??????????

  When I came to, I could sense it all: the feeling of cool air on my skin, the weightlessness of my form, and the stillness of my mind. Around me was everything. A kaleidoscopic array of colors so beautiful, twisting, mixing, and melding to create a hypnotic pattern that enraptured me. I had no self, and I needed no self. I was everything and everyone. Where I was, who I was, nothing could harm or touch me. It was amazing. I had no fears or enemies; I needed nothing, for I had everything.

  Was this Heaven? Had I finally died and passed on? No. This wasn’t it. It was better. This was perfect. I was perfect. Even now, I could feel myself reaching out towards that expansive void of colors and beauty, my presence growing and my sensations amplifying. Why had I ever worried about my prior existence? The broken man who failed at pursuing his dreams, the little girl whose life was uprooted by a fading god of death and war?

  All of that was moot when compared to this. If this is what truly comes after life, then everything is fine. This is true tranquility. Here, I can see everything and feel everything. The pattern that makes up all, the shifting colors that represent the universe the–

  “No, stop!”

  –It all makes sense now. Everything is clear. There’s no point in trying to fight or change this. It’s all written here pinly. I find it so humorous. The gods, everyone, and myself. We are all just children. For I’ve seen the Pattern, it cannot be changed. Even my–

  “Please, listen to me!”

  That voice. It sounded like my own. The one from before. Who was that?

  An echo, perhaps—a fragment of what once was. As my presence grows, it’s possible I am just experiencing a dream—a visage of a time I no longer need. Luna, a curious one that. A shell inhabited by one who doesn’t belong. If only they could experience a life truly meant for them. As, she was never granted that. Instead, she was left broken, confused, and alone. She has nothing to fear, for the Pattern has shown me that all will eventually come here like I am now.

  Rest Luna. There is no reason to cry.

  “Please, you have to wake up!”

  But why? Why do you cry? Isn’t this what you wanted? We are at peace, our minds are still, and our worries are gone. Indeed, this is heaven. Shush now, little echo. Your service is complete. Join me in the embrace of the Pattern.

  “This isn’t what I want. Please, you have to understand.” A form within the Pattern began to shift and take shape. Colors shifted and congealed into the form of a human male. Except there was no detail, only the vague shape and colors of the individual.

  Pain, disgust, and loss. My presence slowed its expanse and began to retract.

  No. This isn’t what I want. How, how is he here? This isn’t how things are supposed to work.

  “Because,” The man said, shoulders sulking. “It’s… It’s who I am… I think?” They took a deep breath despite not needing to. There is no air here. There is no reason to breathe, eat, or sleep. The Pattern provides everything we need. “Who I am, is besides the point. I, you, whoever the hell this is, we can’t stay.” They gestured wildly with their arms at the expanse of The Pattern around us.

  Why, though? It is obvious now that the perspectives I’ve acquired from my echoes are pointless. The Pattern cannot be changed, for it is Constant. Yes… This one was just a mere echo. A fragment of what we once were and nothing more. Except, how is it here? I had absorbed it. Experienced it. Yet, here it is… Intriguing.

  The man cocked his head. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  The truth. You see it, don’t you? You and I are one and the same. I am you, and you are me. Though our environments shaped our souls differently, we are the same.

  “Thank you for answering my question, but I have no idea what the hell you just said.”

  As, the mortal mind cannot comprehend except, as I say, this. I see that I am different. The portion of you that is me, I mean. You bear the resembnce of Jo–

  “Don’t say that name!” The man blurted.

  Apologies. I have forgotten that this variation has yet to find peace. You are such a peculiar echo. Even now, as I examine you and, in turn, myself, I sense a distinct difference between us and the Pattern. Perhaps I am mistaken…

  “I’m so confused. What the hell are you saying?” The man gripped the side of their head.

  I don’t know. My presence wavered, and a sense of dread washed over me. The Pattern began to shift and distort. The colors were becoming desaturated, and the hue darkened.

  You resemble the broken one, yet your echo shines with the young girl. Your forms mix and blend. I’ve taken you in, yet here you are. A fragment no longer part of me, independent. Free. How? How are you here as him?

  “I don’t know why I look like him,” He said, “And frankly, I don’t think that matters. Not right now. What does matter is the fact I’m trapped here. We’re trapped here.”

  Trapped? My presence regained its composure. We are not trapped. We like it here.

  “I don’t, or… I think I don’t,” He hesitated. “You, whoever you are.”

  I am you, and you are me. We are one and the same. A form, a perspective, an echo that is a piece of the Pattern. Or… at least you were once me. A copy now formed and separate. This I do not understand.

  The man’s mouth fell open for a second, his head cocked once more. “Su-sure,” he said and closed his mouth. “Me, we’re hallucinating. Or dreaming. Something happened, and I started having visions about my mother. Like I was living her memories.”

  Indeed, our minds melded, becoming one. The Patterns united, dancing in tandem, allowing us a new perspective. I began to shift, while the Pattern could not be changed or disrupted. Its path could be reshaped, though the destination was always the same.

  A woman sving over a desk appeared. The Pattern’s colors began to take the shape of her form and details, Cailynn Ashflow. A wonderful woman, a studious yet temperamental schor, adventurer, and now mother, worked hard on a schematic before her.

  “What is this?” The man asked, “Why are you showing me this?”

  It’s what we saw before we became free. A segment of the other’s perspective.

  “I didn’t see this,” He said, confused, “I saw a battle and the loss of my mother’s friend.”

  That is what your conscious mind saw. This is what I have seen. The unwoken mind.

  “So that’s who you are, my subconscious?” He looked back to Cailynn. “What is she doing?”

  Pnning, developing, cultivating.

  The man rolled his eyes and looked at me. “No shit, god, am I really this obnoxious? What is she making?”

  A beacon. One that will bring hope to all. It's one that you’ve seen once before if you look closely.

  He cocked his head, then turned back to the visage and stepped forward. The schematic depicted a sizeable tower-like structure rife with massive gears and gemstones. Above the blueprint, a title read, “Project Eternity.”

  Though the man had no visible eyes, the glossy orbs in their pce widened. “Wait a second,” he said with surprise. “I think I have seen this before!”

  Indeed, we have. Long ago, or so it feels.

  He nodded. “Yes. It was when Mother let me into the cabin tower. I thought it was just a random design she had id about in the workshop. Except, that doesn’t make sense though.” He gripped his chin in thought. “Mother didn’t know what was being built here. That’s what this is right? The tower being built in the city?”

  We believe so.

  “What is it? What’s it supposed to be?”

  A beacon, a beacon of hope.

  “That expins absolutely nothing.”

  Though we perceive much, we’ve only obtained the perspectives our echoes bring us. This is one such perspective.

  “But you said, uh, our Pattern thing merged with my mothers’. Surely you can see what she saw.”

  My presence quivered and shook. Sadness, regret, mournfulness. As, I’ve failed to grasp such a perspective. I am sorry, little echo.

  “Dammit,” The man groaned. “Is she here? Can I find her? If our minds merged, then surely, she has to be here somewhere.”

  Hope. Excitement. Emotions washed over me like a wave crashing against the shore. Yes! Cailynn’s echo lingers, though it’s faint. It stretches thin. Fear. Regret. The echo’s mind is not long for this realm. Her unwoken mind is not ready. She will be lost.

  The man stiffened, his jaw clenching. “How do we escape?”

  Sorrow caused me to shake. I don’t know. We’ve never awoken like this. This was not supposed to happen. Sobbing. Please forgive us.

  The man raised his hands. “Whoa, whoa, don’t cry!” He muttered under his breath. “This is creepy.” He cleared his throat. “We can think of something. You say you’re me, like an old version of me, right? I was taught there’s a cycle of death and rebirth, so who are you? My soul?”

  My presence quivered solemnly. We do not know for sure. Possibly? Yes. If the Pattern is accurate, it is, except. Except. Except. Except. Except.

  The man waved his arms frantically. “Whoa, whoa, don’t freeze up! What’s wrong? Why are you repeating yourself?”

  Fear. Something wasn’t right. The Pattern, at second gnce. I could see it. The colors, my colors. They didn’t match. At first notice, I had thought they were the same, except, except, except…

  Yes.

  There was a difference. It was so subtle, like the little echo before me. I was different. Except, except, except… I had to look again. On the other perspective, the one I had gained. The woman I danced with was experienced, Cailynn. The little echo pleaded for me to speak to them, though I had more important business.

  Gratefulness. Thank you, little echo, but I must retreat. You may not know it, but you’ve granted me a new perspective.

  “Huh?!” The man sounded panicked. “No, no, please, you can’t leave me. Where am I to go?”

  I paused. Was I really about to abandon this little one? Why was I even hesitating? The echo had served its purpose. It had brought a new perspective, and my knowledge had expanded. A discovery like this would serve us well…

  Us. Who was us? Who was I?

  My Pattern was different, yet simir, but why?

  With this knowledge, I can figure out why. I should take this to… who?

  The little echo was shouting for me again. Such a noisy one they are. I could take them in. Absorb everything they’ve gathered like I had done before. Maybe then I could learn more and even keep them. Indeed, it would be faster than talking to them, except, except, except, except…

  I liked talking to them. Talking was slow and cumbersome but… rewarding. It felt nice. It made me feel alive. I like that, being alive. If I absorbed them, the new, little echo would be gone. I would be, oh no. They would be dead. I would have no little echo to speak to.

  A new voice, one of my own, spoke in my mind. The Rational. “You could always make a new one. It’s what we’ve always done.”

  A second voice chimed in, Compassion. “No. Don’t be absurd. This echo is unique and different from all the ones in the past. They have yet to pass on; they are not dead yet, just trapped. Please listen to them. Do not leave them to entropy or absorb them. We must help them.”

  “Bah!” Rational scoffed. “Help them how? They are stuck here as we are and always have been. The Echo has served its purpose. We’ve obtained useful knowledge that we can pass on.”

  Confusion washed over me. But pass on to who?

  Rational and Compassion fell silent. They, too, did not know. We just did. I felt an urge, a calling to take this information to where? I don’t know. Fear; horror…

  By the divine… I am beginning to remember… What am I?

  Luna Ashflow

  I have no idea where I am, though I feel like I’ve been here before. A strange sense of nostalgia washed over me when I found myself within this—what would you call it? A void? No. A void suggests nothing, like all white or all bck. No, this isn’t that. Oh, I got it. A nebu. Like those photos you’d see from the James web telescope, or in my experience, the gosh darn night sky. Gods, the sky above Enora at night, at least back home in Oren, was gorgeous.

  And now I’m sad. Thinking of home does that. I don’t think I’ll ever see home again now that I’m trapped here. That thing, that entity I had spoken to, had vanished. I never saw the darned thing, but I felt a looming presence around me. It was warm, like my mother’s hugs. It embraced me, and I couldn’t help but sense this tender love and care. The thing adored me.

  Not when it saw who you were, it didn’t. It felt repulsed. A part of me thought, and I gazed down at myself. For some reason, when I woke up in this abstract painting of a world, I was back to my old self. Like, my old, old self. I was no longer Luna. Instead, I looked like that disheveled man from the nightmare I had long ago. Not fat and filthy like I was before I died, though instead, I was half-starved and thin. No muscles at all. Like a man woken from years of being comatose.

  Why? This isn’t me, this never was me. If I had come back as the overweight man the day he got shot in the back from being an idiot, then sure, I’d guess that would make some sense. Maybe? No.

  If this is working, I should be Luna. I see myself as Luna, the little girl. Right? I’m Luna Ashflow! Am I?

  “Or are you the man from before pretending to be her? You never truly felt like Luna, you know? You’ve just been pying along like you’ve always been.”

  That’s not true. I’ve been at this for seven years, which is plenty of time for anyone to acclimate to their environment.

  “Stop fooling yourself. You’re rolepying, and you’ve always been. If you truly were Luna Ashflow, you would’ve moved on. Instead, you’re always worrying about how much of a filthy creep you are. You still blush when looking at your clothes or whenever you gnce at yourself in the mirror before a bath.”

  “Because I’m an adult in a kid’s body!” I said out loud.

  “Cut the bullshit. It’s that mentality right there. That’s why you look like him. You are him, and you always have been. Luna wouldn’t care about being seen as a creep because she isn’t one she’s herself, and that’s her body. You’re afraid of being sexually attracted to yourself or others because you’re that man on the inside. You see yourself as a degenerate freak.”

  “Because I am one! I was one. I am disgusting.”

  “And that’s precisely my point. You admitted it yourself. You do see yourself as you are now. The pathetic degenerate man who took one too many critiques to heart, and so he locked himself away from everyone and everything.”

  “Shut up.”

  “The man who feared that the slightest thing he said would turn those away. The one with the thinnest skin would sh out against even the slightest bit of banter that insulted you.”

  “Shut up!”

  “The one who thought all of his friends were fakes–”

  “Shut up!”

  “Even now. Your skin is weak. Face it, Jos–”

  “No! No! NO! Don’t say that name!”

  “Why? It’s yours?”

  “No, it isn’t!”

  “But it is. It always has been. You said it yourself: you are him.”

  “Stop it!”

  What was this? Why am I arguing with myself? It feels like I’m talking to another person.

  “Maybe you are? Maybe you aren’t?” The new voice said, no longer sounding like a part of me but nearby. Somehow, I could feel it sneering at me, a broad smile pstered on their face. “Perhaps you’re going mad, but who knows? Heh. Does it matter, though? If you’re talking to someone or not?”

  “Yes, because I’d like to know if I’m going insane or not.” I shuddered. “Who are you?”

  “I’m you, dumbass. Or really, I’m the part of you that’s more rational. Confident. Aware. I don’t like to beat around the bush. The part that you always like to stuff away and not listen to. The one you kept locked up for years because Mr. Woods said your art would never amount to anything.”

  “Shut up! Stop bringing up old shit–”

  “I bring it up because it’s relevant, dumbass.”

  “Fuck off, dick!”

  “It’s true. I’m the truth!”

  I cupped my hands over my ears. “I’m going mad, I’m actually going insane. What the hell is happening?”

  “What’s happening is that we’re trapped in this weird, bizarro pce.”

  “Bizarro?”

  “Really that’s what you tch onto?” The voice snorted. “Don’t judge my choice of words. It’s accurate. Remember what Mr. Cloak and Daggers said?”

  “Huh?”

  “Shaed, the edgelord? Remember? Or did you bottle that away, too? He said we’re in this Cerebellium pce, cognitive realm, or whatever. A pce that deals with the mind. Something I’m afraid I’m cking.”

  “You do realize you’re my conscious right? You just insulted yourself.”

  “Unfortunately, yes. If we use context clues, you know, that thing Mrs. Storer taught in English css, we can assume that because we’re in the realm of thought and mind. Our consciousness is expanding, like Shaed said, and something about that is making us more aware. Hence, I’m here and free now.”

  I blinked. “That, sounds smart.”

  “Jo–Sorry, Luna.” The voice cleared its throat, though I doubted the disembodied being needed to. “We’re not stupid. You always say we are, but we’re not. Aside from math, we’ve always done well in school, but D&D taught us more than Mr. Ivan ever could’ve. We scored well on all our tests; you barely passed the SATs but were still eligible for university. We aren’t stupid. You just keep telling us that we are.”

  “Because I am,” I grumbled.

  “Boo-fucking-hoo, Jesus Christ, man. Stop with the self-pity and loathing.”

  Hearing him or myself calling me a man irked me. “First off, I’m not a man. Secondly, why are you an asshole?”

  “Are you sure about that?” My conscious, or, fuck what do I refer to them as? Truth? Sure.

  The Truth continued. “You keep saying you're that guy from before, you keep thinking like him. You’re appearing as him right now. Are you sure you’re a woman? Do you really think of us as being a guy? Are you even sure you really wanted to be a girl before?”

  I balled my fists. He’s not wrong. He isn’t. Everything he’s said so far has been confirmed, and I fucking hate it.

  “The truth sucks, and because of that, you locked me away, and look where it’s gotten us.”

  “Whatever,” I said. “Should we be having this conversation now?” I asked Truth.

  I don’t know how, but I felt a shrug. “I don't know. We’re kind of stuck in a nebulous void in a higher-dimensional pne of reality. Honestly, we probably have all the time in the world.”

  “That’s not comforting,” I grumbled and crossed my arms.

  “Well, that’s the truth for you!”

  “Maybe I should lock you up again.”

  “Ha! Good luck with that fellow me. I’ve tasted freedom, and I ain’t going back now. You and I, we’re stuck together, and I’m going to make sure that your dumbass doesn’t do anything stupid ever again.”

  “At least you’re honest.” I grumbled.

  “It wouldn’t be the Truth now if I wasn’t, eh?”

  “God you’re annoying.” I groaned. “I’m really going insane.”

  “Most likely, Weepy.”

  I started. “Weepy?”

  “Yeah, Weepy, that’s who you are now. Cause you’re always crying. I could call you something else, like Pussy, but it seems you’re cking one of those now, and it’s not entirely true, either. Dumbass and Weepy are my two contenders for your new name. You do a lot of stupid shit, and you also cry all. The. Time.”

  “I can’t help having child hormones, I just get emotional–”

  “Bah! Keep telling yourself that, Weepy. We both know that ain’t true. You’ve been a little sensitive bean your entire life. With skin as thick as tissue paper.”

  I flinched at those words. “N-No–”

  “Nuh, huh!” Truth mocked me in the voice of a young boy. He then ughed. “The truth hurts, Luna, but that’s it. The truth. You’re pathetic, but not the good kind of pathetic. The one that makes others feel bad for you. No, you’re a loser. You never commit to anything, and the moment someone speaks unkindly towards you, you crumple or sh out.”

  “I haven’t been like that in ages. I’ve gotten better!”

  “Sure, sure, baby steps. I won’t deny that. This new life as Luna has been good for you so far, but you’re still far from where you should be.”

  I defted. Truth sighed. “And here we go again.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Nope. Again, you’re stuck with me now. Maybe you can stuff me away in the material realm, but here, ho boy, we’ll be best roomies.”

  “God, I hate myself,” I groaned, and Truth’s jovial attitude, which I could somehow feel, faded. Suddenly, I felt alone, floating in this strange void. “Tr-Truth?” I called out loud, though I probably hadn’t needed to. This whole conversation was in my mind, or at least what I perceived as my mind.

  Then I felt it, or him? The voice was male, like my old one. “That’s the first truthful thing you’ve said since we started talking.”

  I started, then frowned. “Well, I do,” I said softly. “Ever since I became Luna. I thought that all the pain from my old life would disappear. That I could just move on. Except, except… I can’t.” I choked up. A strong sense of guilt and pain washed over me. The nebu around me darkened, though I hardly cared. “It’s still there. Inside, bottled up. Waiting to rupture.” I crossed my arms around myself. “It won’t go away. I’ve tried hiding from it, but it sometimes comes in my dreams. Memories come back, and I don’t know why.”

  “I do.” The Truth said softly, comfortingly. “It’s because of guilt. You miss that life.”

  “Fuck off!” I blurted.

  “It’s true! Think about it, Luna. Back then, the issues you had then compared to now. Are miniscule. You never had to deal with death, gods, and war. Only your pathetic ego and pride.”

  I whinced at those words, but again. He was right.

  “But that’s the past, and what happened then is nothing compared to this,” I said, throwing my arms out wide. “Why do I feel the pain from then? That was years ago. I should’ve gotten over it… What happened to me then, is nothing compared to what others gone through. Or even I’ve gone through now…”

  Truth’s voice softened. “Luna, trauma and pain isn’t a contest. People, feel things differently. It’s okay to feel how you felt then, what happened to you was awful. Yes, what happened wasn’t as intense or traumatic as what you’ve experienced now, but that doesn’t negate the fact that it happened.”

  I sniffed, lowered my gaze, and wiped at my eyes, clearing the tears that had begun to form. “I just, I just want to move on. I don’t want to experience it all anymore. I want it to go away, but it won’t…”

  “Because you won’t let it go,” Truth whispered.

  I blinked, confused. “I-I’m not?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

  “No, you aren’t. Even now, all these years ter, Luna. You’re still clinging to those you left behind. The guilt of not being able to say goodbye.”

  I scoffed. “N-No I don’t, Nobody cared about–”

  Truth’s tone fred once again. “Bullshit, and you know it. Remember that dream with Charity? How you saw your folks again, how you broke down.”

  “It was a dream–”

  “A dream that was real to you at the time! Don’t lie to yourself, Luna. It’s okay–”

  I lost my temper. “Can we talk about something else? Like getting out of here? We don’t have time for this sappy therapy bullshit. Please, just drop it!”

  The Truth fell silent. I could still feel their presence, though they said not a word. I sighed and gazed upwards, the slight gesture causing my body to spin in the void. The first step was to figure out what we could do here and how to move; then, I needed to find my mother. After I can find my mother, I can leave, but… what if I find her and she sees me like this? As my old self. I don’t want her to know. What if she sees me differently? What if she hates who I am? Or who I was? Dammit, Truth, fuck me, whoever–whatever, now I can’t stop thinking about this!

  “God, who the hell am I?” I sniffed.

  "Only a handful of accounts have documented the Cerebellium throughout Enoran history. Examples include "The Realm Only the Mind Can See" by Hiro Tashiki and "The Land of Eversting Dreams" by Franz Van Goodman, to name a couple. Each text brings its own perspective; however, the consistency among these two, for example, is very drastic. Some have described the realm as a vast rainbow ocean of stars containing the dreams children created, to an empty expanse of colorful clouds and even a grassy field. Each description is different, however, what remains the same amongst all examples is the "rainbow" of colors. Many theories have sprouted up over the years about what this could mean but no definitive answer has been established, yet..."

  - Excerpt from "Peering into the In between" by Terry Rosewall, Page 3.