my self-made hell
By Tag
Silence beckons always,
Beautiful oblivion calls.
Should I put my faith in living
Or just let myself fall?
"The flagstones worn from a thousand footsteps pounding like waves upon a hapless seashore. The brilliant reds and blues of yesteryear have faded, just like my memories now. Moss forces its way through the cracks, struggling to live, only they are not really alive.
Behind my back, a solid cement pillar. The individual bumps of stucco press into my skin. I hear the shouts of children, their running feet, their parents' calls. I smell fresh grass and mud, and grip the pen tighter. And I wonder at it all.
How could it not be real?
The greenery used to relax me, bringing calm thoughts to my troubled mind. Now it simply rings with a jarring falseness, something I desperately try to put out of my mind. But I can't, and though everything I knew before I saw the truth has been forgot, I still hold pristine memories of the day I found my soul and lost my life.
Silence descends, a forced silence broken only by the chirping of birds in the distance.
Can I bear to pour out my soul to people who do not, will not, cannot believe?
Maybe.. maybe I'm starting out too poetic. On the other hand... I've had a lot of time to think about what I want to say. I sound like a fruitcake.
...
I still see the green snakes, sometimes. Weaving and twisting through my school, my room, my friend's faces. Am I the only one real, not made up of green snakes? The day I see them in myself, I'll kill myself. I wouldn't be able to live.. knowing that.. I was simply another bunch of zero's and one's...
Another file. Just. Another. File.
The thought that I'm just another meaningless group of numbers in an endless database of them .. it makes me angry. Angrier than the fact that they've enslaved us all. I don't know why.
A digital .. digital ... what am I? A folder? A power source? A battery, true, but why was this universe created? Why was this false world made? So they could watch us live out our lives obliviously? No, they're not interested in that. Why would they care? Wouldn't it .. wouldn't it be much easier to forget stimulating their little batteries mentally and simply harvest the energy?
Then again, I'm no biologist. I'm no scientist. Maybe if they don't stimulate the mind, it doesn't produce energy. Maybe.
I'm leading myself in circles. It's almost laughable. I used to have goals. To have aims. To know what I was going to do each day and to the next. Now .. now ... it doesn't matter.
And the nightmares. They become stranger every night. Red pills and blue pills and men that won't die, simply won't die. They keep coming back for more, like a bad video game stuck on "attack player forever".
I expect that they know who I am now. The people who aren't made of green snakes, but .. glowing red symbols. I can see them too, those men, that.. aren't really men, at all. They move like predators, secret silent predators among an oblivious prey.
...
They're coming for me now. I can feel it. I must leave.. though.. I doubt I will escape. Still, my self-made hell is infinitely better than the hell of an asylum. But the truth will be known, one day, and I have naught less than a duty to continue.. to contribute. I leave you with one thought:
What is the Matrix?"
Transmission ended. Connection disrupted and closed. All data has been destroyed.
- OK. This was a one-shot, obviously. Ugly, much too short fic which was originally a school assignment. Meaningless, plotless, and clichéd. Yay.
