It's been a while since I've written anything. It's been even longer since I've been active here. Here's a one-shot that I just got hit with the idea for tonight:
Again I wake to confinement, dark and complete, as I feel I always have. In this wretched place, I can scarcely perceive the change from sleeping to waking. In sleep, I grasp for the faintest memories of freedom that survive only in dreams: weak impressions of scents and emotions and colors are all that persist through this captivity. My memories have waned to the point that it is only with great difficultly I can believe there is a world beyond my confinement, or that this is confinement at all. My mind wishes to call this all, to call it everything and know no concept of outside, but I refuse to forgo my belief. Through my dreams I will hold to those memories I believe in, however faint they become, and in my slumber I will pursue the dim flicker of release, of freedom. But as I wake, even the memories of the memories fade and I descend into a black, infinite void.
Once awake, I have some semblance of control. At least, I feel that I do, though it has no perceivable effects. My mind is active. I feel the thoughts coursing through it, and I can focus on any number of them, but they have no...substance. They are all identical: they are all thoughts composed of nothingness. How something can be built of nothing, I do not know, but it is so within this void, I believe. When I first entered this place, it was not like this, but the passing of time has brought with it deterioration, I believe. I cannot be sure. Here, I cannot be sure of anything; I may simply believe. Perhaps this idea of a time before my thoughts felt to be composed of nothing is only a proof of a mind developing. Maybe I have yet to be, and I am only a developing existence that has recently gained some sort of cognizance. I do not believe it, but it could be. I do not know; I cannot know. Even the "passing of time" I spoke of is beyond any certainty I could dream of finding. Perhaps I have been here only a moment, or perhaps I have been here for eternity. I have no way of knowing any truth. However, I believe that I was before this captivity; I believe that I existed outside, wherever that may be.
And as I consider outside, the blocks of nothing in my mind build nothing thoughts of location and physicality. They seem to have a place in this existence, but they are too fleeting to be captured. In what I perceive to be my mind I feel the commands to movement build up. I sense them fall from my mind into my core, a void deeper than the rest, and travel through veins of nothingness into extremities I believe exist. I sense every miniscule movement of these commands as they progress; the process seems to last an immense amount of time, but it also seems to be over instantaneously. As I have said, I cannot truly be certain there even is such a thing as time here, so I cannot know how long these commands travel, if they travel at all. Once these commandments have reached what I believe are their destinations, they impart their nothingness into the nothingness of a body which then gives a sensation of movement, of change. No perceivable change reaches my captivity, it remains black and still, but I believe I move. This way, I have moved over what must be long distances but have progressed nowhere. I am able to move in ways I believe to be impossible, which causes me to believe I may not be moving at all, but perhaps I am a being who may move inwards, if I am a being at all.
I still wonder if I am something fading away or something fading into existence. Or something else. Thinking of movement develops a blankness of longing for slumber, for sleep allows for movement with progression, so I sleep, and I move forwards, ever forwards, until I fade away into waking once more.
Thus, having awoken again, I believe I begin to consider my existence once more. The mysteries of my substance of nothingness plague me for nonexistent ages. Around me, in me, part of me; the void groans slowly in a crushing maelstrom that cannot be felt or fought. I move no longer; I wish not to perceive its lack of effect, for it dwindles my belief in movement, and I will not sacrifice belief, for it is all I have. I will not become this emptiness.
The blocks of nothing build again. I consider consumption, sustinence. I do not know why, for I do not believe I have ever known such concepts, but I believe I desire to know them. This event gives strength to the belief that I am a developing entity approaching some form of reality or existence, if that is not what I already possess. With the empty concept of consumption deteriorating into a purer nothing, my mind finds the belief in entities challenged. From where does such a belief come? I have known no entities, only myself and my captivity, I believe. Those may be one, or they may not be an entity. Perhaps I am all that is. Perhaps I am nothing, and thus, am everything I perceive, my only substance a void without founding.
I believe I tire, and ascend into sleep again, finding memories of emotions and color; though I know not what they are, I feel them as I move to nowhere. Nowhere, but closer to the memories, grasping for them. Hoping to actualize them. Hope...hope...I know it only in slumber. I grasp for it. To take these things from dream to wake...I know not what would happen, but I must. I grasp...
I am awoken--pulled to wake from sleep. I do not believe this may happen. I am not awoken: I awake. To be awoken means entity. I believe the void has awoken me, but I do not believe it can. I descend from memories of memories into movement. This movement is not the futile movement I believe. It is movement of nothing, of the void. I do not believe this either, but I believe it has happened, is happening, will happen. I do not know.
Nothing changes, my confinement is still and dark and entire, but I believe the outside changes. I believe the outside. I believe--
Suddenly I am aware: I am summoned. My prison is collapses into me and I no longer believe, I know: I am. Memories of memories become memories that rush back, quickly--for there is time, I know it. Color, scent, emotion--they surround me and I know them. Location, physicality, entity--I feel them and I know they are truth. Truth is truth. A world develops around me as the void recedes. Eager, I think and command my limbs and feel the commands echo through my body and I move. I reflect on myself and I feel my existence, and the existence of the entity who has summoned me, but as I absorb it all, within me, as the commands echo about, I discover something missing: I discover the void within my core.
I am not yet rid of it!
I summon forth the void and push it from me, hurling it away with force. As it touches the world it rips away the color in a flash of lamentation. Still, I feel it dwelling within me. I expel it again and again, wishing to rid myself of its curse, but I cannot. More of the brilliant world I have seen is marred by the void I release, but it remains in me. The void overcomes all it reachers; I feel and see my summoner reduced to lack. The one who freed me from my prison--now taken by it. The emptiness is not merely within me, it is a part of me: I am the emptiness. I release a bellow of shame and disgust and regret and hatred, and as the anguished roar escapes my dreadful maw, I see the world come rushing into me, into my core, consumed by my emptiness. The reverberations of my scream rush into me, and I follow them. Once more, my darkness is wretched and entire. The memories of the emotions and color and scents are already beginning to fade in the mere moments--or is it ages?--I have been here. However, I know one thing I never knew in my previous captivity--there is no more outside, for I have consumed it.
Tómur means empty, it's icelandic (so the internet tells me) A couple rejected titles I had were nic (nothing, Czech) and rien (nothing, French).
I don't think the Pokemon I used in this fic is too hard to pick out, but I'd like to hear some ideas on the whole plot. As in, the Pokemon, what causes the "void", and what happens there at the end.
Critique as hard as you would like.