isn't quite right, as he walks around the apartment. His apartment.
He has half a mind to try texting his favorite Resident, like maybe they're still here. They're a part of the Prism. They should still be here. So he fires off a text, waiting for an answer that will never come: ]
[Malik's text bounces back. It seems that even the Residents have left this place to give Malik the freedom he so desired. If he looks in his contacts, every person has been erased except for himself.
The Prism looks different when there's no one in it. He does fairly normal things that he'd do on any other day; get some new clothes in the infinity closet, browse books in the library, play a few rounds of solitaire. Nothing wildly different than normal.
He gets bored.
He hasn't been this bored before. There's always-- something. Someone. Something going on, someone doing something stupid, even if it's frustrating and annoying. The stillness and nothingness is almost the same as what he had tried to escape before. The routine he had abandoned long ago doesn't seem quite so oppressive when he's settling into a new one that feels equally as stifling. ]
[Very glad Malik was having a nice day for a while. But then the boredom sets in. The Prism is quiet, but at least he doesn't have to fight with anyone about doing the things he wants to do. He's free to do as he pleases, take what he wants, live a life without worry...
...but the air is stagnant. It feels similar to a hot summer's day, sticky and humid and weird. Nothing appears to happen here, almost as if waiting for Malik himself to act.]
[ Even doing the things he used to for thrills - stealing, cheating - feel hollow and meaningless. It's not really stealing if he can take what he wants with no consequence. He can't really cheat at games without an opponent to play against. He tries to create a new solo form of Uno that he can play, but gets bored of that too. He can't seem to break out of this new rut, and it's only been a day.
He feels the call of wanting to leave again. Experience new things. But he's trapped here, isn't he? No way out. No way home. Not that he had one of those.
As his day winds down, and he's just sort of wandering around haunting this ghost town, he's stuck with his thoughts. With himself. And that just makes the loneliness all the more apparent. He looks up towards the sky, talking to no one: ]
Hey, Rishid. You said you'd always be here to take care of me... How am I supposed to do anything in a place like this without my shadow?
[ There's no answer. ]
You're taking care of the Ghouls while I'm gone? I don't want any of them slacking off.
[ No answer. ]
Good. That's what I thought.
[ ... ]
Do you think Isis knows I've disappeared? She'll be mad...
[ He stops walking, dropping his gaze to take stock of his empty surroundings for a long while, before looking back up to continue his one-sided conversation. ]
No need to worry. I'll be back soon.
[ He can't even convince himself that's the truth. ]
[The summer-esque haze continues to surround him. His shadow is cast along the ground as he moves to different parts of the Prism, but it's the only one that's there beside him. Alone with his thoughts, Malik will find that every now and then he may hallucinate little flashes of gold out of the corner of his eye.
If he looks though, there's nothing.
As he stands in the center of his new, free world, everything seems to come to a standstill. He can do things his way now without following someone else's orders.
He's a clever guy. That's even what the lady voice had said-- wait, that was a dream wasn't it? How long ago was that, even? Yesterday? This morning? A year ago? With time moving at a sluggish pace, it feels like it's already been an eternity.
The glimmers out of the corner of his eye escape him every time he tries to look. He tries to convince himself that this is fine. It's what he's always done, and this will be no different.
This isn't going to be any different at all.
It's all the same.
He's back at the beginning.
He hasn't made any progress at all.
The Metallic apartment is home now. Just as cold and empty as the place he grew up, with a better aesthetic.
Television isn't fun anymore when he isn't annoying his roommates about it.
Nothing is fun. Nothing will ever be fun again. There's no life here. He's just a specter, drifting through the old locales to remind them that someone used to be there. He, too, will fade away. No one will remember him. He has accomplished nothing.
All that's left to do is to laze away until there's nothing left. ]
[Time blends together to the point Malik loses track of it. It's difficult for him to discern what day it is, or even what hour it is. Nothing really matters now, does it? He has all the time in the world, so why does he need to keep track of it?
He's in no rush to push forward. There's no reason to. Without another person responding...what's he doing any of this for? There's no joy to be found in doing things for himself and himself along.
He feels tired...his eyes flutter to a close as he hears a woman's voice once again.]
"How'd you enjoy the show? Did you happen to notice the central conflict at the core? How high of a price will you pay for your freedom? The ending...it turned out a bit surprising that Malik got what he wanted in the end, and yet it still wasn't enough. There's no sense of freedom when you're still trapped with your thoughts.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
saturations) wrote2022-03-07 11:26 am
no subject
The sand continues to trickle in, and the ground begins to shift under him. The apology was enough to stop the attack, but his father remains standing in his way. There are only two options.
Free as a bird, trapped like a rat.]
no subject
He looks up with great trepidation, careful of injuring himself further, looking like a real sorry sight with his bloody nose and bloody face. Disgraceful. Disgusting.
He tries to run. Luck is not on his side with a dice roll of 6, and he slips on the sand as it keeps flowing in. He scrambles to find his balance, even if he has to crawl again, towards the exit. ]
no subject
The sand slips, slides, and Malik falls forward. Even as he crawls though, his hand slips right between the cracks.
He finds himself falling headfirst, sand falling after him, opening closing above him quickly and the last shred of hope finally sealed away.
"They say, if you fall in a dream and don't wake up before you land...you die in real life."
But...fear is an incredibly powerful feeling, after all.]
no subject
His nerves are fried.
His back hurts.
His heart hurts.
His head hurts.
He wants to wake up from this nightmare.
Wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up wake up wake up wake up
He doesn't want to keep doing this anymore.
If this is a dream and he could have anything he wanted, it's not that he would want to be saved;
He would want his death to be painless. ]
no subject
And louder.
And louder....
...until he hits the floor of the metallic apartment. His bedding has fallen with him, a pillow slightly cushioning his noggin. The ringing, as it turns out, is his alarm. A look at his phone says it's Monday morning. His injuries appear to be healed.
...proceed?]
no subject
He looks at his hands. His normal human hands. Touches his forehead. Cautiously reaches around to touch his shoulder.
It really was just a bad dream?
He proceeds like a normal, which means bathroom and beauty routine first. For some reason, he feels like he has to hesitate before trying the light. ]
no subject
He can proceed as normal, and the light even works just fine. As he goes through his morning routine though, it occurs to him just how quiet it is today. There are no signs that anyone else even lives in the apartment anymore.
But isn't that what Malik wanted? He's free now. Free of obligations. Free of other people's judgement. Free of other people in general.]
no subject
He has half a mind to try texting his favorite Resident, like maybe they're still here. They're a part of the Prism. They should still be here. So he fires off a text, waiting for an answer that will never come: ]
Are you there?
no subject
He can explore if he'd like.]
no subject
The Prism looks different when there's no one in it. He does fairly normal things that he'd do on any other day; get some new clothes in the infinity closet, browse books in the library, play a few rounds of solitaire. Nothing wildly different than normal.
He gets bored.
He hasn't been this bored before. There's always-- something. Someone. Something going on, someone doing something stupid, even if it's frustrating and annoying. The stillness and nothingness is almost the same as what he had tried to escape before. The routine he had abandoned long ago doesn't seem quite so oppressive when he's settling into a new one that feels equally as stifling. ]
no subject
...but the air is stagnant. It feels similar to a hot summer's day, sticky and humid and weird. Nothing appears to happen here, almost as if waiting for Malik himself to act.]
no subject
He feels the call of wanting to leave again. Experience new things. But he's trapped here, isn't he? No way out. No way home. Not that he had one of those.
As his day winds down, and he's just sort of wandering around haunting this ghost town, he's stuck with his thoughts. With himself. And that just makes the loneliness all the more apparent. He looks up towards the sky, talking to no one: ]
Hey, Rishid. You said you'd always be here to take care of me... How am I supposed to do anything in a place like this without my shadow?
[ There's no answer. ]
You're taking care of the Ghouls while I'm gone? I don't want any of them slacking off.
[ No answer. ]
Good. That's what I thought.
[ ... ]
Do you think Isis knows I've disappeared? She'll be mad...
[ He stops walking, dropping his gaze to take stock of his empty surroundings for a long while, before looking back up to continue his one-sided conversation. ]
No need to worry. I'll be back soon.
[ He can't even convince himself that's the truth. ]
no subject
If he looks though, there's nothing.
As he stands in the center of his new, free world, everything seems to come to a standstill. He can do things his way now without following someone else's orders.
...but...what is there left to do now?]
no subject
He's a clever guy. That's even what the lady voice had said-- wait, that was a dream wasn't it? How long ago was that, even? Yesterday? This morning? A year ago? With time moving at a sluggish pace, it feels like it's already been an eternity.
The glimmers out of the corner of his eye escape him every time he tries to look. He tries to convince himself that this is fine. It's what he's always done, and this will be no different.
This isn't going to be any different at all.
It's all the same.
He's back at the beginning.
He hasn't made any progress at all.
The Metallic apartment is home now. Just as cold and empty as the place he grew up, with a better aesthetic.
Television isn't fun anymore when he isn't annoying his roommates about it.
Nothing is fun. Nothing will ever be fun again. There's no life here. He's just a specter, drifting through the old locales to remind them that someone used to be there. He, too, will fade away. No one will remember him. He has accomplished nothing.
All that's left to do is to laze away until there's nothing left. ]
no subject
He's in no rush to push forward. There's no reason to. Without another person responding...what's he doing any of this for? There's no joy to be found in doing things for himself and himself along.
He feels tired...his eyes flutter to a close as he hears a woman's voice once again.]
"How'd you enjoy the show? Did you happen to notice the central conflict at the core? How high of a price will you pay for your freedom? The ending...it turned out a bit surprising that Malik got what he wanted in the end, and yet it still wasn't enough. There's no sense of freedom when you're still trapped with your thoughts.
Haha...hope to see you again soon. Stay golden."
[The only thing to do for now is sleep...]