void rejected

I sit on my bed, staring blankly at the computer screen. I don't have the energy to sit up properly, slouching instead against the wall of pillows I've built up behind me to keep me from falling through the actual wall into the dark unknown on the other side. The "actual wall" is nothing more than a few posters and photographs that somehow are able to hold real physical weight against the void. I look back as I think about it and stare at what's supporting me, a poster of the Beatles next to a drawing my friend gave me years ago. The void shifts and groans behind them, a swirling vortex of pure darkness that still manages to be totally dark yet contain something like stars. I shove my computer off my lap and lean forward to grab my phone off the table by my bed, flopping back against my wall with a noise. 

The void mimics my noise. I scoff. Trying to ignore its intensifying roar, I pull up one of my writing apps. "Still nothing," I tell it. 

It makes a noise that I've learned translates roughly to "Why not?" It takes the same tone as a whining teenager sometimes. It gets annoying, but I can't really scold a vast nothingness, so I have to just deal with it.

"I dunno, I guess it just wasn't good enough," I say, shaking my head. A mass of the nothing seeps out from between my wall of posters and peers over my shoulder to read my screen. "That's not very polite, you know."

It makes another noise that is, in fact, the very opposite of polite, so I won't repeat it.

It's not its fault. For some reason, it is confined to the space where my wall should be, so I can't really blame it for its lack of social understanding. It also seems to have very bad sight, or its version of it, as it keeps getting closer to my phone. I try to shove it away with my hand.

"Quit that," I scold the void. 

"But it's been days," the void groans in response, its roar still growing in agitation. 

"I know." I sigh. "I know how much it meant to you, to us, but you've gotta realize: we may not have gotten it."

"WHY NOT" it roars again, right in my ear.

I cringe. "Look, just 'cause we entered something doesn't mean we're gonna get it. That's not how the world works."

It makes another extremely impolite roar, along with its attempt at a gesture it must have learned from watching TV. I have to remember not to leave the remote in my room. It has to have some sort of supervision.

"I know you don't get it! I'm sorry! There's nothing I can do about it!" I throw my head back against my pillow. The extrusion of void flops itself down on my face. I shove it off with some effort. It must be taught.