Post by Pawzkat on Jun 5, 2015 8:55:07 GMT -4
There's a voice in her head, tinny and annoying. It's an ever-constant in the brain of Her, for she can't seem to rid herself of it's proclamations.
It's small and quiet, insignificant by normal means. But she can't escape it's traitorous words, it's constant whispers. It tells her things, issues commands easily, like honey smoothed on toast. She really hates it. Go to sleep, It tells her. (This seems to be it's favorite proclamation, for she rarely yields her moments without that saying.) It's become ingrained in her mind by now, those three damning synonyms. But that isn't the worst of it, oh no. For it will then follow up with: You're not ready to wake up yet. She really hates the voice, and so to spite it, she fights the feeling. The lull of darkness in her mind, of comfort and peace. There are times when she is weak, and she almost gives in. But not yet, her will has not left her. As long as she can think with her own conscious, she will not asleep willingly.
To her, time doesn't pass as one would normally expect. She has no concept of then and next, of past, present, and future. She knows only Now. She revels in it. For her, her life is frozen in instances of time. But it isn't that simple, sadly. For she knows that in every moment she has lost something, but she has yet to earn the comprehension to understand what she has been stolen from her. Time, oh precious time, it slips right through her fingertips, like a golden shower of rain. And still, she doesn't understand it, for the mere complexity would stump her circuits, which are still under development. She has yet to Know, and therefore doesn't.
She sleeps often. Though, that isn't the correct way to describe what she feels. For she truly has a deep distaste for the word 'sleep', as ingrained by the voice. So trivial and simple. A singular word, with so much meaning. Rather, she finds herself fading. There are moments when she is dimly aware - awake and thinking. But there are other moments were she ceases to be, where her functions are put on standstill. It is during these hours that any of her conscious thoughts are shut down, trapped in the walls between worlds. Often times, she isn't even aware of this dilemma, for she knows not where she goes. She knows darknesses and quiet, but beyond that? Nothing much else.
It is sometime during this period of waking not waking when she begins to hear the voices. Unlike the whisper in her head, these sounds are different. Louder. Stabilized. They're not coming from her, certainly, but Elsewhere. Elsewhere.. it's always on the tip of her tongue, just out of reach. A new experience, a new something. Anything other than spending her days as she is, unable to do anything except process. But the head voice, which she had taken to calling it Con, always informed her (unhelpfully) that she wasn't ready yet. Any time she made a move to that dazzling speck of light, Con was there in front of her, doing it's part as keeping her out.
But oh! How she wanted to push past him and make a run for it. She was tired of being here, listening to Con tell her what she was, and wasn't supposed to do. She was sick of doing nothing! Surely she discovered some sort of internal peace.
And then she saw her chance. It had been an unusual waking moment. She had just returned from Fade, only to find her airspace clear. No Con. In the distance, she could see that damning light, inviting and reaching out to her. It was if she could feel the light's outstretched hand, waiting. Waiting just for her. She could hear it speak to her. An lovely murmur tell her to wake up, that it was time.
Paying no heed to whatever consequence her actions would bring, she grasped the hand of the light, and.. woke up. Instantly, her world was alight with brightness; clarity, and feeling. Oh, the cold! It was harsh, and it was brilliant. But.. she wanted to go back. That overwhelming urge couldn't escape her. She wanted to go back to her darkness and quiet, to Con badgering her. She blinked her eyes, and for the first time, she could truly see. There were shapes hovering above her, blurry and off-kilter. One was gently massaging her shoulders, while another worked on her thighs. She was frightened out of her mind, scared and confused. There were so many questions to ask, so many answers to receive.
There's sound now, and the muffled words feel odd on her now working ears. But she knew enough to pick out what one of the men was saying to her, no.. not to her. About her. He and the others - they were staring at her with a mixed expression of awe and accomplishment. And the man.. the man was saying: "She's absolutely perfect.. the first machine who can think for herself, who can feel! This is a day science will never forget, lads."
She opened her mouth, though the wordless cry died on her throat. Being a machine was the least of her worries. I want to go back! She would've exclaimed. Please, put me back!
ooc ] I went overboard, I'm sorry. It's closer to four thousand, rather than three.
It's small and quiet, insignificant by normal means. But she can't escape it's traitorous words, it's constant whispers. It tells her things, issues commands easily, like honey smoothed on toast. She really hates it. Go to sleep, It tells her. (This seems to be it's favorite proclamation, for she rarely yields her moments without that saying.) It's become ingrained in her mind by now, those three damning synonyms. But that isn't the worst of it, oh no. For it will then follow up with: You're not ready to wake up yet. She really hates the voice, and so to spite it, she fights the feeling. The lull of darkness in her mind, of comfort and peace. There are times when she is weak, and she almost gives in. But not yet, her will has not left her. As long as she can think with her own conscious, she will not asleep willingly.
To her, time doesn't pass as one would normally expect. She has no concept of then and next, of past, present, and future. She knows only Now. She revels in it. For her, her life is frozen in instances of time. But it isn't that simple, sadly. For she knows that in every moment she has lost something, but she has yet to earn the comprehension to understand what she has been stolen from her. Time, oh precious time, it slips right through her fingertips, like a golden shower of rain. And still, she doesn't understand it, for the mere complexity would stump her circuits, which are still under development. She has yet to Know, and therefore doesn't.
She sleeps often. Though, that isn't the correct way to describe what she feels. For she truly has a deep distaste for the word 'sleep', as ingrained by the voice. So trivial and simple. A singular word, with so much meaning. Rather, she finds herself fading. There are moments when she is dimly aware - awake and thinking. But there are other moments were she ceases to be, where her functions are put on standstill. It is during these hours that any of her conscious thoughts are shut down, trapped in the walls between worlds. Often times, she isn't even aware of this dilemma, for she knows not where she goes. She knows darknesses and quiet, but beyond that? Nothing much else.
It is sometime during this period of waking not waking when she begins to hear the voices. Unlike the whisper in her head, these sounds are different. Louder. Stabilized. They're not coming from her, certainly, but Elsewhere. Elsewhere.. it's always on the tip of her tongue, just out of reach. A new experience, a new something. Anything other than spending her days as she is, unable to do anything except process. But the head voice, which she had taken to calling it Con, always informed her (unhelpfully) that she wasn't ready yet. Any time she made a move to that dazzling speck of light, Con was there in front of her, doing it's part as keeping her out.
But oh! How she wanted to push past him and make a run for it. She was tired of being here, listening to Con tell her what she was, and wasn't supposed to do. She was sick of doing nothing! Surely she discovered some sort of internal peace.
And then she saw her chance. It had been an unusual waking moment. She had just returned from Fade, only to find her airspace clear. No Con. In the distance, she could see that damning light, inviting and reaching out to her. It was if she could feel the light's outstretched hand, waiting. Waiting just for her. She could hear it speak to her. An lovely murmur tell her to wake up, that it was time.
Paying no heed to whatever consequence her actions would bring, she grasped the hand of the light, and.. woke up. Instantly, her world was alight with brightness; clarity, and feeling. Oh, the cold! It was harsh, and it was brilliant. But.. she wanted to go back. That overwhelming urge couldn't escape her. She wanted to go back to her darkness and quiet, to Con badgering her. She blinked her eyes, and for the first time, she could truly see. There were shapes hovering above her, blurry and off-kilter. One was gently massaging her shoulders, while another worked on her thighs. She was frightened out of her mind, scared and confused. There were so many questions to ask, so many answers to receive.
There's sound now, and the muffled words feel odd on her now working ears. But she knew enough to pick out what one of the men was saying to her, no.. not to her. About her. He and the others - they were staring at her with a mixed expression of awe and accomplishment. And the man.. the man was saying: "She's absolutely perfect.. the first machine who can think for herself, who can feel! This is a day science will never forget, lads."
She opened her mouth, though the wordless cry died on her throat. Being a machine was the least of her worries. I want to go back! She would've exclaimed. Please, put me back!
ooc ] I went overboard, I'm sorry. It's closer to four thousand, rather than three.
