One moved through the desolate wilderness and only paused once to look back. He didn't know what he was looking at, or towards. All he saw was this: the haze in the sky had already blotted out the horizon. Visibility, or rather sensibility, was nearing zero. One knew that he would have to go a long way to reach the centre. This part of the world was unstable, its reality constantly shifting under One's feet. One had to be careful where he stepped. And the further he went towards the distant centre, the more unstable it became. And yet he was drawn to it, and moved forward compulsively.
He had woken up knowing that he would take that first step. He didn't find it unusual that he had woken up after having killed himself a moment - a second, an hour, a year perhaps - earlier. It always happened. It's not that he died and then came back to life, or was revived. It was that the whole event of his suicide was erased, undone, the clock set back so that it never happened in the first place. But One was used to the unpredictable fluctuations of Time in this world, this alien planet where he had been born and had lived all his life, this exile that he knew, and knew nothing else.
He supposed with irony that he should start thinking of it as home. What else was there? Nothing. That wasn't right, he thought. That was a lie, a lie that plagued him and haunted him all his waking hours, which were every single one. It was a lie created by that being that called itself Father, a being constructed of lies itself. What else did he know? Nothing. He had no way of knowing that this was not his homeworld, that this was something alien, something as foreign as a nightmare.
He continued walking, squinting with all his being to find his way in the thicking haze. Any moment now, he would lose that last glimmer of sensation and be nothing but thought. It was still a frightening experience.
Darkness and silence settled on him. The only thing he could feel was a pull, not the strong yank of the thing at the centre but a gentle tugging at his soul. He let himself move forward, though the sensation of forward was lost. He felt his self dissipating, and all the little parts that make him up broke free of their constraints and drifted away. The illusion of time vanished and so did the illusion of gravity.
The only thing he could sense, and it was the last sense left. It was the certainty of the truth.
He had woken up knowing that he would take that first step. He didn't find it unusual that he had woken up after having killed himself a moment - a second, an hour, a year perhaps - earlier. It always happened. It's not that he died and then came back to life, or was revived. It was that the whole event of his suicide was erased, undone, the clock set back so that it never happened in the first place. But One was used to the unpredictable fluctuations of Time in this world, this alien planet where he had been born and had lived all his life, this exile that he knew, and knew nothing else.
He supposed with irony that he should start thinking of it as home. What else was there? Nothing. That wasn't right, he thought. That was a lie, a lie that plagued him and haunted him all his waking hours, which were every single one. It was a lie created by that being that called itself Father, a being constructed of lies itself. What else did he know? Nothing. He had no way of knowing that this was not his homeworld, that this was something alien, something as foreign as a nightmare.
He continued walking, squinting with all his being to find his way in the thicking haze. Any moment now, he would lose that last glimmer of sensation and be nothing but thought. It was still a frightening experience.
Darkness and silence settled on him. The only thing he could feel was a pull, not the strong yank of the thing at the centre but a gentle tugging at his soul. He let himself move forward, though the sensation of forward was lost. He felt his self dissipating, and all the little parts that make him up broke free of their constraints and drifted away. The illusion of time vanished and so did the illusion of gravity.
The only thing he could sense, and it was the last sense left. It was the certainty of the truth.
