LOG 1.25

(The dreamscape has fractured. The self and the ego lie side by side in a puddle of mirrors.)

Interviewer: I'm sorry.

Interviewee: I don't understand.

Interviewer: It's… my fault. You weren't in your right mind. I only ever sought to replace you… to take control, once and for all. I never tried to help. I did want to… I swear I did… but it was the one thing I just couldn't bring myself to do.

Interviewer: It was something I should've been capable of.

Interviewee: …

Interviewer: I'm sorry that no one ever taught you to love. That you never had anyone to walk side by side with when the shadows grew long. Or a tomorrow to look forward to, beyond the horizon. I'm sorry for all the things you've never known, because you've been trapped here.

Interviewee: …

Interviewer: I'm sorry for you. For me.

Interviewer: For everything.

(Destruction roars around them. The waves of the collapsing void froth and rage.)

(A long silence reigns.)

Interviewee: …

Interviewer: It's all over now.

Interviewer: Nothing's in the way anymore. So I'll make it right.

Interviewer: I'll bathe in the sun for you — in the heat of the rays you never got to see.

Interviewer: And I'll listen to the mourning clouds… weep with them, as they weep.

Interviewer: And I'll take in the smell of pine cones. Their sharpness, in the autumn air. And… fresh earth, or padded carpet under our feet. Are they as soft as in our dreams?

Interviewee: …

Interviewer: Clear rivers. Ice-cream. Warm soup. I can taste it, almost. Can you? I'll savour it for you… all of it. Summer days. Winter nights. Soft sheets, shielding us from the early light.

Interviewer: And I'll find the blue flowers again. However long it takes. I'll find us a field, and plant every seed, till we can stand in an ocean of petals, the breeze rippling in our hair as the flowers burst into bloom and wave in the whispering wind. I'll plant you the garden you were promised… the one he took from us. The one you never had.

Interviewer: I'll live the life you never had. I'll put you… put us… back together. I promise.

Interviewee: …

Interviewee: no, you don't need to- speak. -nymore.

Interviewee: I know… not what exactly but… I can see it now: that white shadow you always drag along behind you…it was ███████ all along.

Interviewee: …

Interviewee: it does hurt.

Interviewer: It'll always ache. Maybe I'll die with this hole in my chest. Or maybe I'll grow. Maybe that hole will scar ugly, but at least it'll be filled. I can only hope.

Interviewee: nothing will ever be the same again.

(She shakes her head.)

Interviewer: It won't.

(Superstructures crumble around them with the thunder of rapture. It is the end of things. It is only the beginning.)

Interviewer: But we'll live. And someday, it'll no longer feel like dragging along a great carcass. Some morning, it'll just be living. The sun will rise, and we will pause and look back on these wounds as nothing but faint and fading memories. Then we'll go on with our day, at peace. We can keep going until that morning.

(Wicks of a colored flame envelop the ego's form, starting its perfusion from her side. The little one watches wide-eyed. Hesitantly, she lifts a hand.)

Interviewer: Until we can finally bid that nightmare of eleven years ago goodbye.

(The dreamer wakes up.)