Truth Hidden within Deception

A dream brought forth from Nothingness, propelled him into Infinity.

Pathologist's Art
The bells in the clock tower reverberated. It was now an hour past midnight. Most were in bed, save for the lunatics, whores, and other societal scum. In an alleyway, a man was kneeling upon recent fallen snow and trash. There were tears in his eyes. In front of him laid his wife, dead, her throat slashed. Behind him, a fiend stared through frosted spectacles, grinning with delight.

The woeful man spoke aloud, “I remember the tales, you devil. I see it is true that humanity has long left you. I can recount every word from our grandparents’ stories. They were always pranksters and were bad at telling scary stories, as they would laugh every time they saw our frightened eyes. Yet, when it came to your stories, their wrinkled faces would freeze in horrid seriousness. They would tell us of madness cloaked in human skin.

“Were one to cut open the belly of his friend, blood and guts would pour onto the floor, squishing and squashing like berries crushed underfoot to make juice. Cut open your enemy and, again, blood and guts would spill on the floor. Both men are the same inside; neither one is purer nor more corrupt. They want the same things, if only materialized as different things. This is life. Yet, regardless of if a man is friend or foe, a doctor, obligated by ethics, must endeavor to protect his life. No matter how unsightly a disease, because the man before you is only that—a man—the doctor must save him. Were a doctor to deviate from his path, he is shamed; trash, in spite of their own folly, looks down upon the doctor and says, 'Monster! You dare stray from your teachings?'

“Were he a pessimist, Doctor Jack Zoë would spit back upon those wretches; he would say unto them, 'Do not question my teachings, for they are far above your pitiful understanding.' Still, such things never even crossed his mind. He merely smiles; he knows that life is precious. He only kills them because, in the end, regardless of sickness and regardless of health, they will die, anyway. Their final moments may as well be overseen by a jovial smile. Such is Doctor Jack’s desire—he is a doctor only because once, long ago he was educated in the pathologist's art.”

The doctor merely smiled at the man. Under the penumbra of night, and because of his cloaked attire, the doctor seemingly lacked a face. He twisted his peculiar body as if stretching. Laughing, he said cheerfully, “It has been so long since someone has told me a story. Tell me, how are your grandparents?”

“Dead. They died mysteriously—or rather, you murdered them,” the man replied.

“You make me seem so scary. You should meet my benefactor. I’m but a simple puppy compared to him,” Jack laughed. Of course, by then both the man and woman were dead. When the authorities found them the deaths seemed almost natural. It was not until the autopsy that they learned the victims had been cleanly eviscerated. None of the missing organs were located, but some claimed to hear the chewing of some animal near the scene—perhaps a rat.

Atop my head a crown was placed--a king, a king am I!
A priest prayed and chanted, and a crowd gathered to see
The face of their monarch seated upon his wooden throne.

Suddenly then, Volta and Tesla stood before me, side-by-side.
Masked in black, they asked that I speak so as to please the crowd.
When I said nothing, they pulled a switch: ah, the end of life!

Ramblings of a Madman--The Soul

I envisioned the end today. The skies were dyed a beautiful crimson; so were the seas and earth. Very soon, I saw a terrible thing: the color white. Its terrible pallor washed away the ubiquitous crimson, and I quickly realized that this world was my soul; the whiteness was death, in the form of maggots.  It tore through me and consumed me, till all was hollow. I realize this is confusing—alas, such dreams can seldom be described. Just know that in it, there was pure terror.

I woke in a sweat this night, my breathing heavy. My room was still lit, and I realized I fell asleep whilst upon my desk, writing my speeches to my few followers. Unsettled by it all, I stood up and laughed, if only to soothe my weary heart. It calmed me, I say honestly, for I once met a wise man who said to smile and laugh, even in the most difficult of situations. Soon, I sat back down, to read through my writings and further return to a state of peace.

I read my work aloud:

“O Bloody Dreamer, I have seen your end, and I pity you. You will end in ruin and your God will cease to be. You will bear the weight of the universe, and be crushed in an instant. Your God is naught; in Him, there is neither warmth nor light, neither frost nor darkness. Can you smile dreamer? Can you laugh, fool? I wait to see.”

Such blasphemy—did I write this? No, no! I tore this paper and through the pieces to the floor. Although those words were made in my hand, although they created a quaint resonance within me, they were not mine! I laughed again, but this time, stopped quickly. For upon my shoulder was a fly, staring at me, voracious.

Ramblings of a Madman--The Journey
I am on this path to perfection, purity, and light; yet, throughout my journey, I see nothing but darkness. I wander through the empty abyss of shadows, and wonder if I should ever see the light? Eventually, I blindly walk into the horizon, and after what seems like days, months, years, I see the object of my desire. The light! I run towards it now, but as I enter its luminance, I am stricken by horror. I quickly realize that I am blind once more; yet, this blindness is far worse than the shadows before.

I have decided to write a story, on Live Journal. Let's see how well it turns out--it begins in a few days, maybe.

Writer's Block: It’s the end of the world as we know it
If you had the option to learn the exact moment and details of your death, would you choose to know?

Truthfully, as everything in the world is predetermined, a prognostication of my death would be of little use to me. Hence, I say no.

Thus, the games begin.


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