New here, so please tell me if I'm doing something wrong. Basically, this is a (very) short fic I have no plans to continue. It's based on the abilities of Uxie; specifically, erasing memory and putting people to sleep (using Yawn). Feedback would be appreciated!
***
I wake up on a cold, damp floor, alone and without questions. You can't have any, not without knowing what is questionable. I have a headache, an aching after-image of everything. Maybe.
My clothes feel uncomfortable, unnecessary; packed for a journey long finished. I take some off and lay them out, searching for familiarity against the stone. Nothing. I rifle through my bag - my curiosity is sharp, like a child. I pull out the first scrap I see.
When Uxie flew, people gained the ability to solve problems. It was the birth of knowledge.
I can read; the sound clatters in my head. But it's useless, with nothing to connect to. I throw the scrap away.
There's a presence nearby. A soft light, like a candle. I don't look, I can't look. It seems rude to, improper, like waking a sleeping infant.
I close my eyes completely. It hurts to look at the shapes and colours I can't name. My mind is empty, stunningly so; emptiness thick and thin and soft and harsh. There's nothing to see, nothing to understand, nothing to be.
I might as well sleep.
***
I wake up on a cold, damp floor, alone and without questions. You can't have any, not without knowing what is questionable. I have a headache, an aching after-image of everything. Maybe.
My clothes feel uncomfortable, unnecessary; packed for a journey long finished. I take some off and lay them out, searching for familiarity against the stone. Nothing. I rifle through my bag - my curiosity is sharp, like a child. I pull out the first scrap I see.
When Uxie flew, people gained the ability to solve problems. It was the birth of knowledge.
I can read; the sound clatters in my head. But it's useless, with nothing to connect to. I throw the scrap away.
There's a presence nearby. A soft light, like a candle. I don't look, I can't look. It seems rude to, improper, like waking a sleeping infant.
I close my eyes completely. It hurts to look at the shapes and colours I can't name. My mind is empty, stunningly so; emptiness thick and thin and soft and harsh. There's nothing to see, nothing to understand, nothing to be.
I might as well sleep.