A/N: Eh, Connie's story was okay. Let's see how Armin does!
Song: Going Under by Evanescence
Existential
"How you feeling about this, Arlert?"
"Not confident, sir."
"Take heart, brat. It can't be any fucking worse than Kirschtein's load of crap."
Always in slumber, never conscious.
Time is essentially a construct of the mind.
Madness? Perhaps.
He would like to think so. The alternative is too horrifying to consider.
Colors swirl, the heat is unbearable.
Death, will it come now, finally?
No. Not yet. Continue on. Continue on this path of perpetual nightmares.
The darkness of deceit. The illumination of illustration.
Which does he prefer?
He does not know.
If he were to escape this descent, if he were to grab hold of a ledge...
But no. There is nothing. There is only isolated disaffection.
Nothing.
The End
"Need a therapist, Arlert?" He crumpled the paper, threw it over his shoulder. "Braus."