07-22-2018, 03:07 AM
HEXANE
✯ — take these broken wings and learn to fly
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There was a certain type of exhaustion that came with death. Hexane was all too familiar with the feeling of inhabiting a lifeless body, but true death was different. It wasn't pain. It was a void, a collapse of reality that started in his marrow and crawled along the scaffolding of his bones. All at once, he was dead.
And then they were alive.
There was no buffer, no way to record any lag between life and death. It was a simple switch, off and on again, and despite the obvious existence of the passage of time they felt no lapse between moments. They felt no memory whatsoever.
A single image held to their mind; a six pointed figure, a formula, a name. Hexane. They were Hexane. There was no meaning to the name, no connection to shadowed whispers or curses. It was just a name. It was normal.
Perhaps less normal was the sudden itch of sand as they finally edged into consciousness. It didn't feel as sudden as it should have, likely because there were no preceding memories from which to form any context or lack thereof. The beach was simply where they were.
Light yellow eyes peaked open to harsh sunlight and instinctively closed again. It was enough for a wake-up call for Hexane to finally notice the rhythmic washing of waves over their lower half, the briny smell of the sea feeling only slightly less overwhelming than the sun.
It took quite some time for Hexane to finally stand. Slowly the sun became less of an intrusion and the chill of the ocean moreso, and at last the little white castaway fox pressed themself upwards and wobbled up the shoreline. Their steps felt new. Somehow a fully grown fox held all the muscle memory of a newborn deer.
Finally away from the water but still too tired to clean up any, Hexane sat only partway up the beach and lifted their gaze to the nature beyond. None of it was familiar. The trees, the sea, the snowy pelt caked in sand. Everything down to the way they saw the world was entirely new.
With not even the knowledge of how to hope, Hexane opened their mouth. "Hello?" They weren't sure if they expected an answer, and the fur above their eyes wrinkled in an uncertain expression. "I'm. . . Lost."
And then they were alive.
There was no buffer, no way to record any lag between life and death. It was a simple switch, off and on again, and despite the obvious existence of the passage of time they felt no lapse between moments. They felt no memory whatsoever.
A single image held to their mind; a six pointed figure, a formula, a name. Hexane. They were Hexane. There was no meaning to the name, no connection to shadowed whispers or curses. It was just a name. It was normal.
Perhaps less normal was the sudden itch of sand as they finally edged into consciousness. It didn't feel as sudden as it should have, likely because there were no preceding memories from which to form any context or lack thereof. The beach was simply where they were.
Light yellow eyes peaked open to harsh sunlight and instinctively closed again. It was enough for a wake-up call for Hexane to finally notice the rhythmic washing of waves over their lower half, the briny smell of the sea feeling only slightly less overwhelming than the sun.
It took quite some time for Hexane to finally stand. Slowly the sun became less of an intrusion and the chill of the ocean moreso, and at last the little white castaway fox pressed themself upwards and wobbled up the shoreline. Their steps felt new. Somehow a fully grown fox held all the muscle memory of a newborn deer.
Finally away from the water but still too tired to clean up any, Hexane sat only partway up the beach and lifted their gaze to the nature beyond. None of it was familiar. The trees, the sea, the snowy pelt caked in sand. Everything down to the way they saw the world was entirely new.
With not even the knowledge of how to hope, Hexane opened their mouth. "Hello?" They weren't sure if they expected an answer, and the fur above their eyes wrinkled in an uncertain expression. "I'm. . . Lost."
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