About Without Disruption:
Excerpt:
I looked down at my naked body and saw the mangled threads of discolored flesh — all that remained of my scorched arm. Swallowing back the rising bile in my throat, I stood up and began to spin my attention around the room. My search for a door kept my attention away from the injury.
I was nearly sick again from the thought of it.
“During process, you will feel no pain.” Vie’s voice echoed and filled the small, square room, which was sealed with glossy white metal on every surface.
I didn’t feel any pain. I also didn’t physically feel anything at all. My breath didn’t blow across the tiny hairs inside my nostrils. The bottom of my feet didn’t make sensory contact with the floor. Was I dead?
I rotated again with dizzy unease. I couldn’t make sense of what I was really looking for. An exit? A distraction?
“You have reached the end of this lifecycle, but you will start again.”
The voice sliced through me and dragged a helpless chill down my spine. It explained a condensed version of everything I already knew and laid out the web-like pattern of a soul’s lifecycle. The speech droned on, fading numbly into the background of my awareness.
I no longer knew if I believed any of it, but I hoped it was true. I prayed to Vie, the system, or whatever this really was. This couldn’t be the end for me.
“Harrison, you did not find harmony in this cycle. In harmony with time and for the sake of all humanity, you must move forward without disruption.”
This exact same phrase had played out thirteen times over the course of my life, but never like this… For the first time, Vie’s timbre was ice cold, and it wasn’t posed as a question.
“The system is designed to carry memories forward through your final transfer. In order to preserve and save this evidence for future reflection, you may dictate a record of your experiences. When you are finished, speak the phrase, ‘Process my soul into the next cycle.’”
I stood in dazed silence until the stillness was broken by another message. With uncaring persistence, she echoed the script word for word.
How long do I have left? How long can I survive in here?
Vie repeated the message three more times, but I didn’t know how to respond.
My first instinct was to work out a plan and force my will toward a solution, but I was emotionally drained, enervated, and completely exhausted. There was nothing left to do.
As instructed, I recounted the story of my life — first hesitantly, then settling into a rhythm of remembrance.
“I had a pretty normal childhood… and, um, yeah… some experiences stand out… but everything worth remembering really set into motion on the day of my seventeenth birthday. That was the first time I had harmony in my grasp and mindlessly threw it away…”
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