Title: Here is Gone
Genre: angst, vignette
His eyes explore the room. A blanket on a lumpy mattress, a pillow that is even more so. A 'fresher unit, a sink - both dirty. One overhead light. Water stains on the ceiling, tiny cracks on the floor, indelible stains on the walls.
This is his world now. Now, when every wrong seems right and every right seems wrong. This feels wrong, so it must be right. What he did felt right, so he must have been wrong.
His head hurts. He closes his eyes.
Before...before, his world was as large as the entire galaxy. Bigger, even. Now it was reduced to this. A dingy room in a building close to collapse in a city where no-one cares who he is as long as he didn't cause trouble.
Everything he ever knew is gone now and he wants to go home. But he can't. Home isn't there anymore; it's gone. Gone, gone, gone.
Gone. What a disturbingly simple word for such a terrifying concept. Gone. Never to be seen or felt or smelled or tasted or heard again. Never. Ever.
He wonders if there are others who escaped. Others like him. It would be easy to check - he would just reach out, and...
No. He shouldn't. They would have their own little worlds. Worlds just like his.
He sighs; a smile graces his lips. It isn't a happy smile, but it is a smile nonetheless, and it surprised him. He thought himself incapable of smiling, now. Now, when everything is bleak; now, when everything he knew and cherished is gone.
This is his world, now - his existence. He opens his eyes, looks at the room once more and lies down on his bed.
He doesn't want to think. His head hurts.