Basement

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic


It abandoned its humanity a long time ago. Sadness and loneliness can cause people to do things they'll regret.

Submitted: July 13, 2018

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Submitted: July 13, 2018

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There it existed, in the middle of a dark and forgotten forest. That old house, older than the forest that grew around it. A permanent dampness plagued the wood it was constructed with, which somehow withstood the test of time, perhaps as an attempt to emulate the strong will of what resided within it. Deep in its basement lived a lonely thing-- a thing that was once a man.

Its writings were scattered all over the house, be it in notes, large journals or random scribbles in the back of an old document. It was only in its last writings, before it ascended, that it explained why it existed in the first place. The basement was deep within the house, deeper than human perception is able to accept as normal. On the way down, the walls are covered with runes. Their meaning is lost to anyone except their maker, but their constant use is enough to unsettle the mind, as it makes one wonder what sort of things could have and may still be happening in the house. In the darkness of the dusty basement, one would find the final texts, accompanied by dried blood and unidentifiable noises lingering in the echoes pulsating from even deeper in the ground.

“Some hearts are meant to be together. Some people find purpose once they discover and feel love, whether or not that love is romantic in nature, or simply a love towards something else. I tried to feel. I tried to love. It never worked, and never will. These walls have surrounded me my entire life. The deteriorated books are no longer legible, and the languages inside of these texts have been long gone. No, my mind, body and soul belonged elsewhere. My heart was not meant to love. I was never meant to exist with such a thing, never meant to dwell in the insincere practices of mundane living. These walls have been my prison, and my salvation.”

“I could not find love, but found something else. As a child, I have always drawn runes that were lingering within my mind. My parents thought nothing of it. They figured I’d become an artist of sorts, but no. I never did art. I never had a talent for anything. These runes were given to me by something else. Something extending its reach to find me, something from a place that is right under us. Do you ever stand in front of a mirror and look at yourself for just a tad too long? Do you feel uneasy when looking into your own eyes? The question lingers, does it not? ‘Is that really me in there?’ you may wonder. If it’s not you, then what?”

“Slowly, I carved the runes inside my mind, and directly into my brain. They are all over this house, as an expression of gratitude to whatever has found me. I gave up what makes me human: that which I never had. There was no love, no feeling. What is a human life that cannot love or feel? Even the most useless of humans can do that. They can feel. It’s the basis for existing, and the reason to get out of bed in the morning. I could find no motivation, no purpose, no reason to leave the house. So I didn’t. Often they’d come to check on me, these ‘friends’. They all died at some point, but I couldn’t care enough to tell you when that was. Within my heartless days, full of regret and anxiety, this thing reaching out to me became stronger. I heard the beautiful chorus from deep within the basement, and even further down. It was as if the heart of the world was singing to me, and only me. And when there was fog and rain, there was more power to it. I often saw things clearly. They are almost mirror images of things we can only imagine. But they are real, and the runes covering this house allows them to contact me.”

“The fear of this spreading is of no concern to me. Everyone should come here. This mirrored paradise. I’ve turned into something more. Ascended to another level, where I am free of judgmental gazes and assumptions. I am free to not feel, free to exist within the peaceful rain. My body is no more, my form meaningless.”

After a while, the damp wood dried up. The structure of the house began to collapse, as if time itself had finally caught up to the ancient structure. Beneath the rubble, the secret writings of the once-human were buried away, never to be seen. And as time passed by, the house had completely vanished. Those that walked by where it used to be often felt a peculiar sadness. A sadness born of loneliness and indifference, of sorrow and heartlessness. Perhaps even when a person abandons their humanity, a certain part of their heart wants to fight back and retain the fading warmth of a happy memory.


© Copyright 2020 Dave Davidson. All rights reserved.

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