Logs:Monotony
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| RL Date: 5 April, 2015 |
| Who: Keysi |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Vignette |
| What: 10 days have passed on the outside. One long day continues on the inside. |
| Where: Collapsed Hallway, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 15, Month 6, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
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| What day? What hour? Did it matter? Was it night? Perhaps the best way to tell was the volume of the murmurs outside. Quieter at night, she guessed. Maybe that made sense. The sounds came and went at odd times though, or so it felt. Or perhaps, without daylight to churn their circadian rhythms, time really isn't passing like it would 'on the outside.' Everything is always the same. The walls, she could trace the shatter lines seen in the dim glow light with her finger- with her eyes closed. The ceiling, they may have all counted the grains and lines hewn within the stone at least twice. The loose rocks strewn about the room, static in their places, might as well each have a name. And a history. And a family. Maybe all the little pebbles are that one's children. Keysi shifts onto her better side to cup her hand and scoop five pebbles- exactly five- towards herself until they are but a few centimeters or so from her face. It must be asexual reproduction, though, Keysi mused. For the rocks don't move, of course. They just split. Like budding yeast, except instantaneous. Dramatic. But fast. Like most one night stands. Not that she's had them. Of course. With a single fingertip, she rolls one of the pebbles in a small circle- it's a nice one, smooth and dark on its crown, rough at the base with a slant of quartz-like stone cutting through its center like a lightning bolt. The healer rolls back onto her back, a sigh accompanying her, to hold her pebble friend into the beam of light streaming a taunt of hope from their arm's-width crevasse, casting its shadow to the floor beside her. She curls her hand around it to make a face, presumably a dragon's face with the quartz as a slanted eye. Her stained and dirty thumb moves up and down as its toothless maw. A dragon, speaking silent words. Movements were easier. Breathing was easier. It was her single, logical, indication that time was passing. But nothing feels logical. Everything is in its place, unchanging. Everything is the same. The same. Always the same. Even the dust, even the air was still. In some corners where the murmurs never reach, when the other captives choose the quiet as she herself so often does, the quiet settles like a weight that is, in itself, waiting. Waiting to consume her- anyone- with the ever-growing numbness of nothingness. Just... waiting. |
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