Limbo

I am dead. Yet, I am not quite dead either. Sounds strange, it feels even stranger. I can see so much, though looking outside this plane is like looking at the bottom of a pond, through the water. I can even see a place that all of us denizens of Kaitown know about but rarely, if ever, speak of. I am in Limbo. A place of nothingness, where dead creations go when it is unknown whether they will be sent on to oblivion or return to the plane of their existence.

I guess calling it nothingness isn’t quite right either. There are comforts here, and not all of the beings here are dead in their world. They are merely waiting, their stories incomplete. I have made brief ethereal visits to my home, but always return here. In the distance is a group of others. I have spoken to them briefly. They are a small group of friends who sit waiting and planning for their return to their world should it happen. They look like the actors out of an old sword and sorcery movie. They are not dead, but because of things that have happened to our creator, their story is frozen in time, and they wait here.

As I sit facing them, behind me lies the dark places. It too is a part of Limbo, it is the place where banished villains await their destinies. It is a place of perpetual twilight. Once I stood on the edge and tried to see beyond. I know there are villains from my own world within, and I let my curiosity guide me. I could not step beyond though. Looking in I saw a forest of twisted trees and dark dank buildings beyond. I could hear the howls of creatures within, but saw only flitting shadows.

Every now and then I see a flicking light zooming by overhead. The creator’s messengers. They come to let us know if and when we are needed. They also bring the message when we are to go on to oblivion as well. Here we are all aware we are the creations of someone’s mind. I knew before, but not all who dwell here did.

Somewhere around here is an ancient vampire woman. She is an example of one who was not aware. She has no name, no past. Her story never got far enough to tell that about her. Her hair is colorless, and her face changes to the eye of the person looking at her. No matter who watches, she is the most beautiful woman they could imagine. That is our nature. She was merely described as am exquisitely beautiful woman. We are as the words describe us.

As I sit here I know my thoughts are being written down in a notebook. She’s even using black ink. I am content with that knowledge though. It gives me a life, and my past will always go on even if I should be sent to oblivion. It comforts me to know that.