"Cshhh" The rough scraping that dragged across the 'wall' was the only proof that he was still alive.
He trudged forward in the endless black that eluded to no beginning or end. It had been long since he had seen. Longer since he had felt. It was only the sound of the scraping that promised him his continued existence. Somewhere.
Purgatory? Hell? Heaven? Perhaps none had really existed, and this was simply all that awaited after death. A pointless march through oblivion, deprived of beginning or end.
If it could even be called a march. There was no certainty that he was moving. Deprived of his senses, it was only some vague instinct that convinced him he was in motion. That, and the scraping of the 'wall'.
He recalled the moment he had woke up here. Although everything was a bit fuzzy, he was certain only of the fact that he had died.
He remembered trying to open his eyes, only to meet with a hollow lack of innervation. There was no longer any sensation where his eyes had once been. It was as if he only imagined the act of opening his eyelids. The feeling was present, but only in memory. He was faced with a complete black.
It was not long after, that he ascertained his complete numbness. There was no light to see, no object to feel, no air to breathe. Nothing.
He panicked, at first. Struggling to breathe, but no air came out. It seemed that muscle memory had convinced him of his inane panic, that there was something to panic about.
It was neither too cold nor too hot. There was no ache or itch on his body and neither was there the subtle gnawing of the brain of which every living mind was comprised. Without feeling, there was no longer pain or discomfort. Just simple… existence. A permanent dream.
He calmly tilted back, or at least thought to do so, and did the only thing he could do.
'Ugh, did I really do that? Even a 12-year-old should've been able to tell that was a dumbass idea.'
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Sift through his memories.
'Arrrrgh, you freaking idiot, who the hell says something like that to someone they just met?.'
The embarrassing memories, as they often do, popped up first. But the regrets never lagged too far behind.
Albeit a short one. He felt as though he'd wasted the entirety of his life in preparation for the future. One that never came. Still, he wondered why he did not feel sad at all.
Although there were things he wished he’d done better, he felt no despair at the concept of his death. There was nothing that lingered in his mind, nothing that would haunt his memory enough to want to go back and make it right.
He knew that he probably did not wish to die. But when confronted with the question of why he lived, what he had been living for, he could not answer.
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He pondered on his life a while longer. He did not know for how long he had done so. It may have been just a few hours. Perhaps a few hours longer. Or perhaps much, much longer than he could hope to tell. He suddenly felt himself being filled with a profound sense of emptiness.
All the discomfort, the pain of his failures and joy of his accomplishments, the emotions of life no longer had any place with him. As the idea crossed him he realized that it had been long since his emotions first began to dampen. And his thoughts became harder and harder to form before dissipating almost immediately after being formed. He felt as though his entire self was slipping away. The small regrets, the tinges of nostalgia, shame, or joy in the memories of his past were instead replaced by apathy. Fear overtook him.
No, it was not that fear came for him. Instead, he had seemingly forced this fear into himself, knowing in some deep part of himself that he would soon cease to be. He did not know, however, what to do. He felt no ground, no body of his own, and no sense of direction. But he did recall a vague scene from within his memories that now grew hazy and blurred.
He was surrounded by yellow -no, perhaps purple flowers. He could not recall, and it did not matter. What did was the memory of his legs being lifted off the ground. One after another. Before stepping back onto the wet soil below. Moving forward ever so steadily.
As if invoking the memory, he felt himself pull ever so slightly forward within the empty void. And as he did so, he recalled another important memory. A blurred face, vaguely moving lips. Who did they belong to? Again, it did not matter.
'Run'
The girl's voice spoke the word over and over again in his mind, along with some other things he could no longer understand. Her bright green eyes trembled as she spoke, and her pale blonde hair danced with her animated style of conversation. The memory repeated itself many times over in his head.
He focused his entire remaining being into maintaining the memory that hopelessly became more and more jaded. The scraping of the wall had now dimmed until it had become nothing more than another vague feeling. Another dead memory of an existence long since become meaningless.
'Run….' 'Running…..' 'Ran…..'
The words continued to ring out. Not in the void around it, and certainly not in its non-existent ears, but in what little remained of its soul.
Like that, it remained. Marching on with singular purpose. By no thought, no words, not even an intent. But rather the compulsion, perhaps even the simple habit of doing so.
Time could not tell how long it had remained wedged against the other side of that wall. But surely, it must have been surprised. When a gorging cavern had opened up in the eons unchanging wall, and swallowed the nameless, faceless thing up whole.