I don’t know how much time has passed, only that there is time when I need to squint a little harder or sleep when I cannot read or write. Food has no taste, smells lack any appeal, and I jump at every noise, no matter how insignificant or mundane. With the rate it is going, I would be surprised if my heart didn’t give up on me yet what I am doing is important. It must be done, for the sake of us all. There are… things that move through my house. Beings. Indescribable entities that will walk, glide, roll, slide, and appear in my room. They will look over me with bloodshed in their eyes, but as soon as they come, they vanish with a disappointed sigh. They would say things, but I cannot remember a single word. Anything but this… anything else is not important. The longer I work, the duller everything feels – good, the less I feel, the more I can put into my mind – my brain; a piece of magic that disregards Dreg and allows for salvation.

The poem is stupidly simple – no, it’s beyond that. It is so simple and lacks all insight or profanity that one would expect a warning or gleeful remark on the end of times would have. Yet I write it over and over again, until my hands grow painful then numb, until my eyes cannot stay open, trying to find a piece of wisdom in 10 lines of simplicity. It is like finding a point on a circle, but that point is so overtly visible that it is maddening that it cannot be found. A point on a perfectly smooth surface that is casting a shadow, and yet when you run your finger over it, only smoothness can be felt. I ran out of ink long ago, and yet I continue to write. When I close my eyes, I can see the words – I can hear them being read out in the strange whistling voices. I can hear laughter, anger, hunger, and vengeance thick in the air, all while being underpinned with a sheer palpable sorrow that squeezes my heart and makes my soul mourn. Pages. I need more pages. I need to keep writing – with each copy, I feel like a step in the right direction is being taken. Food is needed, with sustenance, I will be able to stay up longer and keep writing. I must nourish my mind. I must maintain my body. I will be back, home. Stay here for me. Please don’t go away like last time, I would miss you terribly.

Bodies everywhere; minced, pierced, slashed, broken, bent, blown open, sealed closed, torn, disregarded, blood drained, bloody corpses. Bind together, it says – with who?! Who is still around to be bound together? Stupid, stupid, stupid. Creatures move around in the shadows, out of sight, and waiting for the next person to pass so they can enact on their cruel, monstrous intentions. Screams of those falling into the trap echoes through the air. How annoying, I do wish they’d keep it down or just end it before the monsters can. Is this what it was like during the monster’s heyday before? No… no, they could not enter the planes. Only humans could enter the planes. Monsters could not enter the planes – they would not enter the planes – they could never enter the planes, but now they do. These are not just monsters though. Physically monsters, but their souls and spirits are undoubtedly human. No monster is as great, deadly, and terrible as humans in the right situation and with the right amount of power, huh? At least I do not feel like I am wasting my life away with each passing day. At least my time is not being sucked away by unfeeling humans who would throw your life away if it meant that they could live on – that would betray and destroy for measly dreg. Dreg runs the world, and the world runs on dreg. The cycle has been complete – lies steal from the truth, and it is only a matter of time before the truth comes to collect what it is due. We must have been living in a lie, for this must be truth rearing its head and taking revenge. Why else would we be so powerless? Why else would the universe be so unfeeling? Unfaltering in our demise? Ah, the shop. The door is open slightly, how wonderful.

I jump – the fucking bell. My heartbeats reverberate throughout my body in a rapid series of staccato beats. I pant. Exhaustion. I lean against a wall. Slowly, energy seeps into my limbs. I look down and see the anorexic bruised body of someone on deaths door. I turn to the door and… is that me? I had forgotten what I looked like. Thin. I am so thin and gaunt, a walking skeleton covered in bruises, dirt, and filth. How did I get like this? Has it really been so long since my last meal? The store… the store. That is not me, that is a body behind the door. That is not me, it is a monster mirroring my actions. The store. Paper. Poem. Truth – I need to go.

The store lacks any signs of life. Flesh and gore cover the walls, floor, and ceiling. The items are old and dust-covered like it’s been years since the last person was here. Years? No, that cannot be right. Weeks or months maybe, I did not have the stocks to last for years. Years. Bind together it says, how?! I shake my head and look through the items that remain. Long past perished foods. Dried-up pens. Paper that is wrinkled and lost to time – that shall do for now. I grab the paper – my hand is so… no, that is not my hand. That is something else’s hand that is moving and grabbing the paper. It is attached to me – a worm here to challenge my very psyche. Challenging my very mind. Challenging who I am yet I know that hand is not mine. It is foreign, I would remember what I look like and know if something as simple and common as a hand and arm were truly mine. This is not. No, it can’t be – could never be unless… no, such a thought is useless. Numb, I need to be numb to all of this. Once numb, I can figure out the truth. Wait, what is that? Another door? That was not there previously… how peculiar. A door. A common wooden door built into the wall. I slowly approach it and run my hands along its form. Wood. Hard. Cold. Vibrations. I can feel vibrations through it. There must be something on the other side. I twist the handle yet it does not budge. I stare at the handle. There is no lock here. It just requires a simple twist, and yet I cannot conjure up the strength to do such a task. No, I have the strength, it is this alien hand, arm, and body that lacks the strength! It is caging my body down, stopping my attempts at opening this door for its own nefarious reasons. I cannot let the wicked win, I must get in. I use two hands, firmly squeezing the handle and twisting with my whole body. It strains, my body hurts, my muscles ache, everything burns – a click! The door swings open.

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I am hit with a blast of sound. A blast of colour. A blast of scents. A blast of life. I want to jump back, but I also want to dive forward – my body chooses the latter. The ground quickly embraces my body and face. Is it so soft that I bounce off it, or so hard that my soft form cannot help but bounce? Shouts. Commands. Words. Words, my passion was words, was it not? I have forgotten how to write anything but that one poem. So simple… so annoyingly simple yet unobtainable. Darkness surrounds my eyes. Liquid iron fills and drips out of my mouth. My eyes leak lubrication from faucets dredging from long-since dry wells. My alien limbs writhe and twist in agony, trying to jump off my body and scamper away, but they remain. The cursed things remain. I should cut them off if given the chance, and let my true self come back from its cage. My body grows weightless, gently swaying from side to side. Rocking like I was a child once more in my mothers’ arms. Mother, who was she? Father, what was he? Who am I? What am I? I open my eyes – fumes. Colorful and thick encapsulates the sky and ground in luscious and luxurious purple and gold rolls. Orange and pink fumes waft through the air. It swirls together in a tornado of colour, and I am the storm’s eye. It’s trying to tell me something. Bind together. Bind together?! No, walk the road. Walk the road. The colourful mist swirls together and leaves the tornado black with glistening fiery purple strands running through its form. Bind together. Walk the road. What does it mean? What does it want me to do? When will this end?

“…ello? …you aw…ke?”

My eyes slowly flutter open. The world is black and blurry. A silhouette looks over my head – the only truly original part that remains. The shadow is trying to say something. Its words must be monstrous and evil as usual, but the tone is… different. Concerned?

“Are you awake?”

I groan in response.

“Listen to my voice and squeeze my hand once if it’s a yes and twice if it’s a no. Do you understand?”

Something warm is placed in my hand. I squeeze it. Yes.

“Good! Are you a human?”

I squeeze once.

“Did you come from outside?”

I squeeze once again.

“Is there anyone else with you?”

I squeeze twice.

“Did you fight the monsters?”

I squeeze twice.

“Do you own anything made from Dreg?”

I squeeze twice. There is a pause and a sign of relief.

“Do you feel okay?”

I squeeze twice. No, I should squeeze once. Once is right but twice is what I do. That fucking monster attached to my body, charring to deceive those around it.

“Would you like to stay here until you recover properly?”

I squeeze once. No, twice! Please twice! I need to go home; I need to get back to writing – I have something on my mind – I might forget the poem! The salvation! Please!

“Are you hungry?”

I squeeze once. Just once. I cannot feel my body, it is all numb – why would I feel hungry? Hunger is an emotion that I do not need, I just need enough fuel to keep me going.

“I will be back. You look quite frail and thin, I will be back with a simple broth for you. I assume it has been a long time since you last ate.”

Thin? Me? No, it's this cursed monster! It has taken over my body! Please! Come back, don’t feed it! My heart beats fast. I want to run away, but nothing responds. I cannot even open my eyes. My head is gently raised with the monster's body dangling off my neck.

“Drink this.”

A few drops of liquid is placed into my mouth. It tastes… nice? I cannot help but swallow. I feel… warmth.