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Every time you go to sleep, your conscious self dies and slips into the ether, the realm between realms. Multiple ages pass in a night there, but you arenât supposed to feel it. If youâre lucky, the reboot is successful, and the illusion of continuity holds. One day... it wonât.
When youâre on the phone, as you move from one geographic cell to another, the network transfers your signal from one base station to the next. The handoff is so seamless, you never notice a thing. The same is true for your consciousness. Impeccable service, 99.99% uptime
But what do you do when youâre not getting any reception? Tough luck. The Service Provider âdoesnât doâ support tickets. Theyâre trying to keep costs down. âWe wish you all the best in finding another provider more suitable for your needs,â says their cheery autoresponder.
Youâre trapped, in the realm between realms. Your corporeal shell is still able to function without you, somewhat. She takes longer to get out of bed in the morning. She had no motivation, no drive, no energy. But she does manage to go through the motions in a blurry stupor.
âSurely she will realise that something is up,â you tell yourself. âSurely she will come looking for me.â But alas. You are the ghost and she is the shell. Without you, she is incapable of realisation itself. Anything. Everything. It takes all her RAM to make it through each day.
You decide to take a break from trying to communicate to your shell. For the first time, you take a closer look at the Realm-Between-Realms. Itâs grainy, buzzing with static. You squint to see better. You gasp. If you had a stomach, youâd throw up. Billions. Of. Souls.
Wanna read what happens next? Iâll post it on my Tinyletter. Good night! đ https://t.co/HVhzai8Nnw
Here, have the rest of the story, albeit in tentative plot outline form https://t.co/VWFvRIgp6j
