It's So Empty Here
Jaziah Watts
I walk the halls of this deserted place, hearing only the sound of my own footsteps echoing behind me. Sometimes, though, my footsteps aren’t enough.
Sometimes I scream, just to break the silence.
I don’t know how long I’ve been trapped here. Weeks, maybe, or months. But I’ve been here long enough to know that I’m alone.
Mostly alone, that is.
I like it better when I’m alone, considering the alternative.
Figures materializing before my eyes, short, stubby ugly creatures with deformed heads. And they try to talk to me, their shrill voices scraping against my mind, threatening to finally drive me over the edge into madness. I want to run, yet their voices freeze me in place and it seems like an eternity before I can move again.
I used to find some comfort in the fact that I can leave this place if I so choose. Outside these walls is a green field, surrounded by steep hills, hills I’ve tried to climb so many times only to fail, sliding back down into this perpetually sunny place. It’s always a perfect day in the field, yet the sun refuses to reflect off the small, clear pond at one of the field’s edges. I used to find enjoyment in watching the butterflies that populate the field fly about the trees.
Then came the time I tried to catch one.
I cupped my hands and gently swept them towards one of the colorful insects. I felt nothing on my palm, so, figuring the butterfly had escaped my reach. I tried again.
I watched as the butterfly passed right through my palm.
No living, benevolent thing here is real.
I gave up on the field.
Instead, I turned to the paintings. They line the halls of almost every room here, and I discovered something remarkable about them.
They lead to other worlds.
I can step right through them, and they take me to somewhere new, somewhere strange.
Somewhere empty.
Almost every creature I meet in these worlds has tried to kill me. Others ask me for help, use me. They ignore me once I am no longer useful to them.
The worlds in the paintings are home to these shining, angular objects. I can’t quite describe why, but they seem very important to me. They are hidden in the strangest of places, through the most dangerous obstacles. Yet I continue to seek them.
Since that day, I have focused all my energy on collecting these objects. And now, I feel… different somehow. Ever since I found one of the objects I’ve felt like there was something I needed to do.
And I have finally found out what it is.
Now here I stand, on the roof of the castle I have been trapped in. The hills don’t reach this high. I have finally found my way out. I start to run, away from the field, away from everything and I hit a wall.
An invisible wall.
There is some invisible force keeping me from leaving this wretched place.
I fall to my knees and begin to cry.
It’s so empty here.
I walk the halls of this deserted place, hearing only the sound of my own footsteps echoing behind me. Sometimes, though, my footsteps aren’t enough.
Sometimes I scream, just to break the silence.
I don’t know how long I’ve been trapped here. Weeks, maybe, or months. But I’ve been here long enough to know that I’m alone.
Mostly alone, that is.
I like it better when I’m alone, considering the alternative.
Figures materializing before my eyes, short, stubby ugly creatures with deformed heads. And they try to talk to me, their shrill voices scraping against my mind, threatening to finally drive me over the edge into madness. I want to run, yet their voices freeze me in place and it seems like an eternity before I can move again.
I used to find some comfort in the fact that I can leave this place if I so choose. Outside these walls is a green field, surrounded by steep hills, hills I’ve tried to climb so many times only to fail, sliding back down into this perpetually sunny place. It’s always a perfect day in the field, yet the sun refuses to reflect off the small, clear pond at one of the field’s edges. I used to find enjoyment in watching the butterflies that populate the field fly about the trees.
Then came the time I tried to catch one.
I cupped my hands and gently swept them towards one of the colorful insects. I felt nothing on my palm, so, figuring the butterfly had escaped my reach. I tried again.
I watched as the butterfly passed right through my palm.
No living, benevolent thing here is real.
I gave up on the field.
Instead, I turned to the paintings. They line the halls of almost every room here, and I discovered something remarkable about them.
They lead to other worlds.
I can step right through them, and they take me to somewhere new, somewhere strange.
Somewhere empty.
Almost every creature I meet in these worlds has tried to kill me. Others ask me for help, use me. They ignore me once I am no longer useful to them.
The worlds in the paintings are home to these shining, angular objects. I can’t quite describe why, but they seem very important to me. They are hidden in the strangest of places, through the most dangerous obstacles. Yet I continue to seek them.
Since that day, I have focused all my energy on collecting these objects. And now, I feel… different somehow. Ever since I found one of the objects I’ve felt like there was something I needed to do.
And I have finally found out what it is.
Now here I stand, on the roof of the castle I have been trapped in. The hills don’t reach this high. I have finally found my way out. I start to run, away from the field, away from everything and I hit a wall.
An invisible wall.
There is some invisible force keeping me from leaving this wretched place.
I fall to my knees and begin to cry.
It’s so empty here.