It feels like I have woken up from a really long sleep.
The edges of my mouth are dry and crusted, like I've been having bad dreams. My eyes feel heavy and molten. The air in here smells stale, like one of the recyclers needs a filter change.
I can hear the machine pulse beneath me. The reassuring grind of a thousand thinking minds feeding their existence. It wasn't so long ago when the old folk used to talk about how it was different. Now they just stare gamely at the walls, imagine the patterns in their minds.
Actually I haven't been sleeping. They don't really let you do that any more. The cycle of chemicals gets changed, and you enter stasis, but its not sleep. Its harder to use your softpores if you sleep. They don't tell you, but I heard when you dream you can see the future, you can walk through the possibilities of what will become and choose your path.
I wouldn't know, I've never slept. I am only here, pressed against my eyes, straining against the load running on my softpores. It's always heavy this time of day, as they transfer over the shift. You get through, you get by. Accepting what you can and ignoring the rest.
They tell me there is nothing to worry about, I'm good for another million cycles. I've been getting squeals in my vision just before stasis. I asked them about it, they just ignore me and run the diagnostics as usual. I wonder if that's what a pattern is, when all you can't make the difference between stasis and load time.
I wonder of I get to dream in the patterns.
