Ripples of Hollows Filled

Ripples

Oh, I'm here again. That's nice. This is what I'm prone to calling my home. I have no way of being sure, but it's my bet. The ceiling is dark blue, and often I see stars up there. Not real stars, but a kind of after-image. Reddish dots, reminding me of something. Every so often I recall the drift through the empty vastness of space. Seems I drift here from far away, but this could all be dream.
Arrgh, my back hurts. Must have been a real killer this last job. I make holodeck-textures for a living. And I've obviously been doing this for quite some time now. There's a room down the hall, filled with rows of walls. Who built it I can't say. I do know, however, that every time I find myself back here I go to this room. I fancy thinking about it as the Room of the Counting. Last time I counted I found eighty walls was filled with my markings.
Alrighty, then. Get up, Malcir! You can do it! Green walls and red carpet. I should consider redecorating. But if the marks in the Room of the Counting is an indication, I'm in no hurry. I have all the time in the world, it could seem.
I push through the door. I remember, vaguely, a time when doors were solid. Silly, really. These memories surfacing, which I can't really relate to. The expance of the Between opens up once I'm through my bedroom door. It changes every time I pass through here. Not in any radical sense, but I think there are small differences each time. There was a time when I spent much time here, but I've become more set in my ways of late.
The fluidity of the Between is it's greatest aspect. Rarely have I seen anyone so proficient in it's use as myself. But there are many things about myself I don't see much of, in others. The Between holds me suspended, and the flow of self is gathering direction. I know where I want to go. The sudden, almost violent, rush grips me, and I'm off. Off to the Room of the Counting.
The door approaches fast, and I let myself slow, and enter. It's rather cold in here, but that's alright, I never spend much time here. Too bad this place doesn't have any qualities like the Between. I'll have to walk. The dim light and the grey walls go on and on. Identical walls, to the left and right. I have never explored any further than my latest marking.
I think I'm afraid that it never ends.
Down the isle, some eighty-odd walls later, I find the latest markings.
The piece of metal pipe is right there on the floor. It always is. I strech to reach the next unfilled space. I make an inch-long mark in the wall. There.
I leave the pipe on the floor. I know I'll return. I just can't say when.

My back still aches. I'll be alright, though, once I get to my good friend Solkrin. Back in the Between I gather direction like all hell was loose. I want out. Now.
I'm rushing through the Between towards the exit to Fardsbridge Valley. I hear angry cries in the distant. Slow folks out taking their stroll. I have no time for the scenery.
Ah, here we are. Cute. They've put up a nice countryside looking wooden gate. Well, that's hardly indicative of the other side, I've been to Fardsbridge Valley before. Many times, in fact. And it's nothing like any countryside I've ever seen.
The damp smell of festering rats greet me as I enter. There's no sign of the sky, not even a fake one, like in the Between. It's all layers of brown and grey structures, as far up as you care to see. The gate to Fardsbridge Valley looks very different from this side. Metal plates, several miles high.
How the hell does Solkrin find the patience to do business in a place like this? I wonder.
Well, the convenience of the Between behind me, I'm bound to the ground, and have to do some hard leg-work. The people around here are harmless, but not very entertaining. They reek of things I couldn't even begin to imagine. The gatekeepers, as they like to call themselves, just throw me a glance, and continue their staring into the flames. I've spent hours, or days, staring into flames myself, or probably longer. We've completely lost track of time, haven't we? That's another ancient memory of mine. It seems that time was ordered and structured at some point. Everyone agreed to some standarized form of time. Weird.
I go to the nearest Finder-spot. Not in much use, I can see. There aren't many of us who know how to use these. And only very few of us would come here to Fardsbridge Valley. It's not too unlike the Between in some respects. The column of ripples are only visible to us users, I've come to understand. Well, my mind is drifting, I have more important things to do.
I reach into the ripples and draw near the location of Solkrin. Ah, perfect. Not more than five blocks away.
"Malcir" Solkrin states as I enter his den.
"Hello" I reply.
We both know what's first, no need to spill time chatting.
"Here", he says, and I take the little black pouch from his hand. I smile.
It's been a while, now. If I only could keep proper track of time I could say things like "It's been over a week, now!". Well, fuck it.
I open the pouch with no small amount of expectation. I let the content out onto my hand. It stings slightly. The swirling fluidity of colours slowly take the shape of an apple. We call it K - whatever that means.
It's origins long lost. It's presence unmistakeable.
"Hollows filled", I mumble, as I take my first bite.