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Devious Journal Entry
2 min read
The quarter moon hides behind an ocean of sky stretching into forever.
It peeks out from behind its veil, revealing two figures that stand alone under the endless shade of darkened brush.
A soft breeze begins to pick apart the shadows from atop the forest canopy.
"This water you've been treading was never meant for you." His eyes are sunken, dead with heartache.
"Then why did you come here, my love? Why am I still here?" She whispers fearfully.
The moon has decided to show itself.
She cautiously steps toward him from beneath the midnight shadow.
Her moonlit silhouette begins to bloom, bleaching out the darkness.
"There's something I have to do now. A promise I made. You know I can never break a promise."
His eyes are filled with tears of sorrow.
His forced breath reminds her of a dying creature too fargone to save.
Horror grips her face as shock begins to surface.
She gasps.
Tears begin to fill her eyes.
Her hands and head fall low, her legs almost collapse.
She's shaking.
She stares straight through this planet, she's shaking, on the verge of tears, she's shaking.
This guilt marked upon his face remains ever hidden from the moonlight.
The breeze becomes a powerful gust, showering them with endless swirls of black and dark confetti.
Through closed eyes the sky sounds like the sea, for a moment she pretends she's still in heaven, still watching over mother ocean.
He's holding her tightly.
She tries looking him in the eyes as hers beg him no, please, don't let this be happening.
She wraps her wings around him, and he rips them off, spraying blood across the earth and sky.
He stabs her with her silver feathers, piercing through from flesh to bone.
She falls to his feet.
Choking on her blood she whispers, "Now maybe you can learn to fly."
She convulses, her arms stretch out to their fullest, reaching for him.
Her body falls limp as her last breath halts somewhere lost along the edges of her open mouth.
He looks away from her in shame.
Her eyes fade staring evermore into the ocean of sky.
The moon grows fearful, sinking in retreat.
He carefully closes both her eyes.
The wind slows peacefully to a stir once more.
He whispers no and continues digging.
It peeks out from behind its veil, revealing two figures that stand alone under the endless shade of darkened brush.
A soft breeze begins to pick apart the shadows from atop the forest canopy.
"This water you've been treading was never meant for you." His eyes are sunken, dead with heartache.
"Then why did you come here, my love? Why am I still here?" She whispers fearfully.
The moon has decided to show itself.
She cautiously steps toward him from beneath the midnight shadow.
Her moonlit silhouette begins to bloom, bleaching out the darkness.
"There's something I have to do now. A promise I made. You know I can never break a promise."
His eyes are filled with tears of sorrow.
His forced breath reminds her of a dying creature too fargone to save.
Horror grips her face as shock begins to surface.
She gasps.
Tears begin to fill her eyes.
Her hands and head fall low, her legs almost collapse.
She's shaking.
She stares straight through this planet, she's shaking, on the verge of tears, she's shaking.
This guilt marked upon his face remains ever hidden from the moonlight.
The breeze becomes a powerful gust, showering them with endless swirls of black and dark confetti.
Through closed eyes the sky sounds like the sea, for a moment she pretends she's still in heaven, still watching over mother ocean.
He's holding her tightly.
She tries looking him in the eyes as hers beg him no, please, don't let this be happening.
She wraps her wings around him, and he rips them off, spraying blood across the earth and sky.
He stabs her with her silver feathers, piercing through from flesh to bone.
She falls to his feet.
Choking on her blood she whispers, "Now maybe you can learn to fly."
She convulses, her arms stretch out to their fullest, reaching for him.
Her body falls limp as her last breath halts somewhere lost along the edges of her open mouth.
He looks away from her in shame.
Her eyes fade staring evermore into the ocean of sky.
The moon grows fearful, sinking in retreat.
He carefully closes both her eyes.
The wind slows peacefully to a stir once more.
He whispers no and continues digging.
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Devious Journal Entry
9 min read
"So, this is where you go when you're not around." She says looking nowhere near me, inching toward the crumbling ruins of an ancient, wooden desk and a rickety old chair resting not far from it in the corner. She leap frogs effortlessly over the chair landing perfectly seated then proceeds to pull open the middle drawer, reaching inside it fearlessly. "Yeah, it's pretty nice here." She says without looking away from the drawer and continues rummaging through it for something.
I can't imagine what.
"This desk is cute. I see how this place is your ideal form of escape." Again, she speaks across to me without looking.
This room is nothing but darkness. The only light source emanates from within my eyes, wherever I happen to be looking. The walls are moldy, rotten-green and brown-plaster drywall sheets covered in deep scratches with holes and no entirely obvious way to travel beyond them. The room is so small that I think I can hear her pulse throbbing.
There's no possible way it could be mine.
After a moment of digging shoulder deep she pulls a paper heart, a red crayon, and a pink crayon from the desk drawer and begins coloring.
"But why do I keep thinking about dying?" She asks carefully without looking away from the desk.
"Because I'm really the one thinking about dying." I say.
"Oh." She quips with the unmistakable tone of confirming suspicions.
For the past 3 weeks I've fought using every ounce of will power to maintain this projected status here within this tiny astral hideaway. I was absolutely certain I'd be rid of my body by now, and I'm beginning to wonder if someone else is using it.
But then again I can't suppose anyone would use my body for anything.
"Don't worry too much about me, I'll be alright." I lie in vain and begin calmly stuffing my hands down into the astral projection pockets of my astral projection pants as deeply as infinity will allow. I peer with an absent mind through the cracks and eroded spot patterns etched sporadically across the entire surface of the dirt and limestone floor like I'm looking through glass. "HEY! Light!" She demands.
I fix my eyes across the center of the paper heart for her. I don't remember lacking existence before ever being born, but lately I've been pretending that particular void is something I can look forward with the prospect of returning to, should fate see fit by allowing the inevitable to happen.
Any minute now.
You spend your entire life looking for all the time you can never seem to find enough of while losing what little you already have then one day, without so much as a blink or whisper, it decides to find you first with no possibility of escape. I'm still wondering how after being separated from my body for this extensive period I can still remain in this astral realm within the confines of this self-constructed, makeshift limbo.
"You know you were moments away from dying a couple weeks ago, right?" She knows exactly what I'm thinking about yet still refuses to look at me.
All she wants to do is color hearts.
"They were about to pull the plug on your body, but I came through last second and signed myself as next of kin. I hope you don't mind." She says as cool as possible without missing a beat in her coloring endeavor.
My jaw slacks and clenches almost simultaneously in disbelief and disappointment, but I can't say I'm entirely shocked. I should have been well beyond dead by now with no family, no friends--nobody to keep me alive. I knew something was amiss but I'd have never guessed that she was the reason behind this seemingly unexplained slipping time of passage.
I struggle to respond in any way at all.
I never want to go back.
I'm tired of feeling incomplete.
That world is just as empty as I am. Inside-out and hollow.
Without looking she cries, "I'm disappointed too, you know! So what you're saying is you give up? You're going to stay here until your body expires without putting any kind of resistance up whatsoever? You only live once. It's twice we don't exist. The odds are already against us from day one, and this is why we press forward; this is why you need to keep yourself going; to even the odds, if only just a little. You want to give up on your only life because you think you feel empty inside?" A mixture of anger and sorrow bounce her voice between the rusty walls several times over, almost drowning out the sound of her rapid coloring.
"You think you're disappointed now? Just wait until your body dies. Wait until you realize in that moment before infinity claims your essence that you threw away a perfectly good gift by wasting the only shot you'll ever be given to find your one and only truly meaningful existence!" She's still not looking anywhere near me at all.
I begin peering hard through the floor and she snaps her fingers at me,
"Hey! Light! Here! I can't see what I'm doing!" She barks. Her gaze remains fixated upon the paper heart as my visual field draws closer and illuminates her little astral arts and crafts project.
"You're right." I say, and for some reason admitting this surprises me. "You fought for me. You saved me. I don't think anyone has done anything like that for me. Ever." I'm trying not to sound as angry as I am becoming toward myself. "I believe that by coming here, with that one simple act of decency, you've given me the strength and the will power I need to fight back against everything I wanted to leave behind forever. I hope to find some way I can return the favor. I owe you that much."
"You don't owe me anything!" She almost screams into her artwork, genuinely taken aback. "You owe it to yourself! Now more than ever!"
I watch carefully as she continues scrawling rapidly across the paper heart. I know she's right, but I also become aware of the fact that from this day forward circumstance alone will drive me to make all the necessary changes. It's not fair having her rescue me from my endless sorrows, regrets, and potential death and it's surely unfair to request she bare with me in attempt at remodeling my life to become a something greater than what I am currently, or what I have been up to this point.
To make my own way out, no one can become part of my life until my life becomes just that: My life.
"Okay. Here's my one shot to even the odds." I say, "It's the only purpose I need and it's the only chance I have to make things right."
I focus solely on the center of her now almost completely decorated paper heart and envision my body and soul combining together as a swirling mixture of glowing blue and green smoke leaving this place. I pretend this smoke is the thread and needle weaving through the fabric pieces of my essence to become one solid creation. I don't know how or if this is going to work, but I'm going to try. For myself; for her.
To gather any lasting sense of meaning and purpose from this one-shot life, I'm going to try.
"What are you going to do when we get out of here?" She asks without looking, still scribbling frantically.
"We're not." I tell her, and as she finishes scratching the last few strokes onto the heart-shaped paper she turns her head and for the first time looks into my eyes just as I begin closing them in concentration. "I'm finding my own way out." I'm being honest with us both. I open my eyes again, in a kind of final glance, as if to say goodbye. Tomorrow I'll be an entirely different person.
She and the astral room fade as another structure begins converging across the parallel gap between dimensions. My astral hideaway soon replaces itself with the serene scents of odorless, industrial ventilation and the low-level lighting of what could only be a long-term, in-house patient care ward. Although the lights are dim enough to cloak the room entirely in shadow, even with my eyes closed I feel burning and discomfort from them. The muscles in my eyelids begin to have uncontrollable spasms. This causes my eyes to water excessively and the teardrops burn my chapped, and almost calloused-over eyelids. I smile even though it feels like every muscle in my face is being set ablaze.
I can't help it.
Now I know for sure someone truly cares about me and I was never really alone. I've never felt this kind of strength before. It's this moment my body decides to become painfully aware of the catheter and IV that I'm attached to, as well as all the atrophied muscles within every inch of my body from the three weeks of being on life support. I smile harder and realize how great the experience of being able to feel pain is.
As is the ability to feel anything at all.
I'm alive. I'm alive and I hope to see her soon so I can thank her in person for guiding me back into the mortal plane of existence. I dread the thought of being trapped in this room for even the slightest of moments longer and decide to take matters into my own hands. Now, to make my own way out, I'm going to have to die again.
I detach the life support from my body.
The high pitched flat line ringtone screaming from the heart monitor may as well be the sweet, sweet melody of life. While waiting for any nurse or doctor to arrive, I keep my eyes closed. I try to imagine the look of shock and utter disbelief on their faces when they witness the miracle that I have truly become. I continue smiling like an idiot despite the pain and begin to visualize the paths I plan to walk along in effort to accomplish the goals I wish to achieve with this one-shot attempt at preparing my mind, body, and soul for a bright future filled with nothing but peaceful nights and better tomorrows.
I can't imagine what.
"This desk is cute. I see how this place is your ideal form of escape." Again, she speaks across to me without looking.
This room is nothing but darkness. The only light source emanates from within my eyes, wherever I happen to be looking. The walls are moldy, rotten-green and brown-plaster drywall sheets covered in deep scratches with holes and no entirely obvious way to travel beyond them. The room is so small that I think I can hear her pulse throbbing.
There's no possible way it could be mine.
After a moment of digging shoulder deep she pulls a paper heart, a red crayon, and a pink crayon from the desk drawer and begins coloring.
"But why do I keep thinking about dying?" She asks carefully without looking away from the desk.
"Because I'm really the one thinking about dying." I say.
"Oh." She quips with the unmistakable tone of confirming suspicions.
For the past 3 weeks I've fought using every ounce of will power to maintain this projected status here within this tiny astral hideaway. I was absolutely certain I'd be rid of my body by now, and I'm beginning to wonder if someone else is using it.
But then again I can't suppose anyone would use my body for anything.
"Don't worry too much about me, I'll be alright." I lie in vain and begin calmly stuffing my hands down into the astral projection pockets of my astral projection pants as deeply as infinity will allow. I peer with an absent mind through the cracks and eroded spot patterns etched sporadically across the entire surface of the dirt and limestone floor like I'm looking through glass. "HEY! Light!" She demands.
I fix my eyes across the center of the paper heart for her. I don't remember lacking existence before ever being born, but lately I've been pretending that particular void is something I can look forward with the prospect of returning to, should fate see fit by allowing the inevitable to happen.
Any minute now.
You spend your entire life looking for all the time you can never seem to find enough of while losing what little you already have then one day, without so much as a blink or whisper, it decides to find you first with no possibility of escape. I'm still wondering how after being separated from my body for this extensive period I can still remain in this astral realm within the confines of this self-constructed, makeshift limbo.
"You know you were moments away from dying a couple weeks ago, right?" She knows exactly what I'm thinking about yet still refuses to look at me.
All she wants to do is color hearts.
"They were about to pull the plug on your body, but I came through last second and signed myself as next of kin. I hope you don't mind." She says as cool as possible without missing a beat in her coloring endeavor.
My jaw slacks and clenches almost simultaneously in disbelief and disappointment, but I can't say I'm entirely shocked. I should have been well beyond dead by now with no family, no friends--nobody to keep me alive. I knew something was amiss but I'd have never guessed that she was the reason behind this seemingly unexplained slipping time of passage.
I struggle to respond in any way at all.
I never want to go back.
I'm tired of feeling incomplete.
That world is just as empty as I am. Inside-out and hollow.
Without looking she cries, "I'm disappointed too, you know! So what you're saying is you give up? You're going to stay here until your body expires without putting any kind of resistance up whatsoever? You only live once. It's twice we don't exist. The odds are already against us from day one, and this is why we press forward; this is why you need to keep yourself going; to even the odds, if only just a little. You want to give up on your only life because you think you feel empty inside?" A mixture of anger and sorrow bounce her voice between the rusty walls several times over, almost drowning out the sound of her rapid coloring.
"You think you're disappointed now? Just wait until your body dies. Wait until you realize in that moment before infinity claims your essence that you threw away a perfectly good gift by wasting the only shot you'll ever be given to find your one and only truly meaningful existence!" She's still not looking anywhere near me at all.
I begin peering hard through the floor and she snaps her fingers at me,
"Hey! Light! Here! I can't see what I'm doing!" She barks. Her gaze remains fixated upon the paper heart as my visual field draws closer and illuminates her little astral arts and crafts project.
"You're right." I say, and for some reason admitting this surprises me. "You fought for me. You saved me. I don't think anyone has done anything like that for me. Ever." I'm trying not to sound as angry as I am becoming toward myself. "I believe that by coming here, with that one simple act of decency, you've given me the strength and the will power I need to fight back against everything I wanted to leave behind forever. I hope to find some way I can return the favor. I owe you that much."
"You don't owe me anything!" She almost screams into her artwork, genuinely taken aback. "You owe it to yourself! Now more than ever!"
I watch carefully as she continues scrawling rapidly across the paper heart. I know she's right, but I also become aware of the fact that from this day forward circumstance alone will drive me to make all the necessary changes. It's not fair having her rescue me from my endless sorrows, regrets, and potential death and it's surely unfair to request she bare with me in attempt at remodeling my life to become a something greater than what I am currently, or what I have been up to this point.
To make my own way out, no one can become part of my life until my life becomes just that: My life.
"Okay. Here's my one shot to even the odds." I say, "It's the only purpose I need and it's the only chance I have to make things right."
I focus solely on the center of her now almost completely decorated paper heart and envision my body and soul combining together as a swirling mixture of glowing blue and green smoke leaving this place. I pretend this smoke is the thread and needle weaving through the fabric pieces of my essence to become one solid creation. I don't know how or if this is going to work, but I'm going to try. For myself; for her.
To gather any lasting sense of meaning and purpose from this one-shot life, I'm going to try.
"What are you going to do when we get out of here?" She asks without looking, still scribbling frantically.
"We're not." I tell her, and as she finishes scratching the last few strokes onto the heart-shaped paper she turns her head and for the first time looks into my eyes just as I begin closing them in concentration. "I'm finding my own way out." I'm being honest with us both. I open my eyes again, in a kind of final glance, as if to say goodbye. Tomorrow I'll be an entirely different person.
She and the astral room fade as another structure begins converging across the parallel gap between dimensions. My astral hideaway soon replaces itself with the serene scents of odorless, industrial ventilation and the low-level lighting of what could only be a long-term, in-house patient care ward. Although the lights are dim enough to cloak the room entirely in shadow, even with my eyes closed I feel burning and discomfort from them. The muscles in my eyelids begin to have uncontrollable spasms. This causes my eyes to water excessively and the teardrops burn my chapped, and almost calloused-over eyelids. I smile even though it feels like every muscle in my face is being set ablaze.
I can't help it.
Now I know for sure someone truly cares about me and I was never really alone. I've never felt this kind of strength before. It's this moment my body decides to become painfully aware of the catheter and IV that I'm attached to, as well as all the atrophied muscles within every inch of my body from the three weeks of being on life support. I smile harder and realize how great the experience of being able to feel pain is.
As is the ability to feel anything at all.
I'm alive. I'm alive and I hope to see her soon so I can thank her in person for guiding me back into the mortal plane of existence. I dread the thought of being trapped in this room for even the slightest of moments longer and decide to take matters into my own hands. Now, to make my own way out, I'm going to have to die again.
I detach the life support from my body.
The high pitched flat line ringtone screaming from the heart monitor may as well be the sweet, sweet melody of life. While waiting for any nurse or doctor to arrive, I keep my eyes closed. I try to imagine the look of shock and utter disbelief on their faces when they witness the miracle that I have truly become. I continue smiling like an idiot despite the pain and begin to visualize the paths I plan to walk along in effort to accomplish the goals I wish to achieve with this one-shot attempt at preparing my mind, body, and soul for a bright future filled with nothing but peaceful nights and better tomorrows.
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Devious Journal Entry
21 min read
Eyes open.
The consciousness she's gathering in the pitch black seemingly contradicts itself.The eyes struggling to focus on anything at all center over every memory she's trying to attain.
The darkness at this moment isn't the emptiness surrounding, it's her inability to maintain cognizance.
She closes her eyes again.
Talk about irony.
The world is oblique, her full panicked breaths echoing infinite shadow.
She feels like one complete bruise;or break, or scrape, or gash, or laceration, her frenzied mind numbing over the possibilities of what's lying throughout the darkness in addition to herself as well. Her legs remain unresponsive through a blanket of crushing pain.
One constant thought answers the space in her memory:
RUN!
She almost screams, startled by her own thoughts; a reflexive notion instantly replaced with a more pressing instinct:
Fear.
Fear of some fate she won't remember, something locked away.
Suddenly she's been still too long.
Dread fuels her every battered muscle.
Frantically twisting to free herself from this aphotic prison, she pulls.
Her right hand won't spread; her fingers won't clasp the ground.
She presses harder, skinning elbows and wrists into glass and dirt, straining with all her strength until,
BAM!
A deafening pop as a split-second flash cuts through the darkened silence.
She forgot about the pistol.
Memories flood her head and this time she does scream.
The emptiness at this moment isn't the darkness surrounding, it's her unwillingness to survive this nightmare.
She holds the pistol to her temple.
Futility is now a hardwired emotion.
Without hesitation she squeezes the trigger, eyes open.
Click. Blink. Click.
The emptiness of this moment isn't the darkness, fear or the loss of any will, it's the chamber of the useless pistol now hurtling through the void.
She closes her eyes again.
------
Carving her legs from the earth leaves her already frostbitten fingertips totally numb, she begins to wonder if she still has hands.
What fingers?
She realizes it's dangerously cold and the temperature is not her friend.
Half-dead, Half-buried alive.
Colder than either.
She digs away the unknown to uncover unknown to free herself from the unknown, all she can remember is running.
Running from the unknown.
The pain in her legs, she realizes, isn't caused by her trappings. The pain in her chest is panic.
How can so much loss occur with such proximity?
She prays salvation doesn't cut it as close.
What she gathers from the absence of her absence is concerning.
She could be the last person on the face of the earth.
But why? Did it have more of a soul than her?
Because here she remains and the earth is no more.
Maybe it was raptured?
She prays wordlessly to her new goddess.
Chaos now her deity, she purges what nightmares remain for some other faceless dream.
This world began as something more than what it used to be.
Take my word for it, being left behind isn't as much of a threat as it is a challenge.
There is no moon.
The stars are blinking floodlights on the hull of a massive construct.
The horizon is replaced with smoke and destruction.
But it could be daytime for all she knows, still yet, that would require a sun.
Any sun.
What's more, that would require a sky.
Does the sky still exist?
Do I still exist she wonders to herself.
Crying as she questions what she once believed was fear, she tries relating everything that's happening to anything that's happened.
She crawls up the moist, wet dirt and debris mounds that surround what used to be her neighborhood.
The earth is now faceless.
Unrecognizable.
Alien.
Screeching draws attention skyward, or what's left of it.
Or what she called it yesterday.
Black clouds swirl into every new horizon. With vicious speeds, thousands of winged creatures weave in and out as some chaotic dance. Some creatures herd others back into the clouds with mechanical spotlights equipped to the tips of their tails. The moment wonder peaks, hundreds of spotlights completely blind her.
Then darkness.
The consiousness she's gathering in the cage-like cell is inhabited by several others. She strains to focus on the dimly lit figures as she's forcing her eyes open.
The darkness at this moment seems to blend into the filthy gazes fixated upon her revival.
Nobody speaks as she wipes the dirt from layers of pain that mask her face.
The dirt she's wiping from her face is flakes of blood.
To her knees, in attempt to stand, she falls, weakened into the arms of the only touch she's ever truly felt, a total stranger standing behind her.
Locking tearful eyes with his, she almost feels safe until the entire floor of the cage falls away, dropping everybody to their screaming deaths into the shadows below.
She closes her eyes again.
She almost screams, a reflexive notion instantly replaced by the realization that he's holding onto the cage and her as well, and has just now saved her from falling twice.
---
He says he's not going to lie.
She asks him why, adding that it's already done.
It's done already he corrects.
The distraction from this moment she requires is achieved through the enactment of tidying her already spotless flat into perfection.
Beyond thorned stems, past herself reflected on the surface of the water in a vase of freshly cut forest roses, she becomes lost within daydreams of picking flowers nude into the moonlit forest forever.
She wipes the dust collecting from the surface of the urn.
It's been done already, she reminds herself.
She whispers goodbye breathlessly and presses end.
The phone rings again.
Silence answers as the call drops.
She mumbles as she hugs herself for warmth that she could kill herself thinking.
On television is a biography honoring a recently deceased celebrity through memorable and notable achievements of their most unforgettable on-screen moments, alive as ever, rerun.
She's reflecting on the past as present as future.
This she remembers: Settling for nothing less, or never settling at all.
She tries remembering now through all those years ago.
She almost saw this coming.
The phone rings again. She accepts.
They tried calling moments ago but lost signal.
Silence again.
More silence.
She's haunted by irony.
Sounds familiar, she thinks as she powers down the phone.
That wasn't the first time, she's thinking.
This isn't the first time, she corrects herself.
With the poise of a butterfly she stretches her body to its fullest.
She only wants to rest a moment, but fails to keep her eyes open as she spreads across her fluffy bed.
Sunlight glitters through the orchard's dense red canopy.
Mountains dwarf this place monitoring as they tower in silent contemplation.
Unwilled footsteps guide her mechanically through this unfamiliar landscape as she rolls face first across her pillow wincing at the morning sunlight.
She whispers for the sky to go away forever.
The darkness at this moment envelopes as she encloses herself with a cucoon of thick plushy blankets.As she drifts away again she wonders if she'll awaken as a butterfly.
---
Dear life,
Eyes open inches from the face of her only ever savior.
The only love she's ever given into faith, truly knowing, aside from wondering over the opposite of this situation dangling, embraced as total strangers to the chasm below; as well as each other. . .
She closes her eyes again. . .
Shock injected hearts race, absorbing each echoing strike as its own.
Assembly line precision slows the cage-trap to a halt.
They step safely to a nearby passageway, watching as the cage silently slides away into the infinite and darkened corridors. She wants to tell him thank you.
She wants to know if everybody's dead..
She wants to ask him what's happening.
She wants to scream and cry and kick and wake up in her bed as a butterfly and fly away.
She wants to speak her name, but nothing will come out.
Even in this dim light the two pinpricked punctures on his throat stare back at her.
She feels them in her throat as well.
Teardrops flood her sparkling eyes open then they stream down both her cheeks.
You wouldn't know she's crying anyway through all the sweat, and if it's not the sweat it's the darkness, and if it's not the darkness it's the blood and dirt caked onto her face.
She draws a heart across his chest.
The automatic kiss they share is ownerless.
The tears they share mix.
Embracing each other face to face, mid shiver, they hold each other silent.
Suddenly she's been still too long.
Twisting to free herself from this aphotic prison, she pulls.
She closes her eyes again, not awake or dreaming.
To wake from the nightmare beneath and what's lying scattered, dying within, a simple pinch would suffice.
She doubts she'll be that lucky, and it would hurt like hell anyway.
She dreams of seeing any other world but this one as her eyes open.
Stepping away isn't optional, but it's an option.
Peering past what pretends to be endless catwalks connecting infinite corridors below, past infinite layers of shadow abyss, she hears every noise you'd never want to hear in the dark.
Or Anywhere.
Or ever.
She grips her lovers palm so tight because she knows she'll never fall again this way.
Plus she can barely walk, move, or keep her eyes open without it.
Every wall and floor is alive with pale little lights and humming noises.
Whole skyscraper sized sections disassemble and reassemble somewhere off in the distance.
The darkness at this moment is always moving, constantly shifting.
Fading in and out.
Infinity wrapped in nothing wrapped in everything floating through the emptiness surrounded by everything else.
Talk about irony.
Someone, somewhere is looking for them, she knows this can't go on forever, or maybe it can.
This future was present before they were and now exists past more than they do or ever did.
Hours wondering aimlessly into a horizon that never comes.
Lost is something else entirely.
Hours creep away into nothing.
Empty chambers.
Empty halls.
Empty hopes.
The lovers wander endlessly through perpetual night.
Shadows bleed past corridors and humming machinery to slide down walls and fade into the echos below.
The pain inside her chest will not recede.
The darkness and her consciousness are intertwined, shifting into other worlds, hiding all that's lost and found.
Without direction time is hard to place.
Our hopeless lovers, woven the same, enshrouded by the darkness, silent.
Life is just an instant that exists in some other world, probably the one left behind.
Love is their new world.
Pale lights mimic their struggle, blinking in a struggle to keep shining.
She tries to daydream of the future, looking back on now.
The memories from her future are just as lost as she would be without her lovers hand to guide her through the darkness.
Directions seem this world's imagination.
She peers over the edge of nothing into nothingness.
The air tastes stale and sour.
Her body feels lost inside another world of pain and fear.
This is all she remembers, settling for nothing less.
She can't think about the past or future and tries to block now away from here and anywhere else.
She wants to stop to catch her breath, and make sure she's still alive.
She wonders if life was all for nothing before she came to be here.
She wonders how long this will last, then wonders how long they will last.
Then wonders if they are the last.
Could they be?
She's breathing but her air won't catch.
It's cold again as shadows dart against the walls and fade across new shadows, joining others.
The lights are fading in and out.
Following her savior, hand in hand, she halts for every blink of darkness, struggling to breath.
He gently pulls along, fearless of any new future lost beyond this hopeless past.
She wishes she could tell him wait.
She wishes she could breathe.
She wishes that she could have fallen with all the other soulless, nameless, voiceless faces into the pit.
She can't move forward because it never existed.
She can't go back because it's gone and buried.She can't stay here because her love won't let her.
What's visible blurs around the edges, as she stumbles into the arms of her always ready savior once again.
His warm hands gently guide her to the floor.
The lights still flicker and the darkness bleeds into every blurry light and shape surrounding.
His eyes blur, slowly fading into darkness.
Pain is just another world to become lost inside.
If nowhere is nowhere, and nothing is nothing, can they truly be lost?
She hates herself for fearing what her mind's become the most.
Everything within is fractured. Lost is where her blood is found.He's leaving for the future.
She's stuck here in the present, faded by the past.
If she could speak she'd tell him not to leave, she'd beg him to be saved.
She'd scream that being alone isn't how she wants to end forever.
She's never felt this way before.
She's never known any of this.
The fear. The pain. The loss. The resentment. The love. The darkness. The panic. The hate.
His footsteps fade into the future as shadows flicker past her every thought, consuming her mind with its presence.
She closes her eyes again.
---
Sitting cross-legged in the orchard, blinding sunlight pierces the thickest treetops, warming her every surface.
She stands.
A small flock of spotted butterflies scatter into every direction from the grass surrounding her feet.
She walks, this time, of her own free will.
The trees are full of blood red autumn leaves, though none litter the cool grass below.
Talk about irony.
Looking past the mountaintops, into the clouds and bright blue sky, she wonders if God is truly happy.
There's a single rose weaved into her hair, she pulls it free and caresses its petals in wonder of it's beauty.
Without destination, she walks, gently stroking the rose's petals.
She's suddenly too thirsty to swallow.
The rose will die as well if she can't find a way to save them both.
The trickling of water can be heard nearby, pouring the smell of moisture throughout the open air.
Following the noise, she happens upon a sparkling stream, then instantly drops to her knees.
She's overwhelmed by thirst.
Plunging her mouth through herself reflected, she drinks happily, but can't pull away to catch her breath.
Choking, the rose falls from her fingers and begins to float away.
The world begins to fade as full panicked breaths sputter into the water's depths, suffocating.
---
Eyes open.
The consciousness she's gathering is drowning out her senses.
The darkness is dotted with dim lights blinking all around as she chokes and coughs out liquid pouring onto her face and hair.
These eyes struggling to focus past this liquid center on the multiple blurred faces of her lover.
She still feels pain is all that's left of her.
If any part of her is whole it has to be her heart.
Pipes empty limitless amounts of water into the borders of the room, draining into somewhere forgotten below.
She turns her face to drink, until the burning thirst is rested.
Smiling into her lover's eyes, she inches under the crystal stream, showering her face and hair.
She almost feels alive for once.
As she pulls away to breathe again, she loses focus as the lights begin to blink and fade once more.
Time and hope become lost as her eyes open into another world of cold and darkness.
She looks at everything surrounding, but where is something lost and missing.
The emptiness at this moment is the absence of the water that bathed her.
She's propped against her lover and warmth fills her with every sleeping breath he takes.
She breathes with him, calming as she sinks into his heartbeat.Now completely dry, shreds of dampened cloth bandage too many wounds to count.
The bandages were once what was left of his shirt.
She lets his breath and heartbeat guide, blinking and fading like the border lights.
Now they're past the future.
She closes her eyes again.
Eyes open. Or are they?
Crystaline ice air creeps, dismissing what was left of another world testing the edge of her mind, she presses what's left of his body and hers into what's left of their world.
The weakness at this moment is the last will and testament of her dying mind.
Ghost lights flicker, softening the shadow's whisperings that chaos is just as lost as they are.
She's writhing atop his rising breath in an attempt to simply sit forward.
Several times later she comes to again.
Wide awake and cautious she's crawling away before she gathers any senses.
Something she won't remember, something locked away.
Somewhere else, in another world rising against all focus, she sees herself reflecting in the mirror image of every other wall they've passed since the dusk of time.
The emptiness of this moment is straining to remember where her love has become missing from remaining lost and why.
She almost spreads her tears as far as they can stretch, a reflexive instinct replaced by a more gentle being.
Her lover now stands before himself and her as well, the hunter and savior of all that's lost.
She traces his new reflection across her mind.
Was this not who she secretly hoped he would become now in the future?
Rushing to her side, as if to tend wounds suffered by his absence, she hurries in turn, crawling absently into his welcome embrace.
Nothing of Earth is left but the world is still spinning.
Inside, she admits defeat, and this time, she does cry harder than intended within his sweltering arms.
He manages, soothing the chaos, to lay her head away safely, weaknesses pounding her burning world still spinning somewhere inside, and this is why, she thinks to herself, survival is for the fittest.
No longer can she remain still, the shaking overcomes her wounds once more without a voice to sound in protest.
He grips her shaking frame, far from comfort's weary absence, and places a warm, gentle hand over her burning mind, freezing in the darkness.
Nothing is left of Earth but the world is still spinning.
---
Desperately seeking some solace, this is the world against knowing.
Against seeing.
Feeling is the only real pain.
This is the one world she didn't see out there forever, alive as well, rerun, floating into some other world's world within this world.
Understanding again comes second, undesirably touching upon the weaknesses flesh can hold.
Chaos pierces, screaming like a siren within her head, constantly, she's scattered around endlessly. Pieces of her body tear flesh as they crawl away into every direction like bugs made of skin and muscle and blood.
She can't shake the urge to collect the pieces left over from a past that had already seen itself without a future.
Several concrete channels flow rivers made entirely of tattered scraps of human flesh and bile into the horizon now screaming past, gagging her senses with the smell of rot.
In an attempt to free herself from this evil, running seems to stall her balance.Drowning again under a sea of filth and torment she becomes lost within the darkness once more.
---
Eyes open.
Choking releases her from this nightmare into the next as her eyes draw into the center of her newfound collection of injuries within.
The last thing she remembers is the first thing she remembers :
Pain.
There is nothing to look forward to, no such thing as future and the past has been erased entirely.
She's the only one not here anymore.
Wide awake, dreaming of another world lost, oblivious to the tortured chaos she's wept against ceaselessly for longer than she can remember consciousness.
Memories flood her head and in this moment realizations draw the memory of her loving savior baring her cross once more, once more.
She can barely hear or see or think or feel, moments uncover a blurry world of memories recovering.
Sleeping beside this new savior, this godlike warrior, she almost wonders if her goddess deity chaos will consume him.
Creeping fully awake she then begins to wonder why.
Why does she want to consume him so thoroughly?
Is she part of chaos's plan?
She tries imagining what she would pray for from any other god.
A new siren of fear screams through her mental universe as several heavy footfalls echo near from a dimly lit corridor.
A shadow of swift death from the corridor stretches past the chambers entrance, revealing something locked away.
Something she won't remember.
Now, helpless and truly face to face with death again, everything her mind had lost becomes a memory resurfaced.
On the edge of screaming, she realizes this reflex is lost forever.
Even if she had her voice again, surely fear would paralyze these destroyed senses.
She's now face to face with the unknown from which she's been running.
The eyeless stone gargoyle demon steps once within the chambers entrance.
Slowly sniffing upward at blinking lights smothered by shadow, a growling hiss resonates from its concrete ribs
Lost to this shadow doubt she purges what despair remains for some other faceless nightmare.
Futility is now a hard wired emotion.
Without hesitation she closes her eyes again.
---
Eyes open.
The cold reaching inward, past the darkness wrapped within the pink bedspread cucoon she's made for herself seemingly tells of something missing.
The eyes struggling to focus on anything at all center over every memory she's tried to push away.
Coffee, then we'll talk about it, she's thinking to herself.
Rising from the thickness of her mattress and beddings, she neatly spreads the covers across, perfecting the perfection.
The darkness at this moment is another night home from work, alone in her simple flat talking with her brother about what a wreck she's become internally since her world stopped spinning.
She said she wouldn't let it get to her and she can manage the loss but lately she's just felt so lost and distant.
There's nothing wrong with death, she reminds herself, but murder is evil.
On television is a dead as ever signal, static for the first time ever
She's reflecting on the future as present as past.
Greeting the vase of forest roses casually with the wave of a sleepy child, she totals the missed calls on her phone to nine and one text message.
Seems familiar, she's thinking, as she sets the phone away to begin her morning rituals.
The emptiness of this moment is where her child should still be
She feels like one incomplete murderous foul disease; or demon or monster or filth, her numb mind frenzying over the possibilities of what might have been in addition to herself as well.
One constant void collapses the thoughts within her mind.
The consciousness she's gathering in the pitch black seemingly contradicts itself.The eyes struggling to focus on anything at all center over every memory she's trying to attain.
The darkness at this moment isn't the emptiness surrounding, it's her inability to maintain cognizance.
She closes her eyes again.
Talk about irony.
The world is oblique, her full panicked breaths echoing infinite shadow.
She feels like one complete bruise;or break, or scrape, or gash, or laceration, her frenzied mind numbing over the possibilities of what's lying throughout the darkness in addition to herself as well. Her legs remain unresponsive through a blanket of crushing pain.
One constant thought answers the space in her memory:
RUN!
She almost screams, startled by her own thoughts; a reflexive notion instantly replaced with a more pressing instinct:
Fear.
Fear of some fate she won't remember, something locked away.
Suddenly she's been still too long.
Dread fuels her every battered muscle.
Frantically twisting to free herself from this aphotic prison, she pulls.
Her right hand won't spread; her fingers won't clasp the ground.
She presses harder, skinning elbows and wrists into glass and dirt, straining with all her strength until,
BAM!
A deafening pop as a split-second flash cuts through the darkened silence.
She forgot about the pistol.
Memories flood her head and this time she does scream.
The emptiness at this moment isn't the darkness surrounding, it's her unwillingness to survive this nightmare.
She holds the pistol to her temple.
Futility is now a hardwired emotion.
Without hesitation she squeezes the trigger, eyes open.
Click. Blink. Click.
The emptiness of this moment isn't the darkness, fear or the loss of any will, it's the chamber of the useless pistol now hurtling through the void.
She closes her eyes again.
------
Carving her legs from the earth leaves her already frostbitten fingertips totally numb, she begins to wonder if she still has hands.
What fingers?
She realizes it's dangerously cold and the temperature is not her friend.
Half-dead, Half-buried alive.
Colder than either.
She digs away the unknown to uncover unknown to free herself from the unknown, all she can remember is running.
Running from the unknown.
The pain in her legs, she realizes, isn't caused by her trappings. The pain in her chest is panic.
How can so much loss occur with such proximity?
She prays salvation doesn't cut it as close.
What she gathers from the absence of her absence is concerning.
She could be the last person on the face of the earth.
But why? Did it have more of a soul than her?
Because here she remains and the earth is no more.
Maybe it was raptured?
She prays wordlessly to her new goddess.
Chaos now her deity, she purges what nightmares remain for some other faceless dream.
This world began as something more than what it used to be.
Take my word for it, being left behind isn't as much of a threat as it is a challenge.
There is no moon.
The stars are blinking floodlights on the hull of a massive construct.
The horizon is replaced with smoke and destruction.
But it could be daytime for all she knows, still yet, that would require a sun.
Any sun.
What's more, that would require a sky.
Does the sky still exist?
Do I still exist she wonders to herself.
Crying as she questions what she once believed was fear, she tries relating everything that's happening to anything that's happened.
She crawls up the moist, wet dirt and debris mounds that surround what used to be her neighborhood.
The earth is now faceless.
Unrecognizable.
Alien.
Screeching draws attention skyward, or what's left of it.
Or what she called it yesterday.
Black clouds swirl into every new horizon. With vicious speeds, thousands of winged creatures weave in and out as some chaotic dance. Some creatures herd others back into the clouds with mechanical spotlights equipped to the tips of their tails. The moment wonder peaks, hundreds of spotlights completely blind her.
Then darkness.
The consiousness she's gathering in the cage-like cell is inhabited by several others. She strains to focus on the dimly lit figures as she's forcing her eyes open.
The darkness at this moment seems to blend into the filthy gazes fixated upon her revival.
Nobody speaks as she wipes the dirt from layers of pain that mask her face.
The dirt she's wiping from her face is flakes of blood.
To her knees, in attempt to stand, she falls, weakened into the arms of the only touch she's ever truly felt, a total stranger standing behind her.
Locking tearful eyes with his, she almost feels safe until the entire floor of the cage falls away, dropping everybody to their screaming deaths into the shadows below.
She closes her eyes again.
She almost screams, a reflexive notion instantly replaced by the realization that he's holding onto the cage and her as well, and has just now saved her from falling twice.
---
He says he's not going to lie.
She asks him why, adding that it's already done.
It's done already he corrects.
The distraction from this moment she requires is achieved through the enactment of tidying her already spotless flat into perfection.
Beyond thorned stems, past herself reflected on the surface of the water in a vase of freshly cut forest roses, she becomes lost within daydreams of picking flowers nude into the moonlit forest forever.
She wipes the dust collecting from the surface of the urn.
It's been done already, she reminds herself.
She whispers goodbye breathlessly and presses end.
The phone rings again.
Silence answers as the call drops.
She mumbles as she hugs herself for warmth that she could kill herself thinking.
On television is a biography honoring a recently deceased celebrity through memorable and notable achievements of their most unforgettable on-screen moments, alive as ever, rerun.
She's reflecting on the past as present as future.
This she remembers: Settling for nothing less, or never settling at all.
She tries remembering now through all those years ago.
She almost saw this coming.
The phone rings again. She accepts.
They tried calling moments ago but lost signal.
Silence again.
More silence.
She's haunted by irony.
Sounds familiar, she thinks as she powers down the phone.
That wasn't the first time, she's thinking.
This isn't the first time, she corrects herself.
With the poise of a butterfly she stretches her body to its fullest.
She only wants to rest a moment, but fails to keep her eyes open as she spreads across her fluffy bed.
Sunlight glitters through the orchard's dense red canopy.
Mountains dwarf this place monitoring as they tower in silent contemplation.
Unwilled footsteps guide her mechanically through this unfamiliar landscape as she rolls face first across her pillow wincing at the morning sunlight.
She whispers for the sky to go away forever.
The darkness at this moment envelopes as she encloses herself with a cucoon of thick plushy blankets.As she drifts away again she wonders if she'll awaken as a butterfly.
---
Dear life,
Eyes open inches from the face of her only ever savior.
The only love she's ever given into faith, truly knowing, aside from wondering over the opposite of this situation dangling, embraced as total strangers to the chasm below; as well as each other. . .
She closes her eyes again. . .
Shock injected hearts race, absorbing each echoing strike as its own.
Assembly line precision slows the cage-trap to a halt.
They step safely to a nearby passageway, watching as the cage silently slides away into the infinite and darkened corridors. She wants to tell him thank you.
She wants to know if everybody's dead..
She wants to ask him what's happening.
She wants to scream and cry and kick and wake up in her bed as a butterfly and fly away.
She wants to speak her name, but nothing will come out.
Even in this dim light the two pinpricked punctures on his throat stare back at her.
She feels them in her throat as well.
Teardrops flood her sparkling eyes open then they stream down both her cheeks.
You wouldn't know she's crying anyway through all the sweat, and if it's not the sweat it's the darkness, and if it's not the darkness it's the blood and dirt caked onto her face.
She draws a heart across his chest.
The automatic kiss they share is ownerless.
The tears they share mix.
Embracing each other face to face, mid shiver, they hold each other silent.
Suddenly she's been still too long.
Twisting to free herself from this aphotic prison, she pulls.
She closes her eyes again, not awake or dreaming.
To wake from the nightmare beneath and what's lying scattered, dying within, a simple pinch would suffice.
She doubts she'll be that lucky, and it would hurt like hell anyway.
She dreams of seeing any other world but this one as her eyes open.
Stepping away isn't optional, but it's an option.
Peering past what pretends to be endless catwalks connecting infinite corridors below, past infinite layers of shadow abyss, she hears every noise you'd never want to hear in the dark.
Or Anywhere.
Or ever.
She grips her lovers palm so tight because she knows she'll never fall again this way.
Plus she can barely walk, move, or keep her eyes open without it.
Every wall and floor is alive with pale little lights and humming noises.
Whole skyscraper sized sections disassemble and reassemble somewhere off in the distance.
The darkness at this moment is always moving, constantly shifting.
Fading in and out.
Infinity wrapped in nothing wrapped in everything floating through the emptiness surrounded by everything else.
Talk about irony.
Someone, somewhere is looking for them, she knows this can't go on forever, or maybe it can.
This future was present before they were and now exists past more than they do or ever did.
Hours wondering aimlessly into a horizon that never comes.
Lost is something else entirely.
Hours creep away into nothing.
Empty chambers.
Empty halls.
Empty hopes.
The lovers wander endlessly through perpetual night.
Shadows bleed past corridors and humming machinery to slide down walls and fade into the echos below.
The pain inside her chest will not recede.
The darkness and her consciousness are intertwined, shifting into other worlds, hiding all that's lost and found.
Without direction time is hard to place.
Our hopeless lovers, woven the same, enshrouded by the darkness, silent.
Life is just an instant that exists in some other world, probably the one left behind.
Love is their new world.
Pale lights mimic their struggle, blinking in a struggle to keep shining.
She tries to daydream of the future, looking back on now.
The memories from her future are just as lost as she would be without her lovers hand to guide her through the darkness.
Directions seem this world's imagination.
She peers over the edge of nothing into nothingness.
The air tastes stale and sour.
Her body feels lost inside another world of pain and fear.
This is all she remembers, settling for nothing less.
She can't think about the past or future and tries to block now away from here and anywhere else.
She wants to stop to catch her breath, and make sure she's still alive.
She wonders if life was all for nothing before she came to be here.
She wonders how long this will last, then wonders how long they will last.
Then wonders if they are the last.
Could they be?
She's breathing but her air won't catch.
It's cold again as shadows dart against the walls and fade across new shadows, joining others.
The lights are fading in and out.
Following her savior, hand in hand, she halts for every blink of darkness, struggling to breath.
He gently pulls along, fearless of any new future lost beyond this hopeless past.
She wishes she could tell him wait.
She wishes she could breathe.
She wishes that she could have fallen with all the other soulless, nameless, voiceless faces into the pit.
She can't move forward because it never existed.
She can't go back because it's gone and buried.She can't stay here because her love won't let her.
What's visible blurs around the edges, as she stumbles into the arms of her always ready savior once again.
His warm hands gently guide her to the floor.
The lights still flicker and the darkness bleeds into every blurry light and shape surrounding.
His eyes blur, slowly fading into darkness.
Pain is just another world to become lost inside.
If nowhere is nowhere, and nothing is nothing, can they truly be lost?
She hates herself for fearing what her mind's become the most.
Everything within is fractured. Lost is where her blood is found.He's leaving for the future.
She's stuck here in the present, faded by the past.
If she could speak she'd tell him not to leave, she'd beg him to be saved.
She'd scream that being alone isn't how she wants to end forever.
She's never felt this way before.
She's never known any of this.
The fear. The pain. The loss. The resentment. The love. The darkness. The panic. The hate.
His footsteps fade into the future as shadows flicker past her every thought, consuming her mind with its presence.
She closes her eyes again.
---
Sitting cross-legged in the orchard, blinding sunlight pierces the thickest treetops, warming her every surface.
She stands.
A small flock of spotted butterflies scatter into every direction from the grass surrounding her feet.
She walks, this time, of her own free will.
The trees are full of blood red autumn leaves, though none litter the cool grass below.
Talk about irony.
Looking past the mountaintops, into the clouds and bright blue sky, she wonders if God is truly happy.
There's a single rose weaved into her hair, she pulls it free and caresses its petals in wonder of it's beauty.
Without destination, she walks, gently stroking the rose's petals.
She's suddenly too thirsty to swallow.
The rose will die as well if she can't find a way to save them both.
The trickling of water can be heard nearby, pouring the smell of moisture throughout the open air.
Following the noise, she happens upon a sparkling stream, then instantly drops to her knees.
She's overwhelmed by thirst.
Plunging her mouth through herself reflected, she drinks happily, but can't pull away to catch her breath.
Choking, the rose falls from her fingers and begins to float away.
The world begins to fade as full panicked breaths sputter into the water's depths, suffocating.
---
Eyes open.
The consciousness she's gathering is drowning out her senses.
The darkness is dotted with dim lights blinking all around as she chokes and coughs out liquid pouring onto her face and hair.
These eyes struggling to focus past this liquid center on the multiple blurred faces of her lover.
She still feels pain is all that's left of her.
If any part of her is whole it has to be her heart.
Pipes empty limitless amounts of water into the borders of the room, draining into somewhere forgotten below.
She turns her face to drink, until the burning thirst is rested.
Smiling into her lover's eyes, she inches under the crystal stream, showering her face and hair.
She almost feels alive for once.
As she pulls away to breathe again, she loses focus as the lights begin to blink and fade once more.
Time and hope become lost as her eyes open into another world of cold and darkness.
She looks at everything surrounding, but where is something lost and missing.
The emptiness at this moment is the absence of the water that bathed her.
She's propped against her lover and warmth fills her with every sleeping breath he takes.
She breathes with him, calming as she sinks into his heartbeat.Now completely dry, shreds of dampened cloth bandage too many wounds to count.
The bandages were once what was left of his shirt.
She lets his breath and heartbeat guide, blinking and fading like the border lights.
Now they're past the future.
She closes her eyes again.
Eyes open. Or are they?
Crystaline ice air creeps, dismissing what was left of another world testing the edge of her mind, she presses what's left of his body and hers into what's left of their world.
The weakness at this moment is the last will and testament of her dying mind.
Ghost lights flicker, softening the shadow's whisperings that chaos is just as lost as they are.
She's writhing atop his rising breath in an attempt to simply sit forward.
Several times later she comes to again.
Wide awake and cautious she's crawling away before she gathers any senses.
Something she won't remember, something locked away.
Somewhere else, in another world rising against all focus, she sees herself reflecting in the mirror image of every other wall they've passed since the dusk of time.
The emptiness of this moment is straining to remember where her love has become missing from remaining lost and why.
She almost spreads her tears as far as they can stretch, a reflexive instinct replaced by a more gentle being.
Her lover now stands before himself and her as well, the hunter and savior of all that's lost.
She traces his new reflection across her mind.
Was this not who she secretly hoped he would become now in the future?
Rushing to her side, as if to tend wounds suffered by his absence, she hurries in turn, crawling absently into his welcome embrace.
Nothing of Earth is left but the world is still spinning.
Inside, she admits defeat, and this time, she does cry harder than intended within his sweltering arms.
He manages, soothing the chaos, to lay her head away safely, weaknesses pounding her burning world still spinning somewhere inside, and this is why, she thinks to herself, survival is for the fittest.
No longer can she remain still, the shaking overcomes her wounds once more without a voice to sound in protest.
He grips her shaking frame, far from comfort's weary absence, and places a warm, gentle hand over her burning mind, freezing in the darkness.
Nothing is left of Earth but the world is still spinning.
---
Desperately seeking some solace, this is the world against knowing.
Against seeing.
Feeling is the only real pain.
This is the one world she didn't see out there forever, alive as well, rerun, floating into some other world's world within this world.
Understanding again comes second, undesirably touching upon the weaknesses flesh can hold.
Chaos pierces, screaming like a siren within her head, constantly, she's scattered around endlessly. Pieces of her body tear flesh as they crawl away into every direction like bugs made of skin and muscle and blood.
She can't shake the urge to collect the pieces left over from a past that had already seen itself without a future.
Several concrete channels flow rivers made entirely of tattered scraps of human flesh and bile into the horizon now screaming past, gagging her senses with the smell of rot.
In an attempt to free herself from this evil, running seems to stall her balance.Drowning again under a sea of filth and torment she becomes lost within the darkness once more.
---
Eyes open.
Choking releases her from this nightmare into the next as her eyes draw into the center of her newfound collection of injuries within.
The last thing she remembers is the first thing she remembers :
Pain.
There is nothing to look forward to, no such thing as future and the past has been erased entirely.
She's the only one not here anymore.
Wide awake, dreaming of another world lost, oblivious to the tortured chaos she's wept against ceaselessly for longer than she can remember consciousness.
Memories flood her head and in this moment realizations draw the memory of her loving savior baring her cross once more, once more.
She can barely hear or see or think or feel, moments uncover a blurry world of memories recovering.
Sleeping beside this new savior, this godlike warrior, she almost wonders if her goddess deity chaos will consume him.
Creeping fully awake she then begins to wonder why.
Why does she want to consume him so thoroughly?
Is she part of chaos's plan?
She tries imagining what she would pray for from any other god.
A new siren of fear screams through her mental universe as several heavy footfalls echo near from a dimly lit corridor.
A shadow of swift death from the corridor stretches past the chambers entrance, revealing something locked away.
Something she won't remember.
Now, helpless and truly face to face with death again, everything her mind had lost becomes a memory resurfaced.
On the edge of screaming, she realizes this reflex is lost forever.
Even if she had her voice again, surely fear would paralyze these destroyed senses.
She's now face to face with the unknown from which she's been running.
The eyeless stone gargoyle demon steps once within the chambers entrance.
Slowly sniffing upward at blinking lights smothered by shadow, a growling hiss resonates from its concrete ribs
Lost to this shadow doubt she purges what despair remains for some other faceless nightmare.
Futility is now a hard wired emotion.
Without hesitation she closes her eyes again.
---
Eyes open.
The cold reaching inward, past the darkness wrapped within the pink bedspread cucoon she's made for herself seemingly tells of something missing.
The eyes struggling to focus on anything at all center over every memory she's tried to push away.
Coffee, then we'll talk about it, she's thinking to herself.
Rising from the thickness of her mattress and beddings, she neatly spreads the covers across, perfecting the perfection.
The darkness at this moment is another night home from work, alone in her simple flat talking with her brother about what a wreck she's become internally since her world stopped spinning.
She said she wouldn't let it get to her and she can manage the loss but lately she's just felt so lost and distant.
There's nothing wrong with death, she reminds herself, but murder is evil.
On television is a dead as ever signal, static for the first time ever
She's reflecting on the future as present as past.
Greeting the vase of forest roses casually with the wave of a sleepy child, she totals the missed calls on her phone to nine and one text message.
Seems familiar, she's thinking, as she sets the phone away to begin her morning rituals.
The emptiness of this moment is where her child should still be
She feels like one incomplete murderous foul disease; or demon or monster or filth, her numb mind frenzying over the possibilities of what might have been in addition to herself as well.
One constant void collapses the thoughts within her mind.
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crazy
1 min read
its too loud to hear myself think over the sound of slowly going crazy
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