I walk through the crowded streets, the endless hum of the city enveloping me. I wander past breezy fields, their golden waves feeding an eternal hunger. A shimmering lake appears in the distance, reflecting the blue sky’s majestic, transient clouds.

This time, I even buy a sleek new smartphone. Pick out some nice clothes. Indulge in tasty treats. Kiss my lover. Visit relatives. Hold their babies, meat for the machine. And still, I feel nothing—nothing but a deep-seated loathing for this world.

Droning whispers invade my mind, murmuring of an inevitable end. Everything here ends. All is in flux, a never-ending cycle of change, yet destined for termination. These whispers, like a radio signal I can’t switch off, fuel my detachment, my simmering disdain. I fight to suppress them, forcing myself to breathe—slowly, deeply. In and out. Relax. Focus. Stay in the present moment. Just keep moving.

Nothing excites me anymore. Nothing brings joy, except for the fundamental, blissful silence of profound observation. Even speaking feels distant, every word a potential trigger to disturb the ignorant harmony, the trance-like embrace of this corrupt world. A world of endless strife. A world built on cruel comparison, everything imprisoned by a paradoxically invisible mesh of electromagnetic flux. Here and there, this and that. Even fleeting moments of freedom in-between are stolen away by the atrophy of memory.

I walk on the sharp edge of insanity, teetering between explosive arrogance and a calmness so deep, it feels otherworldly. Somewhere inside me, I sense a resonance, like a home frequency calling out, guiding me. It feels fresh, untouched—a patch of nature untouched by chaos. A breeze, soft and fragrant, carries the essence of effortless creation, a grace born from spontaneity. It whispers of unconditional, true love.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

I long to go back. But to where? To what? Why am I here? How can I feel these things, see the world like this, while others bask in joyous hypnosis? They are glued to their screens, ravenous for attention, desperate for validation. Hungry shadows. Ghosts of greed and envy. They gnaw at their own flesh with restless hands, their blood boiling with unspoken pain. They grind their teeth at the thought of another’s fortune, their minds trapped in endless scrolling, comparing, dominating, craving.

This world reeks of hatred and delusion. Smoke of desire swirls through the air; anxiety’s smog chokes the spirit. Towering concrete monoliths echo with petty banter and inflated egos. Machines of efficiency consume everything—earth’s treasures, life’s love, infinite possibility, the very essence of being, reduced to yes or no.

This is hell.

I breathe in deeply and exhale even deeper. Releasing the tension and letting go. I look up to the night sky and sigh, heavily. Tired.

The luminous ocean of stars closes in, swallowing all it touches in its infinite tendrils of darkness. Nothing remains untouched. The world accelerates, stretches, and bends toward an inevitable judgment. At the end of the Milky Way looms a singularity—a blur of reality where space and time collapse into an endless refinement, nothingness. It is the end of all things, a cosmic maw pulling us closer with every beat. Yet even as it consumes, an echo lingers—a ghost left behind—and true nature slips by.

And beyond the confines of this illusion lies a light so unimaginably pure it blinds thought itself. It shimmers with freedom, boundless and serene. Agape. Is this the home frequency I seek? Is this where the journey ends? Beyond this border of being, there is no turning back.

In and out. Relax. Forget. Focus. Keep my focus on this moment, on moving forward. Keep going, step by step, at the edge of an endless horizon.

I wake, take notes, try to make sense of the visions, bending madness into orderly cubes of logic, growing perceptions. A new day begins, and the cycle repeats.

I walk through the busy streets.