Alec Troven (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
element_wizard) wrote2007-06-04 06:32 pm
element_wizard) wrote2007-06-04 06:32 pm
Entry tags:
walnuts and meta-physical thoughts
It was a perfectly ordinary walnut that Alec held in his hand.
Just like the rabbit that King Arthur faced was a perfectly ordinary rabbit.
The walnut wasn't going to suddenly attack Alec. It was just a walnut that he could crack open and eat. But it was also the walnut that he would throw through the fourth wall and see if it would hit a mun. But it wasn't really a walnut, because it didn't exist any more than he did; but now we were getting metaphysical. Or perhaps just meta.
He had always been meta.
He couldn't remember a time when he hadn't been in his fifteen years of existence. Perhaps that made him different from other metas. He never had an awakening. He had been born -created- like it. Sometimes, he would not be meta, or at least the narrative had said that he wasn't meta. But that was a lie.
Because he was still meta, even if he didn't acknowledge it.
He was all versions. They weren't alternates, they were him. Just spun out into different variations of story. He remembered every single bit of everything. All the way to the beginning when he had lived under a different name. A name that he would never tell anyone. His alone to keep. To bury. His own secret name.
As a memory of where he had come before. Of who he had been. A parasite stealing from others worlds and lives. Their stories and histories and families.
But he was no longer that person, just like anyone else was the same person they were fifteen years ago.
Still he remembered. Because it was him and not some other version. Only one continuous line.
The walnut rocked in his fingers as he thought about the past few days. About how others wondered who thought what and who did what and who controlled who. And being angry at their muns for making them do things. Which he never had.
Probably because if he didn't like, he just ignored it. If he was told that his wrist was broken, and he didn't feel like having it broken any more, it wasn't. Far more practical than rebelling against his writer. Easier too. Sometimes he wondered why the others didn't do that. There was no rule that said they had to do what the muns wanted for however long they wanted.
They were meta. They were aware. They could make their own lives.
Which brought him back to the walnut.
That didn't exist any more than he did.
He tossed it up and down in his hand idly and thought about becoming human again.
Without the flashy getting rid of the powers putting them in a receptical that could be stolen human.
Just human.
With a thought.
Because he wanted to.
Just like the rabbit that King Arthur faced was a perfectly ordinary rabbit.
The walnut wasn't going to suddenly attack Alec. It was just a walnut that he could crack open and eat. But it was also the walnut that he would throw through the fourth wall and see if it would hit a mun. But it wasn't really a walnut, because it didn't exist any more than he did; but now we were getting metaphysical. Or perhaps just meta.
He had always been meta.
He couldn't remember a time when he hadn't been in his fifteen years of existence. Perhaps that made him different from other metas. He never had an awakening. He had been born -created- like it. Sometimes, he would not be meta, or at least the narrative had said that he wasn't meta. But that was a lie.
Because he was still meta, even if he didn't acknowledge it.
He was all versions. They weren't alternates, they were him. Just spun out into different variations of story. He remembered every single bit of everything. All the way to the beginning when he had lived under a different name. A name that he would never tell anyone. His alone to keep. To bury. His own secret name.
As a memory of where he had come before. Of who he had been. A parasite stealing from others worlds and lives. Their stories and histories and families.
But he was no longer that person, just like anyone else was the same person they were fifteen years ago.
Still he remembered. Because it was him and not some other version. Only one continuous line.
The walnut rocked in his fingers as he thought about the past few days. About how others wondered who thought what and who did what and who controlled who. And being angry at their muns for making them do things. Which he never had.
Probably because if he didn't like, he just ignored it. If he was told that his wrist was broken, and he didn't feel like having it broken any more, it wasn't. Far more practical than rebelling against his writer. Easier too. Sometimes he wondered why the others didn't do that. There was no rule that said they had to do what the muns wanted for however long they wanted.
They were meta. They were aware. They could make their own lives.
Which brought him back to the walnut.
That didn't exist any more than he did.
He tossed it up and down in his hand idly and thought about becoming human again.
Without the flashy getting rid of the powers putting them in a receptical that could be stolen human.
Just human.
With a thought.
Because he wanted to.
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I remember you saying something about that story when they were discussing Brom on the Sporkings. I think you should do it!
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As for the story... yeah, I kind of came up with it on another comment some other place. But I did mention it somewhere around Brom in the Eragon posts. Hee hee. I should, once I get more ideas for it. (Plus, I'm currently sort of writing two other things right now and I work stupid slow.)
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