I... don't remember how. I feel my foot slide out of my bed into the unreached floor, and makes me shiver with a cold precise signal, the same one as when something deeply wrong obscures your world into a vast and strange darkening fog.
My bed, floating aimlessly, into the cosmos and the shiny colored gases that paint the pitch black like paint ballons sprinkled with stars so far away they might as well not be real.
I can sense I know that my hand must do something, like a command ingrained in my brain from motor repetition and still being a memory so foggy i can't even remember its use or even its correct function.
The horse stands next in front of me.
I know.
I know I promessed you tormented me, you clawwed onto my back and whispered to me each and every day.
Yes, I know why you are watching me. With your black glossy eyes that can almost reflect the beauty of the splashed colors of the surrounding clouds.
Why the long face, heh. But your expression won't change.
You are in the very least. Troubled, questioned.
Yes, I know... I guess I owe you a thing or two.
I was... really afraid.
I take my time to correctly time each and every punctuation mark.
I was traumatized even, and in some sense I really thought that I was not gonna make it.
And... the things that surround the powers that be have gotten even much more harder.
And the ghouls that fueled the experienced turned out to not be more than an old timey trick.
Like seeing behind the magician making his trick. Removing the uncertainty. Removing the awe, but in this case. Removing the hollow and cold trauma.
The grayish winds and the toxicity. A burning oil that splashed on me, and made me sacrifice my blood in the shower trying so desperately to cleanse and purify my contaminated body.
But I think I see it as it is. In a manical sense. In a very, very, detachted state. In a strange sensation that seeing the same trick over and over does not justify the spectacle or fearmongering.
Reaching a state of utter tired numbness. The horse implied.
Yes....
Detached enough to carry out every day with a solemn stare, with an inch of sadness. Like an angel that weeps for knowing he is not god, and god is not good enough to correct with might the cruelty the angel witnesses.
The angel doesnt cry against god. He cries because he knows the futility of his participation (As only through existance).
You saw evil. The eyes of the horse implied.
Yes....
I saw what I can consider near the worst and dirties form of materialised evil.
Not even wratch and cruelty can formulate the obscure and gritty sins of personified evil. The victims enduring hell for what I assume must be more than once. Leaving a wisp of wind for me to realise; that I don't know if this person was murdered after. And so the ponder inclines me, and shrimps my body for my fist to slowly support my fleshy face, distoring it with waves of skin creating the crates that shadow my eyes. Yes. eyes in shadows are probably the best way to render the heavy burden of the witness.
You are talking about the other element. The space implied.
Yes....
Sorry, but I don't think it would be just to omit it. That part is responsable for the full engine start of this locomotive that electrified my body. With a mind I couldn't control from shaking and rumbling, Yet I am my mind. So clearly I was doing something wrong.
I don't think I wanted to talk about the cruelty, or about the red element. I need a name for the last section. The very end of the lighted sea, and the beggining of the deep and dark blue water that follows it. Staring at me. (I will call it the deep red).
And the deep red stared at me, I am glad I was burning down each and every bridge that offered me to get there.
But the bridges were the problem. As I wasn't aware of the full and complete volume of it. When I crossed the first filfthy, disgusting, and exotic bridge.... I had no idea that it connected to others, so much. I had no idea that this bridge connected to more than 500 bridges each linked in between each other.
In a ring of masters and a not all of them really leaded you to the deep red. But every one of them promessed you that you were going to cross to the deep red the exact following step.
Each one gave crumbs, signals, text. oh god the text. The letters. The most mounstrous combination of words that cathered to the repulsive and twisted ego, that pulled the chain of the morbid disease of curiosity. And some had the traces of the deep red. As prove, as a lure. And it was just 500 bridges more to go.
You made evidence against you. The flowingly calm hair of the horse implied.
Yes....
A mistake that costed me sleepless nights and paranoia. I really thought my life could end many times. Many days. The deception of family and friends. But ultimately, the deception of the sinful crime.
I marked as many bridges as I could, I tried to record them, write them down, figure out who owned each bridge in this ring. This... Circlejerk.
And I made sure to never, ever, allow a single fragment of that information to reside with me, it always went down to the tip line. To the so called god. Able to inject their will upon this sodomic hellscape.
But I will admit I am not the best. I am incredibly traceable. I think it's too late to anonymize myself.
Are you talking about the deep red or the bridges.
I think both.
I will never forget the deep red, even if I reached it much less times than the bridges that lead me there. But I guess my phsychosurgical paranoia helped a bit in burnign down those bridges. Or at least made their owners apply much more defense to any traveler that stumbles upon them.
What happened to the deep red?
I am not sure. I believe some of it was nuked, destroyed by gods. I believe some parts of it went offline for some time while they are rebranding themselves.
But I know the majority of it is still out there, growling and moving slowly through the dark spaces of the sea. Bellow the iceberg.
So what about me. Finally said the horse.
I am not sure what to do for you.
Part of me wanted to warm people using the only media I know. Part of me maybe wanted to expose my personal trauma, or to infect others with this compulsive and erratic fault in me. A cynical and sadist version wanted to see their obssesion spread out like venom consuming them from my version, like the real version consumed me.
But the magick trick fell down. I stared at it too much. Realised those bridges have been there not for a year, not when I found them myself at sixteen years old, no. They were there since the fucking beggining. Since the early days, they have been building the bridges from twenty-six years ago. They fear from the magic trick fell down and I saw the scummiest and most disgusting wizardry, and realized that the trick was older than me.
And I fell for it with so much rage inside of me. With so much hatred, I felt cheated. I felt entrapped. I was thinking I was trying to wage a silent war on my own misfortune, but they have been doing it for little repercussion for decades. No.
They are pathetic. They are not scary or terrifying. They are despicable. Their evilness is not formed through terror, but from humid manure. I cannot fanthom that the worlds of this language allow me to correctly label the sincere volume of the putrid hatred and disgust that defines their antics.
I will not tribute them, I will not constitute any part of their programm. I will not give them the benefit of existance through a reality that I build. For they deserve the lowest shape of respect. I am not fearful anymore, my stomach does not revolt and my body shakes less. I am not immune, but I am not gullible either.
I did what I thought was best, I know I left a mark in them, I know their bridges had to change and some were lost. And that is something that is coming to the grave with me.
Your pain, and you evil made me create a reality meant to be shared with others.
I can still salvage some aspects of it. I can still create something from those fragments.
But that is to the telling of time.
I swear to god.
That torment will not continue.
...
And the indifferent silently humming universe drifted.
Where is the horse?
Did... did it left?
No.
I don't see him, he was standing right there.
It is around. But at least he knows now what happened, and what is his place to be.
Was there all that you wanted to say...?
Part of it... I'm sure.
Are you afraid?
Yes.
Will you continue?
I hope not.
What will you do for the victims?
I hope I can someday do something right. To help.
I hope that too.
...