Planetarium
You awaken in a white space with a profound sense of loss.
Something important has vanished. It was too sudden, and whatever it was has left nothing but the feeling of a gnawing incompleteness.
Pensive, you sit up slowly. A glance around reveals nothing out of the ordinary. The same unending, white room, a laptop, a sketchbook, a box of tissues, and an oddly shaped cat.
You notice your knife placed rather precariously close to the spot your head was laying on. You pick it up and try to see anything different.
Nothing still. Just your reflection, monochrome boy of plain black and white that you are. The worry persists, even as you eventually will yourself up. A visit to your friends should take your mind off these worries.
It was jarring when you finally realized that something was very wrong. The initial spike of worry has not gotten any better, and the once familiar Headspace is put under your intense scrutiny.
For one thing, you were yet to wake up in White Space. The door to your safe haven remains, but it has been what felt like days now, and you are yet to feel the sensation of being pulled there by a sudden intrusion of darkness.
Days turn into weeks, and you can feel the urge to comb through the entire world creeping on your skin.
And of course, your colorful friends see nothing wrong with this.
It has become routine for you to go in and out of the stump.
Open the door to White Space, look around, feel frustrated and march on out.
Your friends are starting to worry about you.
If you were to observe them more, Mari and Basil seemed to be far more concerned. Not like such a thing was a surprising, considering-
A loud crack, like a vase breaking right next to your ears. You look around wildly. Nothing. You look back at your friends. Nothing but comfy shenanigans on a picnic blanket.
The thought that you might be a bit out of your depth slowly pools over you as time passes.
It's gone. It's all gone. The world feels complete. And you feel very, very powerless.
It snaps back to you, things that should be and problems that were, gone without a trace. A mistake that couldn't be taken back, rendered meaningless.
Black Space is gone. That constant reminder of what was, is no longer here. You looked everywhere, even when it was your purpose to make sure it stays hidden.
But that's just the thing, isn't it? You are here to hide it, to keep it silent. You never had any power to control, much less destroy it.
And yet it's gone. Years of guilt and anguish, poof. All that remains is you and this world.
Their lives, they were supposed to be devices, equivalent to endearing cardboard cut-outs.
Maybe that's where you should have realized something was wrong? Cardboard isn't supposed to fight after all, much less charm half of the planet, crack the crust with a baseball bat, and flex against a wanna-be-planet.
You feel like a cartoon character now. Headspace is changing and you're not sure what those changes are anymore. Everyone seems so much more clear now. Troublemakers of varying personality and threat, rising and falling every week, every appearance seeming to add a new weight.
Sometimes they're invited to the weekly picnic in the playground.
Sweetheart insisted, and promptly cleaved a large swathe of the forest with her flail to make way for her supposedly superior royal picnic blanket.
A beam of hot light, rose to challenge that spectacle, one that promptly made a clear landing zone for spaceships.
That was when you discovered that cake should be eaten in controlled amounts.
You are yet to receive a proper answer or instructions on how to cleave a forest with your knife.
Come what may, and let anyone say what they will, but you are, at the very least capable of going with the flow.
One day, a new guy came to town. It was hard to remember that fact for whatever reason, but they're here. Somewhere.
You don't really get a good look at him, but everyone else seems able to. Concerning however, were their reactions.
It was always the same. Freeze in place, stutters and nervous shuffling, averting their eyes. Then uncomfortable silence.
You would face this mystery man and all you would see is nothing. Talking to others doesn't seem to do anything helpful in this regard.
"H-He was just there!" , "Whoa, where'd he go?" You'd get from the more childish and boisterous.
"O-oh, I... Uhm." , "Is your new friend shy Omori? Hahaha..." You'd hear from the more grown up and learned.
The Big Boys and Girls of Headspace seem even more sporadic in dealing with the new kid.
The Bread Twins randomly leaving baskets of fresh bread with notes of "Thank You".
Floors in the Last Resort becoming inaccessible, Jawsum's explanation of "V.I.P." with a nervous grin bringing very little clarity.
Humphrey would remain awkward to talk to, once visited. You'd even dare say the whale was... sad?
The Slime Sisters have a room in Humphrey dedicated to researching the newcomer, the path blocked by what looked like pink goop and a robot?
Captain Spaceboy has no idea what to do about the apparent "Little Boy" sightings in the cargo bay.
You once saw a much more casually dressed Sweetheart leap into the air, with a screech on her lips.
You then spent the rest of that day hearing the donut girl rant about a small vacation with some supposedly unimportant people and that you should teach your buddy some manners, like not spooking a lady by poofing in and out of existence.
You hear a lot of things about your supposed friend but it would be nice if, you know, actually knew who the heck they were talking about.
One day, you finally met this mystery boy. You really wish you didn't.
...
Okay. He wasn't bad.
Well.
He's pretty bad, but only in the way that you could say about yourself. And you're pretty bad.
Well, at least you were.
This isn't making any sense, but it does to you and that's what's important.
So your new friend. Little fella that likes to haunt. That... sounds accusing but really, you just don't know at this point.
It's you. He's you. And, you were him?
Sunny. It's Sunny. At least, you think it's Sunny.
He's different. Never mind the fact that he shouldn't be present here in the first place, however vain it may sound like, you are more concerned by his appearance.
He's barely grown, in those formal clothes, and then he'll be far too small. wearing an oversized, blue sweater.
He fades in, like the world suddenly bleeds paint, of all things. He fades out, like a burnt-out lightbulb.
In Headspace, what's supposed to be the real you is the one that doesn't feel real at all.
It's hard to stare at Sunny. If you don't stare hard enough he becomes a dripping oil painting, stare too much and your eyes start to feel just how sharp and fluffy Sunny's features are.
...
He doesn't really do anything but stare. He watches you, and it would feel creepy if he didn't do the same to everyone else.
Actually, that sounds even more creepy. Weird too. That's you, Sunny. Weird and creepy.
Any attempt to confront or chat is met with silence or an immediate retreat.
You can only wonder why. You'd settle for even a chip of his thoughts.
Was it weird that you no longer think of yourself as him? Wasn't it right? It's been so long and you've done so much. More than him, right?
...
Oh. There he is now, in front of you. Sitting, chin on his knees and feet on the ground.
You blinked and you swore there was 2 of him. What a dreadful thought, one is more than enough.
You level an unimpressed stare at him. What was his game here? Is he as curious as you were when Headspace started becoming more?
He can certainly ask about it. You're not going to answer though. And he'd never know that you yourself don't know the answer.
You keep on staring into Sunny's pitch-black eyes. You could see a universe in them and He looks so small.
You blink and get up.
You awaken in a white space with a profound sense of loss.
Something important has vanished. It was too sudden, and whatever it was has left nothing but the feeling of a gnawing incompleteness.
Pensive, you sit up slowly. A glance around reveals nothing out of the ordinary. The same unending, white room, a laptop, a sketchbook, a box of tissues, and an oddly shaped cat.
You notice your knife placed rather precariously close to the spot your head was laying on. You pick it up and try to see anything different.
Nothing still. Just your reflection, monochrome boy of plain purple and white that you are. The worry persists, even as you eventually will yourself up. A visit to your friends should take your mind off these worries.