When you think you are out of time, you are right.120Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡSr7Cqx5A0P
All of us are. Yet this place feels particularly fitting for the description. With its attempt at simulating life, with those abandoned dregs of human creation building up its environment, it is paradoxically more out of time than the entire surrounding universe.
I have visited what once used to be my home so many times, I could not count. A light amidst a devastated town submerged into an eternal blueish darkness, it had been serving me as an escape pod from the sometimes even darker life. The home that no longer exists; now a lifeless shell in the "real" world, it retained the unique, irreplaceable quality it had before… well. I shall not dwell on the intricacies.
All through my visits, unchangeably, I had been thinking about its purpose in my little make-believe reality. It was not the only remaining life-keeper in this town; I saw a light in the distance the other day appear out of nowhere and die almost immediately. If it was, too, a Home—perhaps it would be more correct to capitalise it—to someone like mine was to me, what could such a quick death imply? Could it have been outside influence? Could it signify death? If somebody sees my light, would they be able to find me, enter my home, have a conversation?
None of those questions got their answers, sadly. However, I did work out a hypothesis, and I did test it.
The outside is not simulating life, as I once thought from the first impression. My home—and, for that matter, anyone else's—was but a memory. A place that might only exist within one's mind space; the only kind able to evoke just the right feelings and emotional reaction from an individual. If this is correct, then the surrounding environment is nothing but faded memories sewn together, building an approximation of the environment seen momentarily, in a glance.
The least significant part of the image of Home would not make for a clear environment; yet, the outside, albeit underdeveloped, is outlined quite clearly, with no missing parts to it. This realisation led me to another: here had died countless homes, each one adding just a speck of background to the surrounding areas. Nobody ever thinks about people when they wish to escape them.
This means that whenever a light goes out, it leaves but an imprint of its former existence. This means that whenever a light goes out, the memory is dead with no hope for resurrection. This means that one will not ever find an entrance to another Home, no matter how much effort they would be willing to put in; it is simply impossible to read someone else's live memory.
Combatting my fear, I started going outside eventually. It started with simply opening the front door and gazing into the darkness of the stairway, lit up only by the lightbulb in my room. Then, I went down to the end of the lit section, which allowed me to peer outside through a broken window. All along, I could hear the unnaturally reverberated echoes of my footsteps reaching up and down before fading away.
Finally, after several months of consistently breaking mental barriers, I was able to open the entrance door and step into the unknowable.
But this time, I could not hear people. Instead, there was…
Nothing.
The outside was completely devoid of sounds. No people seemingly walking by, no passing conversations, no car tires sweeping the asphalt roads. Only my own breathing, heartbeat, and careful footsteps broke the dead silence of the vacuum, not reflecting off of anything.
It was then I realised that the sounds I heard were not actually outside. The moment I opened the window, a memory was initiated of what I used to hear when doing it years ago. In this world, the outside never had any sounds, and I should have noticed it sooner; the outside was merely an imprint of a passing sight, a struggling recollection of what one could see from the windows of their Homes.120Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡWaR3ZeEF78
I walked around the block, still shivering from the fear of being alone—or, rather, not being alone—in this empty unlit ghost of a town. Everything seemed to be covered in thick layers of dust, as if real-world physics were of any importance here. It seemed… fragile; yet, I could interact with any object without doing it any harm. I assumed that the physical properties never carried over to the imprints, but the memories had already been falling apart as the imprint was left, giving everything a fragile appearance.120Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡUCkkqkDho7
I did not dare enter another former Home, or even another building. I travelled far enough to see another light close by, and a thought occurred to me, forcing me to quickly turn back and head Home.
"What would they think if they looked out and saw a man standing outside, looking at their window, where nobody else is supposed to be?"
I did not dare enter another Home, and I dared not ruin one.
When you think you are out of time, you are right. All of us are. Trapped within a seemingly endless, yet quickly depleting pool of memories, obtaining and losing what made us happy only to come back to its ghost later, savouring what used to be. Should one die, so will their memories, leaving but an imprint on those surrounding them; an imprint of what they were from the outside.
Someday, I reckon, the light of my Home will go out, perhaps in favour of a new one elsewhere. But till then, I will pay it a visit whenever I can. Tidy up the rooms, brush off the dust, and think again and again, immersing myself in the atmosphere. Even though it may be a mere ghost, it did bring me true happiness, true solace.
And I will not let go of it.
120Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡrcvRnSB6em
