In Rainbows - SCP Foundation

She drifted silently through a moonlit void. This was by no means an act with any deliberation behind it; she didn't want to move(couldn't move? she didn't much care to find out which), so allowed unnature to take its course. Life, or whatever this was, became much easier that way, she'd found.

Were her eyes open? Surely they were, otherwise how was she aware of the moonlight?

She opened her eyes, and observed the darkness. Ah, to be home. The tip of her hand brushed against the elegant scarlet dress she wore (she hated dresses. when was the last time she'd worn a dress?), long enough to scrape the ground she wasn't standing on, and this sudden sensation startled her into some semblance of sense.

Moonlight was all-encompassing. That was okay (god, her head hurt). She'd always quite liked moonlight, despite herself. If she looked closely enough, she could almost see herself reflected in it. Her dark skin was losing the candlewax complexion that had candied her body for some months. Even the mercury burning through her silvery eyes, searing and melting its way through the wax, staining and dribbling onto the elegant scarlet dress she wore, long enough to scrape the ground she wasn't standing on, had reduced from a cascade to a crawl. Progress, that's what that was. Progress.

Not all there yet. The dark was comforting to her (shouldn't it be red now?), like a womb, but she knew there were still things outside. However safe the parent seemed, they couldn't protect her from car accidents. All that mattered was that there was no longer anything inside. With her. There was nothing

hungry angry devouring her from the inside out chewing through meninges and nerves and grey matter tearing out everything that made her her melting through brittle bulging veins until they burst ripping her apart over and over and over and over and over

any more, and that was the main thing.

Sometimes she was less sure, which was only natural. She'd been through a lot, after all (she was so tired. why was she so tired? she was dreaming, if there was one fucking time you weren't supposed to be tired), she was bound to have the odd wobble. The odd night where she was dragged through a cold, cold hospital, the unforgiving brimstone floor grinding the skin and flesh and nerves from her back, clawing at the walls, unable to scream her throat raw through the bubbling quicksilver that filled her lungs, heart, mind.

But, y'know how things go. Things were basically looking up. She was fine.

She was fine.

(is this supposed to be here?)

"Happy birthday!"

"It's February."

"Yeah, well, y'know. We're celebrating, I'm giving you a present, it's basically a birthday."

"A present? Didn't I pay for this round?"

"Oh, you're so smart, aren't you? Look, I'm not having my brain eaten by a ghost any more, you're not being gaslit by your phone any more, stop whining."

"I'm only - I wasn't… Sorry, I didn't mean -"

"I'm just messing with you."

"Oh."

"Sorry, I should probably give it a bit before doing that. Have a drink."

"Mm."

…

"You alright?"

"Yeah. You?"

"Definitely. At fucking last."

"A ghost? Really?"

"Well, sort of. I don't know, I'm not an expert."

"I'm sorry, it's just… mad to get my head around."

"I know, it fucked me up for ages. Have I told you how nice it is to actually get to talk about this stuff with you? You getting whammied was the best thing to happen to me in years."

"…thanks."

"How's the therapy, then?"

"Fine."

"Jesus, you don't give much, do you?"

"Honestly, I'd just… rather not talk about it. Like you said, we're celebrating. Do we have to talk about… stuff like that?"

"No. No, of course not, sorry, I didn't mean to - fuck, I dunno-"

"Claire, really, don't worry about it. I'm okay."

"Good. Good."

…

"So, what are you gonna do now?"

"Me? Oh, I dunno. World's my oyster. Learn Italian? Write a novel? Get laid, definitely. I think I can manage at least one of them, I mean, look at me."

"Well, I'll have to take your word for it."

"Rude."

"I can try not to be ace, if you want."

"I'll let you off with it this once."

…

"How's work now? Farnsworth taking it easy on you for the time being?"

…

"Yeah. Fine."

"…are you sure?"

"…"

"Claire?"

"Everyone stares at me."

"What?"

"I… look, it doesn't matter. I'm fine."

"Claire, I - you're my best friend. I care about you, I promise I won't freak out again. If you need to talk-"

"Oh, I am so fucking sick of talking. Everyone just wants me to talk, talk talk talk, like if I talk enough none of this will have fucking happened."

"I was just-"

"You were just what?! Sticking your nose where it doesn't belong. 'Oh, woe is me, my phone made me sad,' at least you can look at yourself in a mirror without retching. Do me a fucking favour with this counsellor bullshit. I don't need your pity, I'm perfectly fine, I just want to have a bloody day off and get pissed with my best friend. Is that too much to ask? Can you not just give me that? Can't I just… have that?"

"…"

"…Harry?"

"…"

"Harry, I didn't mean-"

"I know, I get it."

"No, like, I was so fucking far out of order, I don't even-"

"Really. It's fine."

…

"I'm gonna go get us fresh drinks."

"I've barely started-"

"Just be a sec, this round's on me!"

She was fine.

She floated a while longer, in a strange sort of limbo. The womb may have been comforting (maybe more consolatory), but it was smothering. Inescapable. Well, almost inescapable; there was one way out, but most certainly no way back. So, which was it to be? Drifting, or walking? She continued to meander the absence as she pondered this. A faint breeze drifted languidly through her hair, shifting the elegant white dress she wore, long enough to scrape the ground she wasn't standing on,

A breeze?

which was odd, she supposed in her barely-lucid state. Lucidity wasn't something to strive for, she'd become increasingly convinced. At least this way she could pretend it was her imagination (what was her imagination? there was nothing wrong, how could there be anything wrong) and what she didn't see couldn't hurt her.

Could it?

Because all of a sudden, the void had form, consistency, end, and the womb's trapdoor opened. With a lurch that almost forced her stomach out of her mouth, she dropped like a ruby through a bed of feathers, and she knew with absolute certainty that nothing but a much more all-encompassing void was waiting for her at the end.

There was an odd moment where she was - not calm. She wasn't frightened, or upset, or angry. She was nothing. For a second of eternity, she was a silent void, all feeling or personhood forced out of her like poison from a syringe. Like mercury from a broken thermometer. She fell, without thought, dim moonlight dripping from her pores.

(this is really happening)

Then she was very much something. So much something, all at once.

She tried desperately to flap her wings, but they were rotted, emaciated, feeble. Every beat felt as though it would rip the sinew from her body like strings from a violin, doing nothing to suspend her fall, and she didn't have the energy to scream. Instead, she tumbled, end over end over end, and the nausea was too much, and she vomited, but it was only acrid quicksilver, gushing over the elegant white black dress she wore, long enough to scrape the ground she wasn't standing on,

And she felt it wrapping itself around her (as above, so below. which was reality, above or below? she was never quite sure).

And she felt it, warm, soft, like a hug from an old friend (or a lover who'd taken and taken all she could claw away).

And she felt it squeeze like a mother (like a noose)

And she felt it crawl underneath her fingernails, push its way underneath the skin until it found the still-brittle, bulging veins in her hand (not again)

and she felt it, part of her once again, where it belonged, where it would never leave, and she felt in her putrefying bones that no amount of mercury could kill it now (not again not again)

not again notagainnotagainnonononono

it's just a dream

there comes the ground

itsjustadreamITSJUSTADRE

Light.