Standing high atop the cliff, I look down at the strange landscape that is so far below me. Floor forty-nine. A large cliff-face spans the dungeon wall on this side of the floor. On the other end of the floor is another similar cliff-side. In-between is nothing but a giant, gaping chasm and a single, rickety rope bridge that sways uneasily in the winds. Down, so far below, it looks like there is a vast jungle. But at this height, you’d die if you ever fell down into it.

 

Though…

 

I tilt my head, looking down at the jungle canopy that is so far down in the distance below.

 

Is that even a real jungle? Or is it just some painted on green splotches that the dungeon-master drew? I can’t really tell from up here. Which I suppose means that they did a great job if it really is just paint.

 

Looking at the construction, I run my fingers along the intricately woven bonework that holds the bridge together, together with an amalgamation of mushroom fibres and wood. This is goblin construction work. Hmm… you know what? I bet this floor was part of the goblin out-post section of the dungeon, pre-shuffle. Maybe like the outside entrance area? So you’d have to cross here, then you’d get to the outpost which uh…

 

I stand upright, looking across the chasm.

 

Which doesn’t exist anymore.

 

Hmm.

 

My boot thuds onto the first wooden board of the bridge and it groans uneasily beneath my weight, as my heavy form treads onto the swaying thing. What do you think happened to the goblins? When the dungeon-master ‘erased’ their floor? Did they die? Like a final death, which allowed them to move on to whatever comes next?

 

Or did they just… stop. Did they get pulled off of the ride while the rest of us continue to sit on our ponies?

 

The bridge sways from side to side with a somewhat unsettling motion, as I begin to move across it. Poor goblins. I mean, I really feel for them. Nobody deserves that. Hmm…

 

I wonder what the goblin-king’s deal was?

 

I remember he was being weird for whatever reason too. Was he up to something? Or was his brain itchy, like mine is? I hope not. I mean, he’s kind of a jerk. Or uh, he was, rest in peace, but still.

 

My crossing of the bridge is pretty uneventful, honestly. I’m almost-almost halfway across. I wonder if this was more dramatic when the floor was still in good shape? It’s cleared now, so I guess everything is ruined and terrible. But that’s fine. Everything is always ruined and terrible. Right?

 

“Yeah!” says the slime, bubbling as she rises out to sit on my shoulder.

 

“So what’s your favorite color?” I ask the slime, trying to make smalltalk to ease my mind before it grows restless and I do something dumb. Like cutting the bridge. I kind of want to cut the bridge. Not while I’m still on it, but…

 

Actually yeah, I kind of want to cut the bridge while I’m still on it. Why? Dunno. It feels like the right thing to do.

 

But it isn’t, so I’ll just ignore that odd call of the void and just make some idle banter instead.

 

“Hmm…” she thinks for a moment, sliding around the outside of my helmet like a snake climbing a tree. “I like blue!”

 

Blue, huh? Interesting. I figured she was going to say purple, since she’s been reading me this entire time. But I think she’s starting to grow her own personality, slowly but surely. I suppose being away from home long enough will force you to do that.

 

I stop, looking around as I repeat the strange thought.

 

Being away from home.

 

Being away from home?

 

My gauntlet rises to my face as I stick a metal finger into my hollow eye socket to scratch the sudden itch near the top of my skull. Can you be away from home, if you don’t have a home? Are you just… always away from home, then? Or are you just unaffected by such a concept entirely?

 

“Home is where the heart is,” bubbles the slime into my ear, perhaps sensing my confusion.

 

“But I don’t have a heart?” I say, turning my skull around to look into her soapy, yellow eyes that are uncomfortably close to mine. Then again, she’s been inside me for hours now, so I suppose we’re past personal space issues at this part of our relationship.

 

This is the part where I’d usually say ‘no, not like that,’ but uh… it kind of is like that. Though maybe she counts as more of a parasite than an intimate relationship. Though maybe those aren’t so different actua-

 

“Stop being a bad friend,” says the goopy voice to me in a lecturing tone.

 

I turn back forward and keep walking, pulling my finger out of my eye. “Sorry, you know I try not to be. I just say things without thinking a lot.”

 

A slimy tendril wraps itself around the back of my skull and presses itself against the center of my forehead between my eyes. “If you don’t have a home, then you need to make one.”

 

“I can’t,” I tell her. “I’m always on the move. I can’t make a home.”

 

“Then you need to make a home here,” she says, tapping my skull. “Carry it with you.”

 

I shake my head. “I can’t do that, I don’t have the time. Nobody else is going to get us out of the dungeon.”

 

“Why is it on you?” asks the slime.

 

“Because it’s my responsibility.”

 

“Why?” she repeats, examining me closely.

 

“Because I made it mine.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because what else is there to do?” I ask her.

 

She bubbles, not having an answer.

 

“Maybe when this is all over. Maybe once I escape the dungeon,” I state, my boots thudding against the wooden boards of the swaying rope bridge, the echo of my steps falling down into the distance below to be swallowed by the great jungle beneath us. “Maybe once my conscience is clear and there isn’t a hero trying to kill me, maybe then I can make a home.”

 

“By the ocean?” she asks excitedly.

 

“Uh… maybe. I think I’d like a spooky forest though. The ocean is nice too though, because you can see the sun since it has nowhere to hide. It’s always on the move.”

 

“So it doesn’t have a home either?” asks the slime sadly and I stop, thinking about that for a moment.

 

“I guess not,” I say, feeling somewhat better about my own predicament as I continue walking. I wonder if I ever manage to have a little home somewhere. I wonder if anyone will ever come to visit me? Or will it just be I, you and me as it has been this entire time? Will anything really change outside of the dungeon?

 

I don’t know. But it’s nice to think about, guy, tell you what.

 

 

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