scraph

rub your eyes a little; they seem a little fuzzy.

rub your eyes a little; they seem a little fuzzy.

your hands are fucking magenta, do you WANT literal pinkeye

Is it at least theoretically possible to make things, if not better, less worst? Stairs suggest some place to go, which may or may not contain one or more things to help solve one or more problems. Take The Thing with you if possible and/or advisable (though so far neither sounds likely).

What would have happened to the purple thing if everything had worked? Would it have been destroyed?

Where were you before you did the thing?

>Think about the answers to these questions

rub your eyes a little; they seem a little fuzzy.

your hands are fucking magenta, do you WANT literal pinkeye

You've seen the pictures. You know how this works. Shit, you were seeing it unfolding right in front of you, weren't you? Watching static burst like fireworks reflected in the sea... you knew what was going to happen there and then. Except you didn't, obviously, because here you are, of all places, scattering to the sands and the deep pink sky. You're literally up to your eyeballs in it, so you've got maybe a minute, two if you're jammy. Which part of the brain deals with pain? With any luck, that should get cut out soon...

It's probably not a good idea to try touching your eyes after all. Still, purple's good. Is it wrong to say you were hoping for purple? Yeah, you reckon so.

you know, this "roll over beethoven" business got me thinkin' 'bout classic rock. why did "stairway to heaven" become this big song? it just kinda meanders along, from a slow section that comes off as simultaneously over-earnest and phony then into an uptempo undercooked rock section that doesn't rock. it's more laughable than anything. "kashmir" is alright i guess and i like "ramble on" because it's fuckin' funny when they start singing about mordor and gollum getting laid

what i'm saying is: that new thing in almost the exact center of the panel, the clear object of emphasis? fuck it, turn around and go the exact opposite direction. also do something about your fucked-up purple hands, barney

Your hands are beyond help, and so are you. Others might be more fortunate. You're pretty damn sure you've been here before, though you'd have to get closer to be certain. You could try and get a message back, urging a little more haste. You clearly left it too long.

...

You're not exactly close. There's no way you'll make it. If anything, surely it would be better to get away, as far as you can, trap it here, one less to deal with. Crest the dune, roll your way down, see what's on the other sand- side. On the other side.

...it'll be sand. Obviously.

Is it at least theoretically possible to make things, if not better, less worst? Stairs suggest some place to go, which may or may not contain one or more things to help solve one or more problems. Take The Thing with you if possible and/or advisable (though so far neither sounds likely).

You can't take it with you. It'll come of its own accord. That's kind of the problem with you drifting stairwards. And yet...

...it's you, of all people, who's in this mess.

What would have happened to the purple thing if everything had worked? Would it have been destroyed?

Where were you before you did the thing?

>Think about the answers to these questions

No one will know that you had this chance. Sure, someone should still be alive to read the logs, you hope, and they'll call back home, but if you can't get word back to base they'll have no way of knowing you survived the trip. In which case, they won't know your plan succeeded.

...okay fine it wasn't a complete fucking success you were rather hoping your best bloody friend here wouldn't make it through the stopover but it's not moving any more. Probably. It's a bit hard to tell with the encroaching visual snow. It could still be twitching slightly. You doubt it. Point is, you're the only person in possession of the holy trinity; the knowledge required to come up with the idea, the ability to pull it off, and the idiocy to actually fucking go through with it.

If you could just call home. Tell someone, anyone, precisely what you did.

...

You need to get to those steps.

try standing up again but better this time

You don't feel any pain. Not any more. There's not enough of you left to feel it.

You stand up.

you get knocked down, but you get up again

run up the stairs

> Carefully head over to the whiteish thing in front of you.

find the pyramid and befriend

I've the impression your legs will be out soon, but deserts are hard enough to navigate without reference points let alone without eyes entirely. I'm not saying go fast, but the most unslow you can manage would be dandy.

...If it helps any, imagine the stairs as north.

Look away from the purple, if direction is still a concept that remains relevant.

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what's up

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Can you explain exactly what caused this, or is your memory giving out, too?

you get knocked down, but you get up again

You did it. You stood up. Somehow. You are not standing on the sand. You are standing in the sand. Your feet are no longer separate from that which surrounds them. You probably shouldn't think about that all too much.

I've the impression your legs will be out soon, but deserts are hard enough to navigate without reference points let alone without eyes entirely. I'm not saying go fast, but the most unslow you can manage would be dandy.

...If it helps any, imagine the stairs as north.

You will your legs to rise and so they do, along with sand and static and some haze from the air. A flurry of distortion flies past your eyes; you're clinging on to them still, through considerable exertion. Everything's a conscious effort now. You're literally holding yourself together at this point - turns out you're tenacious in more ways than one...

You cross the first dune carefully, keeping the best track you can of your constituent clouds. You're getting the hang of hanging on. Your self-control continues to surprise. In fact, things don't go south 'til you're halfway up the third, when you accidentally think about what you're doing and realise you haven't moved your legs since the slip slide of dune two. You've been coasting smoothly over the contours ever since.

You can't afford the risk of feeling anything but numb. And yet something breaks.

> Carefully head over to the whiteish thing in front of you.

You're so close, but you're not you. What are you even trying to hold together at this point? You just lost custody of your legs, you haven't been in control of your arms in a while, and goodness only knows about anything else. Who the fuck keeps track of their kidneys when they're dissipating into the aether? Seriously? You're basically your eyes and a few frantic braincells. That's you. That's what you've got to work with. That's not enough.

...

find the pyramid and befriend

Oh. That's not good. You haven't seen one do that befo-

That should hurt.

Look away from the purple, if direction is still a concept that remains relevant.

You tear yourself away. You tear yourself apart. You tear across the dunes. Your eyes are gone. Your eyes are fine. You're really not okay. You're doing just fine. You doubt that immensely. You really shouldn't. You're dying. That's an exaggeration. That's a fact. That's a lie. That's enough. You're all good. There you are. You're looking great. Your eyes are down. Your tongue's out slightly. You're pretty focussed. You wave at you. You don't respond. That's rude. That's okay. You're busy right now. You wave at your friend. He's standing behind you. He's adjusting a pair of binoculars. His name's on the tip of your tongue. Your tongue just dissolved. You lost his name. You lost your tongue. Oops. But wait. That's okay. You've got a new tongue now. It's so much better. It's such a beautiful hue. See how it fits your body. You like it more already. It's real good.

Aww. Where did you go? You can't see you any more. You must have left while you were trying out your new tongue. That's a shame. You'd have loved to have shown it off to yourself. But wait - there you are, and there you are, and there you are, and there you go.

You're losing you. Shit.

Can you explain exactly what caused this, or is your memory giving out, too?

It's inside your head. It's all in your mind. It's taking the bits that are you and making them not be. It's deconstructing your brain. It's rebuilding it from scratch. It's doing a good job of that. It's doing a good job. It's killing you.

You can't think properly. You can't hold a thought for long. You have to stop and start. You have to pick out the thoughts that aren't yours. They're trying to help. They're not helping. They're not yours. You have to ignore them. You have to be strong. You have to be stubborn. You have to be numb.

You need to remember. You need to remember what to do. You need to remember what you're doing. You need to keep going. You can't keep going like this. You're not you any more. Your head is emptying. Your head is full of sand. Your head is completely clear. Your head is made of glass. You're looking right through it. You're looking at purple fog gashed with black and white sand. That's you. You're you. You're dying. You're moving. You're shaking. You're completely still. You're doing fine. You're going. You need to remember. You need to remember your name. You're dying. That's not your name. That's not a name. That's the thing you're doing. You're dying, and that's okay.

what's up

The sky was pink and so were you.

run up the stairs

You're here now. You're you now. You tell yourself this. You listen to yourself, telling you this. You tap your friend on his shoulder and you point him at you. You look at the steps and you look at yourself. You look at the paper in your hands and the paper in your hands and you smile and you frown and you tell him you found it and you tell you you knew it and you tell you you know and that you are safe now. You look at the stairs and you think about how small they looked when you were far away and you look at the stairs and you think about how large they look now you aren't far away and you look at the stairs and you count them. You count the steps and you count your blessings and you count the lines and you count your fingers and you count the seconds and you count your failures. You climb the stairs. You climb the stairs. You climb the stairs. You're forgetting. You're remembering. You're remembering. You're remembering. You're forgetting. You're remembering. You climb the stairs. You climb the stairs. You climb the stairs. You don't know who you are but you intend to find out. You don't know who you are but you know you knew once. You don't know who you are but you've got a pretty good idea. You need to keep going. You can't keep going. You need to keep going. You climb the stairs. You climb the stairs. You climb the stairs. You are you. You are you. You aren't so sure. You turn to look back at your friend, the one without the name, and he's there and he's there and he's not looking at you and he's looking at him and he's scared and he's crying and he knows he's going to die and you're not and you know you're going to die and he's not and there has never been a third person here yet but there he is now and there he is now and there you are now and you're looking right through you and you're looking right through him and he's looking right through him and he's looking right through you and you're looking right through the stairs at the phone that's ringing and the phone that's ringing and the phone that's ringing and the boat that's moored to the sky and the boat that's moored to your eyes and the boat that's moored to your eyes and the sky that's a sight for sore eyes and the sky that's alight in your eyes and the sky that's a speck in your eyes and the eyes that are crying and the eyes that are dying and the eyes that are trying to look right through your eyes and the eyes that are looking you right in your eyes and are telling you softly that you'll be all right
if you
ifyoujust

ifyoujustkeep


ifyoujustkeepgoing.

You climb the stairs. You climb the stairs. You climb the stairs.

You keep going. The stairs don't.

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SpoilerThat's the prologue done and dusted - roll on chapter one! That'll start tomorrow because I am tired. So yeah, you can try to suggest if you can come up with anything whatsoever (you're more than welcome to just post statements of general confusion also, I'll understand), but if you could sit tight until tomorrow you might have some more luck...

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jesus fucking christ.
((i'm pretty sure what just happened was that It took over his? brain, ripping it apart and trying to make him think things that would make it easier for It to kill him. Things like "I'm dying," "I'm forgetting," and "I'm standing still" were actual thoughts, but It tried to make him think "I'm happy," "I'm remembering," and "I can't keep going" were all from It. I'm also interpreting "I'm climbing the stairs" as being fake thoughts as well, because it would make him think he was doing the right thing, when really he was just standing still and slowly dying. If he realized that, he would make more of an effort to move away, but if he thought he was escaping, It would have an easier time of getting him.))

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>must be getting pretty tired of pink and purple huh?

Do you have a physical form?

good job you made it all the way up those stairs you're a stair champion

good job you made it all the way up those stairs you're a stair champion

A stairmaster, if you would

_______________________

___________ You wake up. Kind of. ______

jesus fucking christ.

...fucking hell your heeeeeeaad it's so raw and muggy and it is throbbing like a millisecond out of sync with your heartbe- ah no shit your eyes they're worse they're so much worse aaaaaah fuck how are they so itchy it's scoring a tally on your sclera and etching out the blood vessels in such painful detail fuck it you're blinkiNNGRH BAD IDEA BAD IDEA REAL FUCKING TERRIBLE IDEA RIGHT THERE YOU DID A BAD THING why do you even have eyes jesus

Do you have a physical form?

YES AND ALL OF IT ACHES LIKE HELL WHAT THE FUCK EVEN HAPPENED LAST NI- wait a second

...wait a fucking second...


This isn't right. But it's not wrong either. You're not sure how you got here, which is not always a reason to panic, you don't think, but it's something about here that's bothering you.

>must be getting pretty tired of pink and purple huh?

Also your head. That's bothering you too. Your eyes are still all scratchy and you can't look at things properly. Everything's dark and noisy and distinctly not purple why is that a thing? Why should the room be purple? Rooms are not often purple. Maybe something else is supposed to be purple, but you're struggling to process the various something elses that surround you. The... uh, doors, perhaps? They're rather blue, you think. It's kind of hard to focus on specific areas right now and you really shouldn't try to because you are getting distracted from the three most important issues right now:

1. WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?
   
2. WHY IS EVERY PART OF YOU MADE OF PAIN?
   
3. WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?
   

good job you made it all the way up those stairs you're a stair champion

A stairmaster, if you would

...your head really hurts...