Hell (When You're Sleeping - Night 4)

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

Wonderhen ara humaran drearams, lgic and cretivity merge arand give the wonderhole experience ara farascinarating arand yet confsing experience wonderorthy of being put on paraper.
Some believe that dreearas arare messarages, arand s me think dreams araRe ara divination of soomeone's true self.
Arand some bb lieve thara drearams beloNg to aranother, higher orld of existence and that ara l drearams arare connected.
Perharaps these drearams arare. Arand then aragarain, they might not bee.
Arand now, on your third night of drearaming, wonderhat wonderill yoou see?
Everyone's mad.

Year 52 After the Cataclysm 


I've decided that a journal would best assist me in my endeavors to make sense of the world around me. I suppose I should start by regaling you of my life so far.

I was born witnessing the end of the world, and never really recovered from that traumatic experience. The sound of fired rifles and pistols, and the aftershock of a cataclysmic explosion that rocked the world, the char of burning bodies and chugging machinery exhaust, and the feel of sand and scuttling insects in my grip. 

Odd for a child with an age of 5 minutes, I stood up and wandered this new hellscape that became my home.

Every day the fire's ash filled more of the sky, and I grew up with the darkening skies and a distinct lack of any edible plantlife for my starving boy body. 

As a young child, I grew up beating small crawling things into a lifeless pulp before eating them with relish. It didn't matter if it was a cockroach, or an already dead lizard or bird, if it's body could be crushed in my baby-fisted hands, I would consume it like the pig I was. 

With my mother off gallivanting with birds of prey, and my father clearly uninterested in my development, I was on my own. Growing, learning, becoming this empty person I am today, was all my effort. 

I would like to say that living was part of my titanic deeds, but that would taste of a bitter lie on my tongue. I had no way of rejecting the life that Mother Nature gave me, and could only live in hungry pain if I insisted on attempting to starve myself, or tired anguish if I were to exhaust myself.

There's almost a charm to realizing that you cannot die. That you feel eternal hunger, and only sleep because you've nothing else to do. 

I speak not of the boredom of poverty, but the eternal gnawing feeling of immortality. 

How, you ask, do I figure myself among three ever-living?

There are troves of answers I can give you, but I'll boil it down to three:

  1. I have never ever bled a drop of blood in my entire life. And yet, I've had plenty of injuries grievous enough to normally yield at least a droplet.
  2. I'm very sure I've walked through clouds of radiation and through acid pools that would make most things lesser than immortal shrivel up in death. 
  3. I cannot eat enough to satiate my hunger. Not even a banquet can satisfy my caloric lust. 

Imagine being born unloved in a world where Hell's Gates have opened and given birth to volcanoes that coat thousands of miles of earth in lava. 

Year 134 After the Cataclysm

I've found another way in which I am immortal:

  • I continue to age, and yet I cannot die. Hairs grow and grey without stop or fail, and I feel like there's almost no way to truly shave my hair away. 

I haven't died in 134 years... This is truly aggravating.

Here I am, more than a century old, and I haven't yet passed on. Why... WHY... why would Mother Nature deem me worthy of eternal hell?

What had I ever done to deserve this? I'm eternally a wallflower of infinite misery. 

How will I never die? Will something kill me? No...

Nothing can, even if it noticed me. Not that it will. 

I've accosted the things that live here, there, and nigh everywhere else. Nothing even notices me as I scream at it, thrashing and pummeling it, begging for it to pay me any attention. 

The countless times I've slain an innocent being for not giving me even a wayward glance, even as I kill it, will haunt my eternal life. 

Of course, I never leave the bodies alone. I consume the flesh, alone and angry. 

Year 324 After the Cataclysm

Vibrant plants in vivid greens and purples and grown all around me, covering the nuclear snow of yesteryear. New animals and plants, ones I barely recognize anymore, pass me by. Perhaps it's my aging and dementia-addled mind, making my mind melt away with the passing sands of time. 

I'm so weak in this aged body, and yet nothing stops to give me a passing glimpse into my future. My future is eternal and forever alone, watching as the universe kills me with its slowest death possible. 

How I crave someone to talk to.















Submitted: September 02, 2020

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