Oblivion (Patreon)

Art by Haps for the upcoming build.

(Due to a sudden change in scheduling at work, my day off is coming a day later than I expected, though the next build of Khemia will still be released over the weekend. In the meantime, Scipio has some thoughts)

This is an odd feeling, writing to no one, for no reason. Now that I'm unable to communicate with Mother, I have no one else to write to. Instead, Neferu suggested that I keep a journal, to record anything of interest. More specifically, anything that is of interest to me. Of course, I have a more official way of keeping records on this mission, through my tablet, but Amicus will be reading those. These will be private, and Neferu says catharsis can be achieved through writing, which is a very Khemian thing to say. I'm still unused to to the idea of letting my writing flow freely, without the rigor that has always guided my studies. Even I fail to grasp the abstractness of some Khemian stories, and poetry, but I can try.

Lately I have been having terrible nightmares. Ones in which I cannot move and a dark creature creeps about the cabin. Then, it crawls upon me and tells me what is waiting for me on Khemia. They are only dreams, I know. They are not real. But the thoughts manifesting these dreams are very real, thoughts I've had ever since the riots.

Like Neferu, I am afraid to die, which means that I am afraid of the Amalgamation. I don't want to dissolve, and merge with others. I am Scipio. No one else is. I try to comfort myself with the idea that we are already an amalgamation, that my body is only a vessel that provides an illusion of individuality. It doesn't seem to help. 

Last night I had a particularly unusual nightmare in which I was in a forest, at dusk, and next to me was a bottomless pool of dark water. The creature appeared in the branches above with a terrible screech and it then pulled me into the water, and then I was drowning forever, in nothing. While oblivion is an unnerving idea, the consciousness of being in oblivion is far more terrifying. I know this concept is the opposite of what oblivion actually means, but it's the only way I can describe the feeling; being aware of there being nothing.

I should have faith in the parents, and I do, but I also know that Omorfa is a civilization of rational, logical thinkers, and they wouldn't try to destabilize the plans of the parents without good reason. The founders of our own civilization, Drusus, and Meera both struggled with the idea. Even Amicus has a very complicated relationship with the parents. I believe he is in pain as well, the type that Neferu talked about. I doubt Amicus will trust anything until his human returns.

Look at how my thoughts meander. And still I don't understand what it is that is bothering me most. Maybe it's simply that I have changed. I never felt this way three years ago, before the riots. Just like Neferu, I am now afraid, and unsure of everything. I feel as if my body is not my own, that my mind will spiral in directions I do not wish to go. Sometimes it is difficult to remember how I felt before that day. It is as if an impenetrable, unscalable wall of stone separates my life between then and now.

I want control. That's it, but between the parents and my own failing mind, I am hyper-aware of myself in this ship, covering distances as fast as is possible for a sibling, and as more time passes, and as I continue to dream, the more I feel that I'm moving toward something that will result in what I fear most. Even now, I feel as if the dark waters are creeping up my neck, and sometimes I find myself gasping for air, for no good reason. It's as if I'm already drowning. Sometimes I have to leave conversations unfinished when these moments come, and it's becoming more difficult to pretend as if all is well. It's humiliating.

If I am being honest with myself, like Neferu insisted that I should be, I would rather enter true oblivion, rather than aware-oblivion. I am very tired in a way that is difficult to describe. Sometimes, like now, I wish to simply crumble to dust, blissfully nonexistent as I scatter to the wind.

That seems easier.