Maybe I'm in a game, Lilou thought to herself. She was laying on the ground, crickets singing in harmony as the stars ever-so-slowly waltzed above her. Her trademark mahogany hair was laid out in the grass in little sections, with some only being a few strands big and others full chunks. A game where I have to find a way out of here. I should be dead. Very, very dead.
As in a sign of discomfort, Lilou's lips purse and she wrinkles her forehead. I haven't met anyone else here, the thought crossing her mind like it had millions of times. She wasn't one for repetition, but the place she had nicknamed "Terminal" didn't really give her anything to do besides live.
Almost daily, Lilou would get flashes of something else. Something that was outside of this horrible little torture box called Terminal and somewhere just out of reach. A quick glance at–maybe, just maybe–was her life before she arrived here. She wasn't one to really look back and cry, but look back and marvel. So each time she was gifted with one of these little... little presents, she thought it about it for a long time. Trying to fit together the pieces to the puzzle she hadn't seen the full picture of.
When Lilou was set to live in this world, she remembers being somewhere around the age of fourteen or fifteen. Now, where she had lost the count of time and ignored the daily progression from day to night, she had no idea what her age was. Possibly 343, or it could just be a meager twenty-one. Numbers that were once big to her didn't seem so big.
But what changed in numbers didn't change in the physical world. She was still as youthful as what she has been that long, long time ago.
And this is what bothered her the most. Not only was she robbed of a world with other people, she was robbed of her ability to be a human. No longer would she marry and have kids and grow old and die. She would suffer in a realm where everything was perfect and didn't need changing. She would writhe in a mass of impossibility, and be forced to be the same thing forever. She was going to be starved of change.
And what is the point of living if one is not allowed to adjust?
ns 18.68.41.150da2
