The wind tickles,
guiding me forward.
The sky cries.
Dawn's warm.
We're afraid,
sat on a ledge.
Breathe in.
Dawn slips,
falls.
I'm afraid, lone
legs dangling.
Breathe out.
I watch
as little people
piece Dawn back together.
I slip, the rush
of wind stops.
Quietly,
I'm—
"Awake?"
I blinked. Belatedly life rushed into it. The short, circular pillar in the middle of the room quickly noticed. With a whir a panel in the pillar slid back to reveal a visor that briefly scanned I's languid figure.
I blinked. Its simple bed rose with a clunk and, with several whirs, it tilted forward, sending I tumbling, before the bed was slowly retracted into a set of panels in the floor. The pillar's panel retreated too, near seamlessly fitting in with the rest of the pillar's components.
I blinked, slower than before. It wanted to remember the warmth of the dream it'd had before anything else.
I blinked. What was warm?
"Go~od mor~ning~!"
I, unmoving, laid sprawled across the fluffy floor.
"Wuhuhu. Awful way to start, isn't it?"
I couldn't remember what had happened in its dream. Unsurprisingly.
"It's noisy."
I figured there was no longer a reason to lie around. Its breakfast was waiting, after all.
A set of panels in the left wall slid back. Squeakily wheeled in from them by a metallic figure were the day's specialties. Red bread, red water, red not-quite-meat, red not-quite-fruits…
"Is it… supposed to look like that?"
I ate and its near-polished plates were squeakily taken away by the untalkative figure who brought them.
"At least the taste is fine… burp~"
"Ugh!! Are you an old man???"
"Me?! You're looking for a fight!"
What should I do? Counting off on its bandaged fingers, I remembered that today was its book delivery. Okay, it decided with a clap, Let's make space for them.
The bookshelf, which refered to a number of horizontal shelves that were spaced evenly from the carpeted floor to halfway between the floor and ceiling, extended forward from the back wall and was only a few steps away from the panels that withheld I's bed. A rarely retreating structure, the bookshelf was only a little taller than I while being many Is wide.
"Huh? Hey hey hey, don't touch those!! They definitely say 'Me Property'?? Don't toss them like that!!"
Unfortunately, the bookshelf was full. The burn pile behind I began to grow. Since when were these here?
"ACK!! Me's super secret snack-time stash!!!"
These too… what's with these strange titles…
"A-ahem! Shouldn't you stop now??"
Shrugging, I tossed the last pieces of clutter in its beautifully bare bookshelf to the side.
Yep. I looked at its handiwork, satisfied. This looks okay! There's now enough space for the new arrivals.
"Sob. You brute!! You emptied the bookcase on purpose!!!"
I tilted its head. The bookshelf was pristine, yes, but it almost seemed like something was missing…
"Don't pretend!! You dictator!! Damn overlord!!"
"Sob… My's limited edition prints… yes, this must be what Alexandria was like…"
"This!! This isn't the end of things!! Mark these words!!!"
A headache budded between I's spiraling eyebrows. It glanced at the short, round pillar. There was little response, no part of its smooth, grey surfaces betraying the idea that I was being watched, though it knew otherwise. Although I had been in this room long enough that it should be used to the feeling, it still disliked being observed one-sidedly. That being said, there was little it could do about that, and little less to occupy itself, until I's books arrived.
I sat down, embracing the ankle-high white carpet that touched every corner of the room, and pretended to play an old song on a piano made of air.
Notes soon began to ring softly throughout the room, in sets of twos and threes, as a trickle of flailing spirits blossomed on previously dull grey walls. With every blink a lick more, turning the trickle into a flood of appearances, each sloppy and sudden as though they were splashed on by a being both careless and rigorous in a frantic pursuit of life in chaos. The figures become twisted, flesh forms grotesquely bubbling along expressions of avid affection that sooner turned into vivid sorrows and palpable terror than not, all in time with the din of a make-believe melody. I idly thought of its new books, what might be felt if it read and abandoned each one.
The figures started to pull themselves free from their flat prisons. One by one, in a deliberate and imperfect harmony, a sluggish movement took place as they struggled. Those who succeded quickly found those who hadn't like slaughterers that had found lambs. With roars and gasps from mangled throats they screamed for injustice, their boisterous hatred bouncing off of the unyielding walls of the rectangular room, their forms maintained by the ichor of those whose freedoms they'd robbed. Stumbling over each other, with the awareness of drunkards and the viciousness of rabid dogs, they spun as multitudes of eyes dulled by ambitions long lost. The score crawled on to a crescendo, notes whistling much like a kettle would as the creatures were briefly given new life.
Finding faults in their untimely neighbours, the creatures settled into a deadly waltz, a two step rhythm where every note called for a pair's more ruthless dissolution. Things that looked human clashed with those that did and didn't, all of them riddled with holes that oozed and sizzled with ferocity. Tendrils and jaws gnashed against each other, pulling apart what was barely bound together and dying the floor with what was not. The melody was sharp now, a quailing blade that resolutely dug into the backs of those who had lost their way and wailed the victory of those who had lost their reason. The creatures themselves shrieked and throttled each other, dancing with reckless abandon in a desperate bid to devour one another before the last note rang true. One bit down on another in unhinged glee only to flourish with anger as it was bitten in turn. Another screeched with a force that would shatter glass with ease as yet others wrestled with its fickle bones and tore into its trickling flesh.
Before long, the last figure stood, a towering mass of dripping and mangled veins. Surrounded by corpses of its kind, its tattered form brutalized in the struggle to survive, it looked at I. The creature did not have eyes, but I felt caught in them nonetheless. There was a tension in the air for a moment, a stalemate that formed between actor and conductor, before I's finger fell. With a resounding ting, the song ended.
"—Hey! You weren't listening at all, were you?! Count your days!!!"
"Ugh… whatever! My's going to sleep…"
I blinked. The room was clear again, a boring, silent space with dull grey walls, a pure white carpet, a short, round pillar, and a bookshelf. I sighed, without any particular emotion, as the squeak of rolling joints meant that its books had arrived.