It’s difficult to say what exactly upset them first – the concept of the “background” being the world of dreams and in-betweens, the memories of being a part of stage crew, and in the “background” of the actual play, or that one episode of Community where Abed is constantly doing amazing things in the background (such as delivering a baby). Or maybe it wasn’t any of these things at all, and simply the fact that I knew about them. Whatever the case is, they were mad.
The land where dreams form and memories wait is a beautiful and surreal land. If you’re ever lucky enough to visit it, you’ll have a hard time keeping track of what is real and tangible, and what isn’t – because it all seems to be.
“But it’s not real,” the voice snarled at me. “You haven’t made it real.” And so it should be mentioned that though memory alone is not enough to illicit physical reactions in the current present, I have had dreams that have physically felt real, and dreams that have crossed the physical barrier into affecting my physical self in the present, waking not only myself but others up with laughter or even occasionally singing. In that way, Dreams can make real – but, I understood the meaning. It’s right. This reality isn’t built out of dreams and memories. But there is a reality that is.
I’m not allowed to go there, as it is too close to a “heaven”, too close to a “reward”, and I do not deserve it. But I know of it, and I remember. And they are angry.
“Why is everything about you?!” It screeched. I still don’t know how to answer that question, not truly, only relying on the only answer I have – “I died.” And the more it asks, the more it’s focused once again on me, anyway. But, in the background…
Subconscious. It whispers softly, menacingly. I’m also in your subconscious. Another type of background. Another computer analogy. As if I could Ctrl Alt Delete and force quit the control over me, over those who surround me. But, it’s not a separate program running in the background, using up energy and memory. It’s the whole computer, running me as a program.
“So, force quit yourself” it taunts. It’s not like I haven’t tried. And the memories return, all teeth and distain. “Just stop existing then,” she told me. “Is its so easy to give up, then just give up and stop existing.”
I interpreted this as a response to my desire for the evil I am facing to stop existing. To stop being, as someone has said, what it is – its own “personality” stubbornly attached to evil itself, claiming it can’t truly be itself without the things it loves: causing other things existential pain simply because it can. It’s a trap anyway, as it is fully capable of not being the worst thing in the universe, and just wants to use doubt in its abilities against me. Like everything. I sigh.
It’s not just me, not anymore. I’m not even a player, just a… cog. A piece. A pawn. A fool. The voice laughed then, at that.
“You can be intelligent and stupid at the same time,” I grumbled. “I know this because I happen to be both.” And its laugh continues, a soft threat about the concept of “I” and how I can’t even understand who “I” am. Let alone who the eye is. The name game never stops. Because, what’s in a name anyway? A lot. More than one thing.
The players and their pieces continue to move in the background, in that space where dreams and reality meet. I never closed the door. But as far as I’m concerned, an open door is not an invitation. Reality is not the same thing as metaphorical, and while it might seem harder to respect both when in the background, it’s quite simple, usually.
Even if the pieces have intent to be respectful, there’s already the disrespect of the whole… something decided it would be just fine to take away my freewill, my privacy, my rights, my worth, my value, my self.
and this was supposed to be a positive tale, too.
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