You see an item nearby. Whatever this item is, you don't really recognize it. Still, you feel as though it's important. You pick it up, and memories flood into your mind.
But they aren't yours.
It is dead. He is dead.
How could they do this?
A heavy weight washes over you, something you cannot quite put into words. It is emptiness, you think, but–deeper. The absence of something. Is this grief, you wonder? How are you able to feel something this deeply? It hurts like nothing you have felt before, like nothing you are supposed to be able to feel, and you don’t quite understand how this feeling of loss makes something break that is not even meant to exist.
One building block on top of another. The figure begins to come together, built from tip to toe.
If you could cry, you would be awash with tears. But he is here again–your Jerry–as whole and complete as the first day he came into existence.
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But they aren't yours.
It is dead. He is dead.
How could they do this?
A heavy weight washes over you, something you cannot quite put into words. It is emptiness, you think, but–deeper. The absence of something. Is this grief, you wonder? How are you able to feel something this deeply? It hurts like nothing you have felt before, like nothing you are supposed to be able to feel, and you don’t quite understand how this feeling of loss makes something break that is not even meant to exist.
One building block on top of another. The figure begins to come together, built from tip to toe.
If you could cry, you would be awash with tears. But he is here again–your Jerry–as whole and complete as the first day he came into existence.
The memory comes to an abrupt end there.