And All Things Will End
The rock you are lying on tears into your back when you wriggle. You flail your limbs desperately to try to make the pain go away, but this only serves to make the cuts deeper. You cannot roll over. You long for the soft embrace of your mother and reach out to her, but she is cold and brittle. There is nothing but hurting and pain, endless hurting and pain. Is this all there is to your existence? Do you exist only to feel torment and stabbing pain? Why do you exist? Why are you? There is no real reason to your being. Pain is your constant companion.
You fall into a troubled sleep. Your dreams are tattered visions and haze-filled locales that reinforce your confusion. Why should you continue your existence? Why not return to the unconsciousness and cold uniformity of nonexistence?
These thoughts do not remain entangled within your skull. They leak out into the atmosphere around you. They permeate the air, and taint the water of the nearby spring. They infest the minds of the sleeping villagers. They grow stronger as your dreams grow more feverish.
Soon, the villagers are questioning their lives as well. They live in an unbroken loop, undergoing the same daily tasks to no end. For what purpose? There is no inherent meaning to anything. There is only the meaning and purpose ordained by society, and this is man-made and subject to personal bias. The villagers convene, and discuss this. Why should they continue to exist and live mired in pain, and weighed down by misery? There is no answer. They cry out and pray, but no response is forthcoming. They rail against the invasive miasma spreading from you, but they cannot fight it for long.
You continue sleeping, your rest only broken by the occasional need to squeal, writhe, piss, defecate, and eat.
Looping.
Looping.
Looping.
A solution is proposed. The steps are undertaken. They welcome it with open arms, embracing it wholeheartedly. They smile as the flesh is torn from their bodies. They cry out in thanks as the knife slides across their throat. They are at peace. Eternal peace.
Some resist. Some retreat down into the mines for safety. These people become twisted according to your unconscious desires. You look upon them with your closed eyes, and wonder at their body. You question it; why do your arms extend that way? Why is your skin so soft? Would it not be better if your head was over there? You do not understand, and their bodies twist in upon themselves in response.
You fall into a troubled sleep. Your dreams are tattered visions and haze-filled locales that reinforce your confusion. Why should you continue your existence? Why not return to the unconsciousness and cold uniformity of nonexistence?
These thoughts do not remain entangled within your skull. They leak out into the atmosphere around you. They permeate the air, and taint the water of the nearby spring. They infest the minds of the sleeping villagers. They grow stronger as your dreams grow more feverish.
Soon, the villagers are questioning their lives as well. They live in an unbroken loop, undergoing the same daily tasks to no end. For what purpose? There is no inherent meaning to anything. There is only the meaning and purpose ordained by society, and this is man-made and subject to personal bias. The villagers convene, and discuss this. Why should they continue to exist and live mired in pain, and weighed down by misery? There is no answer. They cry out and pray, but no response is forthcoming. They rail against the invasive miasma spreading from you, but they cannot fight it for long.
You continue sleeping, your rest only broken by the occasional need to squeal, writhe, piss, defecate, and eat.
Looping.
Looping.
Looping.
A solution is proposed. The steps are undertaken. They welcome it with open arms, embracing it wholeheartedly. They smile as the flesh is torn from their bodies. They cry out in thanks as the knife slides across their throat. They are at peace. Eternal peace.
Some resist. Some retreat down into the mines for safety. These people become twisted according to your unconscious desires. You look upon them with your closed eyes, and wonder at their body. You question it; why do your arms extend that way? Why is your skin so soft? Would it not be better if your head was over there? You do not understand, and their bodies twist in upon themselves in response.