Absence of Nothing

Absence of Nothing

You are seated in an empty space.

It is cold. There isn't any sunlight here. Logically, there should be no light at all. You can still see what is around you, though.

There are a stack of books, a potted plant, a mirror and a bed.

There is only nothing beyond this. It stretches into the horizon. You don't know what else is in your nothing, other than you and your little empty room.

In other words, you are ultimately alone.

It will be a long, long time before you'll see anyone again.

What will you do to pass the time?

> Dab

Think. Lots of time to think.

> Dab

Double dab.

Dab while thinking, why are you here? Why is it so empty? Why cant you microwave an egg? Whats a microwave?

>Name the plant Chuck.

>Skim books for answers.

> Smash the mirror. You don't need no self lookin'.

use the mirror to read the books

> Dab.

What year do we live in, 20XX? Please. Humanity has long outgrown that. Only historians even bother trying to do it.

> Think.

It's only because of strange reasons you have as much time as you do right now.

You were placed in this empty, empty space one day with no real explanation.

You were told it was for safety.

You saw their faces, though. Their papers. The little small near illegible writing on a paper that holds your name and status.

You're inclined to disbelieve them, now. But you couldn't tell them no because you've already agreed.

Everything didn't hurt, though, so you never complained.

It's okay.

Your empty room is exactly what you volunteered for.

You shake your head and shift your mind to other thoughts.

Why cant you microwave an egg? Whats a microwave?

Microwaves are outdated. That's what they are. They may be the base for several heating appliances, but they're pretty old tech.

...

You still like having them.

Microwaving an egg sounds dangerous, somehow. It's still food though, so it's probably fine.

Name the plant Chuck.

You approach the potted plant.

It's a mechanical fabrication of a typical, organic, plant.

The body of it looks natural, but you know better. It's made of soft, insulating fabric. A spherical circle floats on top of it, surrounded by three smaller spherical circles in kind.

You tell the plant its name is now Chuck.

The plant says nothing. It merely just whirrs in response.

Yeah, you really didn't expect it to have those sassy kind of responses.

Skim books for answers.

You pick a book at random from your small pile.

The spine reads "The Approximate History of the Apocalypse".

You shuffle through the pages, but you've already read this book several times. The pages are highlighted, dogeared, and bookmarked.

There is no information that you haven't already known, but you'll summarize what you're reading anyways.

The sun never died. In fact, it became worse. People were driven to live underground. Some took to flying away in space, hoping to look for a home. Others, still....

Well, it is what it is.

If needed, you could expound on it.

Break the Mirror.

You walk up to the mirror.

The mirror is only a mirror in name. It merely reflects the true place you are protected in.

In the mirror, you cannot even see yourself. A book can't even be reflected in it.

Because in the outside is nothing. The world is nothing anymore.

You pause.

Do you still wish to break it?

>Flirt with your reflection for a while. Use your best lines.

>You better not break it. You'll never know what that mere mirror's real purpose to be present in the room with you.
>Tinker with Chuck's settings.

>Not just yet.
>It's not going anywhere, and neither are you.
>Until you break it anyways.
>...
>Something of a melancholy beauty to the nothing, innit?
>An example of imperfection being greater than perfection if you ask this voice.
>all the variables, the what-ifs, the could-bes, all gone.
>Leaving behind a nice orderly nothing.
>...
>Ahem. How about you tell us more about the sun?

> Don't break the mirror, but please put it on the floor reflective side down. It's not like you need a reminder.

> Abuse the bed as violently as you can. If you aren't gonna break the mirror, might as well try to break something else!

>Pushups. Gotta get swole.

> Don't break it.

You let the mirror be. Perhaps there could be hope for the outside world.

>Not just yet.
>It's not going anywhere, and neither are you.
>Until you break it anyways.

You feel an eerie feeling.... As if you've caused someone to watch the mirror more carefully.

You really shouldn't break it. Or someone will have to interfere.

> Don't break the mirror, but please put it on the floor reflective side down. It's not like you need a reminder.

You try to pry the mirror off the wall. Your hands grip its frame, careful not to let it slip off.

...

Your hands turn sore. Despite it being stuck to virtually nothing, it's far too heavy to lift. You're not even sure if it would move if you were stronger.

Perhaps its for the best?

>Something of a melancholy beauty to the nothing, innit?
>An example of imperfection being greater than perfection if you ask this voice.
>all the variables, the what-ifs, the could-bes, all gone.
>Leaving behind a nice orderly nothing.

"..."

"Melancholy, yes. But what wouldn't I give to see anything but the nothing outside."

Your head starts to ring. It kind of hurts, now.

You take a seat on your bed and massage your forehead. The pain subsides.

>...
>Ahem. How about you tell us more about the sun?

The sun...

There's a lot on the sun.

Everyone thought the sun would start to die. Somehow, the light began to fade. Winter drew closer, more often than not. Those who were left looked at the dying star and wondered how long they had left.

To them, this was a daily occurrence a daily worry. They may not escape death as a species no longer.

Yet, on one fateful day, it grew brighter. They were overjoyed, all of them. Perhaps there was hope again.

But somehow, for some reason- the sun didn't go down. It did not die.

The people couldn't live on the surface anymore. So they sought other places- underground, space, and wherever.

In the end....

There was nothing.

>Flirt with your reflection for a while. Use your best lines.

You can't see your reflection. There's no one to flirt with. Unless you want to flirt with nothing.

>Tinker with Chuck's settings.

You tap the biggest spherical circle that Chuck owns, and look for the settings.

SpoilerShow

battery: numbered / none
time: automatic / manual
knowledge: automatic / self-input / none
warmth: automatic / on / off
coldness: automatic / on / off
location: on

These settings don't make much sense to you. Maybe because you're not sure what else Chuck does, other than being your occasional heater.

You set Chuck's warmth setting to on and hug them. Nice and warm.

> Abuse the bed as violently as you can. If you aren't gonna break the mirror, might as well try to break something else!

You slam your butt down on the bed as hard as you can. Surely that will break it!

It takes a moment for you to recoil in pain. You really think you should try to break anything here, actually....

>Pushups. Gotta get swole.

You set Chuck down and try to do pushups.

You lay down on the floor and attempt to push yourself up. Your arms shake as you do, unused to any physical exercise.

You barely manage three before you give up, breaking out in a cold sweat.

A little bit ahead of you, you see a plate of apple slices and water. The plate is accompanied by a note.

You've always gotten food this way, but this is the first time you've gotten a note.

Should you even read it, or just ignore it?

>It's something new, at least.
>Give it a read, break up the usual routine a little.

>read it
>Read a different book than the apocalypse history

read it and then EAT IT as a powermove. Fibre, baby!

Read it out loud. It's been a while since you've heard your own voice.

Once you've read it once, do it again, this time in a funny voice. You feel like you don't laugh enough here.