GuNNhead

Long ago, all life on my planet was razed in mere moments. No traces or fossils exist of the life I lived save some indirect geological evidence. I don’t even remember my own name, or the names of those I knew. I am now over a thousand years removed from what was to be my lifespan. Even those who, like me, were offworld at the time all life upon Loameria’s surface was extinguished, have long since perished. I have no grief, I am entirely incapable of bereavement over what I have lost. I have no joy, I am entirely incapable of contentment of what I have gained.

Now, encouraged by new allies, in this new age of peace, I have time. The Network’s DataBase has extensive historical data stored. Nothing that could reveal my past to me, but enough that I can recapture a loose cultural connection. On this planet and many others, the beings create narratives, expressions of their lives. Those of my Loameria have become quite popular here with it’s new populous, though their authors and original audiences are long dead. It’s theorized that I once consumed this media, and in its viewing I can find pieces of my long-dead living self. That which formed the synaptic constructs the Gravity Surge now utilizes.

Nostalgia occurs in the deep recesses of my mind time and time again as I follow the narratives made during my original lifetime, and those leading up to it. I trace influences and seek the inspirations, indulging this loose tingle of who I once was. There are days it consumes my thoughts, allows me reprieve from the cosmos as I focus on these imagined plots. I should perhaps thank Celrdrrun, for when he renders barren a planet, he erases everything it was from the Network, leaving himself the sole possessor of its knowledge. He did not do this for Loameria.

During this time, I do not ignore the new Loameria, but attempt to integrate. I can hold conversations, socialize, engage in casual atmospheres. Eventually, however, it all falls apart once more. Living beings cannot hold my interest the same as constructed narratives can. It appears that the connections they form between each other are predicated on an inherent interest in each other. Something I am entirely unable to conjure. As years pass, new narratives form, largely based off of the originals. Consequently the discussions of the originals become more rare to find, while the new narratives can not hold my interest, even while using the objects of my nostalgic experiences. So, too, this phase of my eternal life fades into the past.

This entry was posted on December 20, 2024 at 3:33 am and is filed under Fiction, Gravity Surge, Sci-Fi. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.