Post by Kosovo on Feb 12, 2015 22:32:49 GMT -6
In an otherwise deserted bedroom, one that would seem to be completely empty to most anyone who looked in, a small boy awoke to find himself curled up in the center of the bed. Seeing nothing unusual about this, he stretched out his thin limbs and sat up.
The boy looked around the room and saw that it was furnished quite well, in a rather ornate style that didn't really indicate much of anything to him. Windows set into the wall behind him let in dim light through the cracks between the shutters. It wasn't bright, but it was enough to see by. Two doors, one dresser, one hearth set into a wall: these are the most important things he saw of the furnishings. There was no fire in the fireplace, but he didn't feel cold or anything, despite the fact that he was on top of the blankets rather than underneath.
Nothing about his situation or surroundings bothered the boy, aside from a nagging feeling like he might have just woken from a nightmare, until he looked down at himself. Was that just a trick of the light? No, when he looked closer, he found that he could see the pattern on the blanket he sat on through his own body. He moved his legs to the side; he could see that he had done so, but the pattern didn't move at all, so it couldn't have been painted on him by some prankster or anything of that sort. What was that about?
He didn't bother trying to remember any other time when this had happened before; his instincts told him that this was about as far from his previous experience as anything could possibly be, that nothing in his memories had any chance of helping him here. Instead, he set about trying to figure out what exactly he could and could not do now, in hopes of divining something about what had happened to him. His hands, though he could see right through them, could touch and feel each other, and he could twist his fingers together. The nearest pillow up at the head of the bed jumped when he struck it, and he proved able to grab it and send it sailing at the wall, which it hit with a dull thump before falling to the floor. When he slid off the bed to retrieve it, though, his feet made no noise at all hitting the floor, despite the hard-soled boots he was wearing. That didn't make sense, did it? He knew he wasn't heavy, but surely he would normally make some kind of sound doing that.
The confused boy grabbed up the pillow and held it before him. He had to have some substance in order to do that, he was sure, but solid creatures generally made audible footsteps unless they were deliberately muffled. After thinking it through for a few moments, he tossed the pillow back onto the bed in frustration. It didn't add up. There had to be some detail he was missing, something that would clear up what was going on, but what could it be?
The boy looked around the room and saw that it was furnished quite well, in a rather ornate style that didn't really indicate much of anything to him. Windows set into the wall behind him let in dim light through the cracks between the shutters. It wasn't bright, but it was enough to see by. Two doors, one dresser, one hearth set into a wall: these are the most important things he saw of the furnishings. There was no fire in the fireplace, but he didn't feel cold or anything, despite the fact that he was on top of the blankets rather than underneath.
Nothing about his situation or surroundings bothered the boy, aside from a nagging feeling like he might have just woken from a nightmare, until he looked down at himself. Was that just a trick of the light? No, when he looked closer, he found that he could see the pattern on the blanket he sat on through his own body. He moved his legs to the side; he could see that he had done so, but the pattern didn't move at all, so it couldn't have been painted on him by some prankster or anything of that sort. What was that about?
He didn't bother trying to remember any other time when this had happened before; his instincts told him that this was about as far from his previous experience as anything could possibly be, that nothing in his memories had any chance of helping him here. Instead, he set about trying to figure out what exactly he could and could not do now, in hopes of divining something about what had happened to him. His hands, though he could see right through them, could touch and feel each other, and he could twist his fingers together. The nearest pillow up at the head of the bed jumped when he struck it, and he proved able to grab it and send it sailing at the wall, which it hit with a dull thump before falling to the floor. When he slid off the bed to retrieve it, though, his feet made no noise at all hitting the floor, despite the hard-soled boots he was wearing. That didn't make sense, did it? He knew he wasn't heavy, but surely he would normally make some kind of sound doing that.
The confused boy grabbed up the pillow and held it before him. He had to have some substance in order to do that, he was sure, but solid creatures generally made audible footsteps unless they were deliberately muffled. After thinking it through for a few moments, he tossed the pillow back onto the bed in frustration. It didn't add up. There had to be some detail he was missing, something that would clear up what was going on, but what could it be?