End Game

2008-07-22T23:40:00.001-07:00

It's been three days now and I still haven't seen any blue. But it's inevitable; I can feel it in me, thrumming in my bones; pulsing softly, insistently. I daren't look out the windows, and am glad they're high up and dirtified shut and opaque.

There's months of food here; ironic, as hungry as we were these last days. Now I have enough to eat and live for many a day - and want it not. I want... I don't know what I want.

Also in abundance: paper and writing instruments. I've found, it seems, a writer's den. But I feel no joy at the knowing. It is easy to look upon this space and hardly see a thing, cast in gloom with reeling mind as I have become.

I am lost. Yet, I have a few more days. The blue had a ways to go, last I knew.

So I shall write, to you, though I know not where you are. I shall write to you everything that happened, all that I saw; because there's nothing else to do. And it seems appropriate somehow - that my end comes in a room full of paper and food - the very things in short supply and dearly wanted all the years before.

I will get a better seat, and then will tell it all to you. I wonder if I shall reach the end?

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2008-07-22T23:37:00.001-07:00

I'm fighting a demon.

It comes at me whenever I'm weak, whenever I've just woken; when I've turned too many corners, when things are feeling bleak.

The revulsion washes over me in waves, as I witness what I worked so hard to get away from: the demon, wringing its hands in glee, to see that I was weak, I made a mistake; that I am now off-balance, the time is right to push... but then I stop, become detached.

A cold hard wind from off the mountain blows right through me; and I come back to where my mind is really at.

With cold dispassion I regard the thing in all its hideous glory....

Virtual Photons - Hallucinari

End Game

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