Sustaining life in the City isn't possible for me. For others? Who knows, maybe they're thriving. I can't live here forever. I'm different. I'm different, but I'm not better - I'm worse, I'm broken, and I'm vulnerable to this, and I can't keep existing like this and none of this-

My focus shifted away for a moment. The night's entrails slithered across the all but spilled remains of the waxing moon. Visual static played tricks upon my eyes and snuffed out any candle of hope that warmed my otherwise cold feet. In other words, I felt like I wasn't alone. No living object occupied the setting with me, though.

From what I could see, the space was split into 3 main sections. Lighter granite tiles made up a main space that contained seating for dozens of people. Darker slate tiles made up the left and right wings, given extra visual cue via a couple of evenly spaced pillars on the borders. Far on the other side, in one corner, occupied ample storage of food - unopened barrels, cabinets, and storage units for colder items.

Paranoia quickly seared through my priorities. Finding food became a secondary goal compared to finding light again. Graceful footsteps became a chaotic dance to find something, anything. Desperately groping around at the partially visible pillars, I found nothing but a coarse sandstone texture, as well as my added frustration.

Reaching the end, there was a door that led to a restroom. After carefully swiping inside the room, I found light and ran inside. Catching a breath, I slumped down in front of the door, blocking anything else that could enter.

Like any restroom, I was alone with the average utilities, a mirror, and other minor tools for cleaning said utilities. In short, it was made for one person. Light filled every corner of the space, releasing me from the choke-hold that darkness put on me outside. I had the time again to think.

I don't know how I can get along the way that everyone else I've met in the City has. I get what they do, why they do it, and how they execute it. Somehow, I'm not like them. I thought I was made of the same substance: the same flesh. Each time I interact with someone new, I'm continuously proven wrong. What am I missing, or what do I have too much of that I can't connect with them?

Was I even meant to connect with any of them? If not, why am I here? Why did I arrive here at a location where there are those who look like me? If I wasn't meant to take residence in this City, then why can't I remember what the goal was in arriving here? If I don't have a particular goal in relation to the City, how do I leave? Do I leave? Where do I go - it's not like I can remember where I was before I was in the forest.

I then glanced at the mirror and became mesmerized.

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I look revolting. There's blood all over me. Everything about me looks off. It's like the skin on my body has begun to melt off. It's like looking back into my eyes, my face, and every shape of it, then blinking and seeing it all reversed. What I look like now, what I've become, can't be normal. It can't simply be the passage of time; it's just too quick. People don't get worse this quickly.

Residence in the City can't be good for me. I'm probably dying at this point. I don't know what to do; there's nothing I can do. What can I do next? I can't continue to live like this, so I won't simply go along the City's current. I can't complete a goal if I don't know what it is. I can't leave if I don't know where or how to leave. I can't think of another direction to move towards. I don't know what to do.

I gripped onto the sides of the sink with as much as I could grip. Tears fluttered onto the faucet as my head drooped beneath my shoulders.

I was upset at Phoebe. I was upset at Nick. I hated both of their groups and I hated how everything turned out with them. I never connected with anyone and I never made any progress within myself. I wasted time and now I look awful. I wasted valuable resources - my life, for no reason at all. I wanted to blame everything on them and I wanted them to know it.

Nick is gone now, though. Plus, I caused it. No matter how I felt about him, I was in the wrong. I can't help but feel I wasn't entirely in control while doing it. It was as if my nerves were pulled by unbreakable strings. Was it me? Was I the one who killed Nick, or was there a spirit of rage that took me? I don't know- I feel as if I'm shifting blame from myself. Even if I wasn't to blame, I didn't take control of a situation I was responsible for. If I was controlled, who's to say I'm not now? If I am controlled now, how do I discern my actions from myself?

Either way, I am a danger to others. I am not committing that which is on the side of people. My goals are against me, hailing a spirit of Death. It's not even cool. I'm not even doing it in a fearsome way. I'm a wimp, pushed around by a crippling spirit of decay. I can't even figure out how to root out this self-destructive spirit. Possibly every action I've committed is paradoxical to my authentic self with no way to escape due to my systematic ignorance.

In other words, I'm stuck, and anything I do will make everything worse.

I screamed- howled, cried, yelled until I became hoarse. There was a point where I couldn't even breathe. I held the sink firm and sunk down onto my knees, my forehead then resting upon the edge of the sink. It felt like forever since nothing mattered; not a single second was worth anything to me anymore. Every minute I existed, I wasted, whereas every minute before I made no attempt to escape the waste I had brought upon myself. For all I cared, time had both frozen and began to move at an exponential velocity. I don't know what to do. Nothing matters; there's nowhere I can go from here.

There was a certain point where, although I didn't want to even breathe, let alone do anything, my body said otherwise. I gasped for air. I flung myself up to stand. I gripped onto the sink a bit longer while I couldn't see anything but stars and geometric patterns. Hunger took over as well. I slithered out of the restroom to eat what food I found.