Blinking, I slowly take in my surroundings. I’m standing on a hill, presumably. Grass seems to stretch for miles on into the distance, soaring far over the horizon to god only knows where.
White, puffy clouds laze their way across the sky, lazily drifting in the air with little consideration for who or what might be waiting for them. I turn and search for the sun, but strangely, there’s nothing there. Somehow, someway, the world is illuminated without the need for a giant ball of gas in the sky.
I lean down and place a hand on the grass, expecting to feel the itchiness of the blades or the coolness of the dew, but I was met with nothing. Strange, I muse, as it was quite peculiar, but I pay it no mind. I take a step forward, and despite my feet hitting the ground it feels more akin to walking on air than to walking on solid earth. It’s an odd, but not unwelcome feeling. Nevertheless I persist forward, toward something I can’t really place. What I’m looking for is something, but I don’t know what. What I’m looking for is somewhere, but I don’t think it’s here.Step by step I move on. Hills roll on and on in the distance like fat, lazy dogs sleeping in the sun. It feels like I can walk on and on forever without getting tired, and I just might as well have. For some odd reason, despite knowingly walking for hours, the world never dims- the light never fades. The day feels endless, much like the fields. My pace never falters since my legs feel nothing, all I know and understand is that I must push forward, I must -REDACTED-.
Where am I going? The question appears suddenly in my mind. I will myself to stop and turn to where I had just been. Staring off into the distance it looks no more different than the direction I was headed. Here, there, where I’m headed, and where I’m coming from- are they all the same? What does it even mean for me to go anywhere if everywhere is just like here? What does it mean to leave there? What even is there? What even is here?
Resolving to forget the matter, I walk once again. I know what I’m supposed to be feeling. I remember what it feels like for my legs to tire, for the sun to burn my skin, for the sleepiness to creep up behind me. For some reason I know that I’m sure I know where I’m headed, but at the same time I don’t know where I’m going. Does it even matter? I ponder to myself. I suppose it doesn’t, after all. If it really did I should’ve remembered by now. I continue marching on.
But what if it does?
I press on, trying to forget.
Where are you going?
I think I’m running now.
Why are you going there?
The mysterious lack of exhaustion nags at the back of my mind.
Who are you running towards?
Suddenly I freeze.
Who are you?
I shut my eyes and fall forward. Suddenly, my arms and legs ache. They shiver like TV static from lack of use. A cool sensation surrounds me, enveloping me like a dense fog. My lungs stretch and ween in the effort to take in the chilling air. Droplets of sweat trace swirls down my neck as the hairs on the back of my neck stand attention like soldiers. This feels wrong, and yet it feels freeing. Opening my eyes, I’m met with absolute darkness. My head feels… heavy? I place my hands where I expected my soft black hair to be, only to be met with hard, cold, metal.
Small memories return to me. The Player, I whisper to myself. The Player was released as a gaming console, something akin to the Oculus Rift released some decades ago. Users could immerse themselves into worlds of their creation, be it worlds they made up themselves or worlds created for them by Developers. It flew off the shelves if I remember correctly.
It all rushes back- the invasion, the war, the death, the loss. I remember my hand clutching my mother’s, watching her chase after the escape rockets as bullets and debris danced around us. I remember the tiredness in my eyes, the sun beating down on my skin, the pain searing in my legs. I remember her lifting me up, placing the helmet on my head and holding me close.
“Escape…” she whispered to me. “Escape…” She had let me go and pulled the glass down. I remember feeling scared. I remember not wanting to leave her behind.
“Where am I going?” I screamed through the glass, though I’m sure now she couldn’t have possibly heard me. “Why am I leaving?” I had beat my fists so hard against the glass that they bled. Looking now, the stains are still there.
I remember the smoke billowing out under me, launching me into the air, away from the destruction and war below. I remember the familiar hum of The Player turning on, and suddenly I remember the darkness.
There’s nothing left. I think to myself. “There’s nothing else here.” My voice sounds cracked and lost from not speaking for god knows how long. Suddenly I feel tears slipping down my cheeks. “There’s no one else here.” I’m shaking now, gasping at the short supply of air in the escape pod. “I-I wish I didn’t remember! I w-wish I wasn’t here! I wish Mom was here!”
I wipe furiously at my eyes, trying to stop the tears from streaming. “I wish I was back in the field! I wish-” I freeze at the sudden realization. “I wish…”
My gaze falls down onto The Player sitting on my lap. “I wish I could escape…” With shaking hands, I place the device back onto my head and press the button on the back to lock. I make vain attempts to slow my breathing and sit back and relax. “Escape…” I whisper to myself, tears continuing to slip down my face. “Escape…”
Story and Illustrations by: Samantha Bonsol
Concept inspiration: "Shelter"- Porter Robinson
Concept inspiration: Sword Art Online- Reki Kawahara