TAGS // I'M SORRY, I'M SORRY.
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count your fingers. one. two. three four. five. count them again. one. two. three. four. five. count them another time. look at the intricacies. look at each and every distinguishable mark as you count. memorize them. look at them again. count them again.
one. two. three. four. five.
one. two. three. four.
four.
there were four.
with trembling paws, shaking like each spindly leg of a broken spider, he rose. rose from the gentle grasp of grass (it was metal.), looking around the vast lands (capsule.) with fearful eyes. everything was new. everything was brand new, from the blue sky to the green grass. from the wind ruffling his fur to the dull pain wracking his body. he had just been birthed from a womb of indifference, of numbness- making everything explode into a sea of sensations he could barely process. pokey didn't know what was going on. pokey didn't know that clouds existed, or that the sky was hung above him. he didn't know about the existence of anyone but himself, himself and his own thoughts, which were once stagnant. he was thrust into the gates of life, a swatting fly catcher whipping him into the world and telling him to "go, get going, don't fuck up". but already, mere seconds after ripping into consciousness like a knife through warm butter, he felt himself break the rules with a twitching tick through his muscles.
there were four.
all he had known was void. an endless void, muffled over with the shiny sheen of glass- his only viewing from the nest he once was occupied in. a nest of useless metal and plastic, with each direct curve, bump and indent completely memorized into his brain. the two symmetrical curves of metal directly above his head. the shattered glass from his temper tantrums from within his cell. the ancient, blackened stains of blood due to the shattered glass. every single mark, every single minute detail had been drilled into his subconscious. the same would be said for the void- complete blackness. emptiness. not the emptiness of space, but something more, something more as well as less at the same exact time. no glittering starts, no drifting comets. nothing to look at beyond the lack of everything. a place where time nor space existed, a place where there was nothing but pokey, his capsule, and the never ending expanse of filling ebony.
there were four instead of five.
to say he had been there for a long time was an understatement. it had been so long, porky couldn't remember. he couldn't remember the first few billion years- when stars filled the blackness, when he could count each and every star a thousand times over. he couldn't remember anything beyond the capsule in which he lived. he had no clue how he had even arrived- the last stitches of dying memory could only make out vagueness. vagueness of the universe eventually imploding in on itself. vagueness of his surprise that, instead of giving in to the trillions of pounds of force that had been used to end the known universe, his capsule had not yet given up. the billions and billions of years after the eventual implode of the universe had been just as uneventful as the last. barely awake, eyes fleetingly drifting from each useless detail of his body, to the rusted, useless husk of something he had been lying in, to the outside emptiness. all he could do was lie there, stirring in his thoughts- each breath he took amplified, each wheeze and hacking cough pained and sensitive. all he could do was wait for eternity to drag on, forgetting who he was. forgetting how to think. forgetting how to feel.
his blue skin, old and fused with immortality, had been replaced with paws. four toes instead of five fingers.
but here he was. life brought back into him, the sensation to think beyond simple thoughts short circuiting his brain. the first fleeting moments, he didn't know what to do. he had forgotten how to move his body all those eons ago. he could only gasp and flail, claws unsheathing with the extreme weight of everything crushing down on him. but as the seconds passed (he could feel them pass, he could see the changing of time. he could see it when as long as he could remember he couldn't), everything was coming to. instincts kicked in, and the young, fluffy tiger kit stood on wobbling legs. the first moment that filled his brain was how am i here? where had the capsule gone?
...how did i escape?
pokey wanted to cry. he wanted to sob, because he had spent billions of years in a place with no forgiveness. he wanted to sob because he could finally hear birds chirp and wind blow. he wanted to sob because he could feel himself. feel each shift of his legs, feel each blink of his eyes, behind a mop of messy fur that covered them. he wanted to sob, but he didn't. he simply sat stood there, fur blue and downy, mouth slightly agape, letting the sensations wash over him.
he was free.