Amea Virou
Snowbound
The darkness infected recesses of Amea Virou’s mind lapped up and down along her thighs with a metaphysical — if not outright metaphorical — wave of water. She couldn’t quite see it, but she knew that it was there much in the same way that a comatose patient would innately understand that something very wrong had just happened. In this primal plane of existence there existed no ego, no id, and even more so hardly any superego at all.
Well, given psychological studies such a thing was hardly possible at all. Given the situation however, a strange feeling of belonging overcame the passed out technomantic amnesiac as she fell deeper and deeper into her state of unbeing-yet-also-being. The duality of her existence faded into just the one, the increasingly dulled voices of a crowd replaced by a single harsh, gravel-like voice that spread across her mind like a bucket of stones to a metallic slide.
— “Well, well, look what we have here. Amnesiac City, population: … you. Your new life ain’t quite what you had hoped it to be, eh? Took you for a wrong turn somewhere along Rage Street before it sent you drifting wholeheartedly onto Vengeance Avenue at full speed. No, the last few weeks haven’t been particularly kind to you, have they?”
Amea tried to speak but struggled to find the ability to. The realization that her lips didn’t even exist on this plane would also bring about the realization that her mouth wouldn’t either. Hell, the more she thought about it, the more she would start to realize that she as a whole simply did not exist. The waves by her thighs subsided and in its place there was quite simply nothing. Not a soul, not a thing, which by all accounts meant put the ‘no’ into ‘nothing’.
— “Feels good, don’it? To let your hair down, to let everyone else go, put your feet up on the metaphorical table and kick the shit for a bit? To do nothing at all and wallow in this pit you’ve dug without much of a care at all. A place where it’s just you, you, and a whole more lot of what you want or need. To continue just like you have for the last few weeks, eh?”
— “Well, the reviews are in, sweetheart. I’ve watched the Amea Show for a while now. Front-row seats, center of the theater, big flashy name drop in the credits, and let me tell you, so far I ain’t all that impressed. Everywhere you go it’s always the Big Amea. All about Superwoman Amea. Amea Virou, the hotshot renegade who needs no-one. No Loske, no Kelsie, not even a Jerec. A big girl at last ever since the training wheels came off. A one-woman army. Trails of blood and entrails of your enemies in your wake, torn and drained to the last drop for what they did to you.”
— “Did you ever THINK about what to salvage? You never considered her. She was your only real friend and you didn't even consider her. You never considered anyone. Your life was vanishing, giving you one last glimpse before they disappeared into the aether forever, and you chose the comfortable lie instead of the truth. Not once did you ask yourself how those around you would react. And now you see how she looks at you. I know that you do, and it’s pretty clear that everyone around you does too. You are little more than a shadow of who you once were, but you can fix that. We can fix that.”
— “Be better, ask her. Take that first step. Ask her.”
Despite what many would say, it wasn’t every day that your own mind would take the time out of its very busy schedule to give you a stern talking to. Ever so rare was the chance for it to truly rest that by most accounts, Amea should really have considered herself lucky. Naturally some would claim such a thing was in fact possible, but most such people also lived in a cuckoo’s nest somewhere the grass always seemed a little more greener wherever they went.
As the last word was imprinted on her subconscious Amea felt shock spread across her system. In a quick, and very cold, instant — she was reminded of the fact that she had been contained within a meaty fleshbag of a body all along, full of nerve endings and muscles that were crying out for the responses they needed to function. As the unfamiliar and most unwelcomed cold spread across her newly rebooted face and dripped against her chest with an uncomfortable cling to her tank top, Amea sat up with a loud gasp as she struggled for breath.
“Are you alright?” Her lips pushed the words for her and practically shouted them out loud as she sat up, straight as an arrow.
And then the world hit her all at once, Amea’s head began to spin and she pushed her hand to her forehead to keep it from rolling over on the floor. In the struggle she swallowed hard to keep from throwing up, yet the food pushed against her throat nonetheless and kept her from speaking. The back of her palm rubbed against her eyes before she sat up straight to look at her friend and try to take in the surroundings.
The last thing she recalled was the stadium, the bet…
Amea groaned yet again, still not entirely sure where she even was.
“Are you okay, Loske?” Amea exhaled and let her shoulders sink and rise as she continued to breathe. “I…” Amea exhaled one more time. “I need to know.”
Loske Treicolt
Well, given psychological studies such a thing was hardly possible at all. Given the situation however, a strange feeling of belonging overcame the passed out technomantic amnesiac as she fell deeper and deeper into her state of unbeing-yet-also-being. The duality of her existence faded into just the one, the increasingly dulled voices of a crowd replaced by a single harsh, gravel-like voice that spread across her mind like a bucket of stones to a metallic slide.
— “Well, well, look what we have here. Amnesiac City, population: … you. Your new life ain’t quite what you had hoped it to be, eh? Took you for a wrong turn somewhere along Rage Street before it sent you drifting wholeheartedly onto Vengeance Avenue at full speed. No, the last few weeks haven’t been particularly kind to you, have they?”
Amea tried to speak but struggled to find the ability to. The realization that her lips didn’t even exist on this plane would also bring about the realization that her mouth wouldn’t either. Hell, the more she thought about it, the more she would start to realize that she as a whole simply did not exist. The waves by her thighs subsided and in its place there was quite simply nothing. Not a soul, not a thing, which by all accounts meant put the ‘no’ into ‘nothing’.
— “Feels good, don’it? To let your hair down, to let everyone else go, put your feet up on the metaphorical table and kick the shit for a bit? To do nothing at all and wallow in this pit you’ve dug without much of a care at all. A place where it’s just you, you, and a whole more lot of what you want or need. To continue just like you have for the last few weeks, eh?”
— “Well, the reviews are in, sweetheart. I’ve watched the Amea Show for a while now. Front-row seats, center of the theater, big flashy name drop in the credits, and let me tell you, so far I ain’t all that impressed. Everywhere you go it’s always the Big Amea. All about Superwoman Amea. Amea Virou, the hotshot renegade who needs no-one. No Loske, no Kelsie, not even a Jerec. A big girl at last ever since the training wheels came off. A one-woman army. Trails of blood and entrails of your enemies in your wake, torn and drained to the last drop for what they did to you.”
— “Did you ever THINK about what to salvage? You never considered her. She was your only real friend and you didn't even consider her. You never considered anyone. Your life was vanishing, giving you one last glimpse before they disappeared into the aether forever, and you chose the comfortable lie instead of the truth. Not once did you ask yourself how those around you would react. And now you see how she looks at you. I know that you do, and it’s pretty clear that everyone around you does too. You are little more than a shadow of who you once were, but you can fix that. We can fix that.”
— “Be better, ask her. Take that first step. Ask her.”
Despite what many would say, it wasn’t every day that your own mind would take the time out of its very busy schedule to give you a stern talking to. Ever so rare was the chance for it to truly rest that by most accounts, Amea should really have considered herself lucky. Naturally some would claim such a thing was in fact possible, but most such people also lived in a cuckoo’s nest somewhere the grass always seemed a little more greener wherever they went.
As the last word was imprinted on her subconscious Amea felt shock spread across her system. In a quick, and very cold, instant — she was reminded of the fact that she had been contained within a meaty fleshbag of a body all along, full of nerve endings and muscles that were crying out for the responses they needed to function. As the unfamiliar and most unwelcomed cold spread across her newly rebooted face and dripped against her chest with an uncomfortable cling to her tank top, Amea sat up with a loud gasp as she struggled for breath.
“Are you alright?” Her lips pushed the words for her and practically shouted them out loud as she sat up, straight as an arrow.
And then the world hit her all at once, Amea’s head began to spin and she pushed her hand to her forehead to keep it from rolling over on the floor. In the struggle she swallowed hard to keep from throwing up, yet the food pushed against her throat nonetheless and kept her from speaking. The back of her palm rubbed against her eyes before she sat up straight to look at her friend and try to take in the surroundings.
The last thing she recalled was the stadium, the bet…
Amea groaned yet again, still not entirely sure where she even was.
“Are you okay, Loske?” Amea exhaled and let her shoulders sink and rise as she continued to breathe. “I…” Amea exhaled one more time. “I need to know.”
Loske Treicolt
