are we not ruled by time
Jun. 17th, 2016 07:28 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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boxfullofzeroes They pass through the barrier and succumb to their wounds.
They die halfway down the mountain beneath the light of the moon.
--
They stay dead for two years down to the second.
They awaken with the flora grown around them, grass and flowers between the spaces of their limbs, ivy across their torso and face. They take three days to extract their body from them all as carefully as they can.
They leave. They don't know why they leave, but they shouldn't be on the mountain. The mountain is bad. And they promised not to come back.
Promised who? They don't know that, either, but it...must be important.
--
Nobody can see them. It's weird. It's lonely, almost, except it feels like everything they've ever known, too.
A week into wandering the city, they're sick of being walked through if only because it hurts--thy're confronted with a crowd on a narrow street and scream at them to stop, STOP.
And everything does.
It takes them the equivalent of three days to figure out how to restart everything again, and they...resolve not to do that so much.
It doesn't last, but practice makes perfect, anyway.
--
The Moon gave them a name.
They don't like it.
They filch food from peoples' plates as they go through the streets, pick up jewelry and toys that people leave abandoned, and they decide Frisk sounds much better.
--
(At some point, their phone rings. They're shocked enough they don't actually pick up.
A few days later, they think to check the voicemail.
They don't know who any of the voices are. When they call back, their own voice is not heard. The people there--Alphie, Toriel, etc etc talk to them anyway, or whoever used to have it. It's not them, because the voices say "human", and Frisk isn't.)
--
Frisk walks the world. Because they can, because they're not sure what else to do.
They have Time on their side, to stop rivers they need to cross from flowing, to keep the days of walking across plains or deserts or over (different) mountains much shorter, if only to them.
Days and nights mean something, and they mean nothing. It's a mark of Time, but they don't need it, even if the darkness can be frustrating to navigate. That doesn't stop them.
Where are they now? The Americas, probably. There's a lake stretched out in front of them, smooth as glass, reflecting the stars. They love it--they want to see it better.
Nobody else can see them, of course. But if someone could, it would seem that the child disappeared, reappearing as a shape on an island across the water.
They die halfway down the mountain beneath the light of the moon.
--
They stay dead for two years down to the second.
They awaken with the flora grown around them, grass and flowers between the spaces of their limbs, ivy across their torso and face. They take three days to extract their body from them all as carefully as they can.
They leave. They don't know why they leave, but they shouldn't be on the mountain. The mountain is bad. And they promised not to come back.
Promised who? They don't know that, either, but it...must be important.
--
Nobody can see them. It's weird. It's lonely, almost, except it feels like everything they've ever known, too.
A week into wandering the city, they're sick of being walked through if only because it hurts--thy're confronted with a crowd on a narrow street and scream at them to stop, STOP.
And everything does.
It takes them the equivalent of three days to figure out how to restart everything again, and they...resolve not to do that so much.
It doesn't last, but practice makes perfect, anyway.
--
The Moon gave them a name.
They don't like it.
They filch food from peoples' plates as they go through the streets, pick up jewelry and toys that people leave abandoned, and they decide Frisk sounds much better.
--
(At some point, their phone rings. They're shocked enough they don't actually pick up.
A few days later, they think to check the voicemail.
They don't know who any of the voices are. When they call back, their own voice is not heard. The people there--Alphie, Toriel, etc etc talk to them anyway, or whoever used to have it. It's not them, because the voices say "human", and Frisk isn't.)
--
Frisk walks the world. Because they can, because they're not sure what else to do.
They have Time on their side, to stop rivers they need to cross from flowing, to keep the days of walking across plains or deserts or over (different) mountains much shorter, if only to them.
Days and nights mean something, and they mean nothing. It's a mark of Time, but they don't need it, even if the darkness can be frustrating to navigate. That doesn't stop them.
Where are they now? The Americas, probably. There's a lake stretched out in front of them, smooth as glass, reflecting the stars. They love it--they want to see it better.
Nobody else can see them, of course. But if someone could, it would seem that the child disappeared, reappearing as a shape on an island across the water.
