changeit | 01 ☢ disappear into the trees

[It's almost like he hasn't gone anywhere at all. He closes his eyes in his room, opens his eyes in his room. Same walls, same bed, same shelves, same desk. Same paintings. The only difference is that his window doesn't go anywhere; the view of the street is flat and unreal, and beyond it he can see stars, like looking through a car window's sunscreen. He knows if he goes to the door, it will open into somewhere else, not the hall leading to the stairs leading to the living room. Amy's funeral won't be taking place - no festivities, no flowers. He assumes. He's beyond that now.]

[It gives him a sick feeling in his stomach. But this is what he's signed up for. He might as well get on with it.]

[Before he goes anywhere, he sits down in front of the mirror (he asked for one specifically, the other main difference between this room and his room at home). This makes him sick, too, but necessity's necessity. In the back of his head there's an argument about honesty, a sharp voice that sounds like a blend of Amy's and his own guilty conscience, but he ignores it. This isn't the time for a statement. This is the time for safety, or as much of it as he can possibly manage.]

[He applies cover-up like it's a ritual conferring protection, which is essentially the case. It's cold, making his face feel stiff and too-smooth like a doll's, and he does it all without looking at himself once. The mirror is a touchstone, a way to assure completion. When he looks up in the end, he finds himself both satisfied and disquieted. He's become so used to living without disguise that this seems like a lie.]

[Still, he can step out into the long hallway now and feel very nearly normal.]

spam } infirmary

[The second thing he does is go to the infirmary. He has already made his request, packed away in a canvas back thick enough to obscure its contents. It only takes a few moments to make his way to the infirmary; once he's there, he finds himself calmed, if only minutely, by its clean lines and relative efficiency. It reminds him of Shirley's friendly bustle. He thinks, if he can just find someone willing to listen and ask a minimum number of questions, he'll be fine.]

[Maybe he ought to have brought a brochure. But he has what he has, and so he goes looking for someone in charge.]

spam } open

[He happens across the art therapy room almost by accident, as he's tripping up and down the stairs trying to get a feel for the place. Once he gets a sense for it, what this room is for, he feels a bit like going in would be intruding on a place not meant for him, but he can't help himself. It's full of all the tools and materials too expensive or impractical to keep in his room, a smorgasbord of paints and pastels and clays. Before long he's situated himself at an easel by the door, canvas spread in front of him, and sketching out the beginnings of a portrait in violet outlines.]

[The library is his next time-consuming stop, after he's washed all the paint off his hands, of course. It only takes him a minute to get lost in one of the corridors connecting the reference to the nonfiction section, and he wanders helplessly in near-darkness for a moment before emerging, inexplicably, by the movies. They're in all kinds of formats, some totally alien to him. He wonders what his dad would say about living in a post-BluRay environment and then, after a pang in the general region of his heart, decides not to think about it anymore. Instead he spreads a selection of films out on the nearest table and tries to pick one to watch for the evening. Assistance from the peanut gallery is welcome.]

[At last he finds himself on the deck, where he finds himself both awed and nauseated by the expansive sky - and really, it's only a sky because that's the most reassuring way to mentally categorize it. It's actually space, which he is in, and in all honesty he could do with sitting down right now. Fortunately there's a bench nearby. He collapses onto it and hunches his shoulders against the encroaching everything, counting the seconds until he can in good conscience retreat back into his room.]

voice } open

[A few hours later, safely ensconced in his cabin once again, he feels less homesick, more equipped to address everyone all at once - which seems to be the thing to do. Not face to face, though. He isn't completely ready for that.]

Hi. [. . . yes.] I'm Kieren. New. Thought I'd say hi.

I've never actually. Been to space, not sure if that puts me in the minority or not, but. It's beautiful here. [Terrifying. But beautiful.]