The final ringing of the bells brought nor hopes nor despairs. We were perfect, immaculate, living in this false façade of a world, a universe, yet to be understood by those outside of us. There were only two worlds—them and us. We did not know them we paid them no attention. They were of no usefulness to us.
It was the summer of fortune, and at the same time the winter of unforgiving cruelties lashing out like every strike of the whip, equivalent to the crashing of lightning somewhere above our heads. It was uncontrollable pandemonium, and we could not stop it from anything it had intended to do, for we knew not what it was in the first place. We were given orders and we stupidly obeyed, we did not forgive and we did not forget. We molded into a single mind, soul, when once we were many.
We were connected.
And all good things can never last, however we clung to our last hopes as they filled us, thrilled us, and frightened us more than any human ever could. We wanted to leave and run as far away as our legs could stand to carry us, and yet at the same time we wanted to remain planted exactly where we stood, let the world revolve around us and remain that way, perfectly immaculate and isolated, for evermore.
We wanted to live a life free from sin, cleansed with the holiest of liquids, while at the same time we wanted to live a life drenched in blood.
We needed the addiction that it gave us, forgetting all in its path in order to murder or to salvage. We needed to create something.
We needed to create something beautiful that could not exist without our presence. We needed it more than anything.
Yet it still remained out of our reach.
The stakes were high, yet we were willing to bet. We needed something to rely on, something that would never waver and let us fall. Whether we were conscious of it or not, we were entirely broken. Shattered. It was the way that things were.
We rejected the world and protected ourselves, whether it was consciously or subconsciously, instinct or intention. We were prepared only by knowledge of what had previously happened in worlds other than our own, decades, centuries, and entire generations that were in the past that we are instructed to remember and keep in mind as though we were there. One particular girl stood out in the previous world. She, an outsider, had managed to penetrate our strong walls that we built to keep others out and instead protect ourselves.
We gained the impression that if we could do it once, we could certainly do it again. And soon enough, we were given that chance.
We had waited far too long.
And as nightfall swept across the horizon in black-tinted gradients, dying the clouds as though they were spilled with ink, I ran for my life, to protect myself, to get away, and to merely survive. I knew not what I was supposed to do, or who I was. I only had to get away. I decided to sleep until the peace came, until the time for waking was bestowed upon me.
I woke up exactly twenty-seven years later.
You do not know who I am.
