I really wish, more than anything, that I was scared right now. Terrified even.

But I'm not.

I remember a time when those errant thoughts used to chill me to the bone. I'd chastise myself harshly for even thinking about it, crying my soul out at the very thought of it. Oh how I wish I was back in those days. I was burdened back then, but nothing a hardworking and motivated person couldn't correct. Now? I'd long since passed the days of being able to see a future for myself. What's the point? I'm not happy. I haven't been for a good while, and quite frankly? I hate this world just as much as it hates me, if not more. Which is saying a lot.

Recently, I've even grown too tired to wear my mask around people. I quit exercising my funny, optimist persona out of the sheer exhaustion that acting so contrary to what I actually believed took on me. With it, I lost the little value that society had afforded me. Even my cynical self was impressed at how quickly I was cast aside once I no longer fit societies mould. It only took a couple of days for people to stop asking me if I was alright, of which I was thankful for. Their half-hearted pestering only cemented my beliefs. People absolutely loved to lend a helping hand, given that they don't actually have to go out of their way at all. Just a few meaningless words and they leave believing they've done their good deed for the week. Their never-heard-before platitudes single handedly lifting me from the pits of depression.

I wish.

A little part of me wanted my so called friends to fight tooth and nail to rescue me from whatever ailed me, but I knew that was unrealistic, for a plethora of reasons. They had stopped inviting me to things rather quickly, and again, I couldn't find it within myself to care. The majority of the time I spent with them was wondering how long I would have to stay before I could make a reasonably believable enough excuse to go home. Their abandoning of me was completely understandable. I used them, and they used me. Some might call it shallow. I fundamentally disagree. I think it was probably the least shallow thing I'd ever experienced. It was a complete acknowledgement of human relationships, and their inherently transactional nature. No pretence of love or caring, and for that I was truly grateful. You wouldn't keep a broken vacuum cleaner because you had a prior relationship with it. The broken is cast aside to make way for the new. It brought me a fleeting feeling of joy to have my beliefs proven.

And yet, these beliefs are the reason I hate this life, this earth, so much. Ironic that I was pleased when it turned out I was correct that the earth was so shit. The realisation was but another nail in my coffin... literally.

Heh.

I'd realised one morning a few months ago that I no longer cared about people thinking I was okay. I no longer had the empathy that used to have me try and make them laugh, just so that I wouldn't burden them with my true feelings. Maybe some of you reading this can sympathise with this. Or is it empathise? I can never remember. Regardless, not many would say it out loud, but people fucking hate being around depressive people. Nobody wants to be around a sad cunt. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not angry at that, nor do I blame them. I agree in fact. It's the same reason why I put this mask on all that time. Positive energy begets positive energy, negative energy begets negative energy.

Needless to say, it didn't surprise me the reactions I got when my mask slipped.

"Stop moping about all of the time. You're depressing me. just smile." See, usually, on the rare chance that someone would catch me by myself, and I hadn't time to prepare my homemade slightly-amused, yet restrained smile, this was where I'd give them a toothy grin and say something like "Moping? Me? I think you need an eye test Mark. You are cracking on in age after all." And then we would engage in some playful banter, me using canned lines I had thought of months beforehand for this exact scenario.

But when it happened to me last week? I couldn't even bring myself to respond. I didn't smile. I didn't do my usual, half-cheek raise, that would flatten my eyes into crescents, apparently showing I was slightly bemused at his comment. I didn't do anything. I just sat on his words, ignoring his follow-up that I can't even remember, until he left the room.

"Just man up. How bad can it be?" Yes, Karen, just as you overcame your trauma when your husband disagreed on the type of flowers you would have at your wedding, let me overcome my trauma in the same way. With a massive holiday and a few mimosas.

So that brings us to today. I... I-

I folded the letter and placed it on top of the wobbly nightstand. It wasn't finished, and by all rights I had more to say, but honestly, I couldn't be bothered with it any more, and quite frankly, it was becoming more vitriolic than I'd like. I think they'll get the general point of it anyway. Or maybe not. But again, I don't really care.

I didn't bother making it out to anyone. I have no family, and I only tolerate those that I call friends so that people wouldn't be weirded out by me spending all of my free time alone in my flat. Making it out to any single person would only be negatively affecting their life, for no particular reason on my part.

Not to worry, I figure the cleaning lady will find me in the morning. I hope she didn't find the hetfy tip suspicious. And that she would forgive me for the trauma. Or did I? This was the first consciously selfish act I had taken in how many years? Decades even? I felt quite giddy at that realisation actually. It felt like I had a choice for the first time in my life. That I finally got the best of fate.

I lay my head against the aging headboard of the creaky motel bed, twisting the cap of the pill bottle until it came off in my hand, and downed the entire thing with a hearty swig of vodka. This was something I had decided on a long time ago. I think I was eighteen maybe? 

'If you're gonna go out, then you may as well trip balls as you're going.'

I still held that sentiment. Just because I'm offing myself doesn't mean I can't have a little fun with it in my last moments. Haha, I remember when I had first come up with that. I was keeled over in a fit of half-laughter, half-crying.

The pills were already kicking in it seems. Quicker than I thought. Not that I had any experience with drugs or hallucinating, but the portal that had ripped itself open in my motel room seemed to make the answer obvious. I marvelled at it's design. The feats that the human imagination was capable of were truly amazing. A black line, thinner and darker than anything I had previously seen in my life, drew itself steadily down from the ceiling of the, albeit it short, motel room. It stopped out of my vision, I assumed on the floor, but my vision was blocked by the foot of the bed. A rumble began. Beginning at a low thrum, and working itself up into an almost earthquake level thundering. The cause soon made itself known, as a number of monstrously large blood-red fingers forced themselves though the thin black line. One of the jagged, serrated, and sharpened nails that tipped each finger found its path blocked by an oak bedpost, the claw barely noticed, cleanly carving through the structure as if it wasn't there. Prying the portal open with great effort, the fingers tensed and shook, struggling massively against the assumed weight of the portal, the numerous small cuts along their hide leaking an almost maroon coloured blood. A small splotch of said blood spat from the tip of the foremost finger and landed not a foot away from my head, impacting against the cheap headboard.

Craning my neck away to avoid the mass of blood, I used a hand to dab at the small amount that had splashed across my face, my attention still fully focussed on the human-head sized bloodstain on the headboard.

My jaw dropped.

The blood was much more viscous than you'd expect. I'd previously watched snake venom's effect on blood online, and this reminded me much of that. The blood was more akin to goop, making its way slowly down the length of the headboard, but what really made me surprised was the acidic nature of the blood. The headboard was being eaten. It sizzled and sputtered, chewing through the headboard and gaining pace as if it was a hot knife through butter. A really hot knife.

It took me much too long to remember that I currently had some of this liquid smeared on my face, and with a weary hand, I touched the surface of where it had landed and felt... Nothing. No pain.

As I expected. 

I wasn't going in to this experience unprepared. I had done my research on the method and the drugs I would use. And even the nature of hallucinogenic trips. If you allowed it, a good trip could turn into a bad trip in a matter of seconds, and that was clearly what was happening now. I could see a less prepared man being tricked by his brain, believing that he was truly being eaten by some kind of mysterious trans-dimensional blood-acid.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

Wait.

Blood-acid?

Ah. As in similar to the infamous alien in the movie I had watched last week? I had researched that also. Just like a dream, your brain would take both conscious and unconscious memories and stimuli in order to influence your imagination during drug-fuelled trips. Nothing out of the ordinary. 

I let out a genuine ear to ear smile. I knew I was right. This was the right way to go. I hadn't had this much fun in who knows how long. Possibly ever.

With the opening of the portal, the objects within the room reacted instantaneously. The curtains ripped from their rail one by one, zipping inside of the portal and across to the who-knows-where that the portal lead. The lamp followed soon after, only pausing briefly as it tugged once on it's cord before being yanked from the socket and following the fate of the curtains. Even the bed I sat on scraped harshly across the floor, only stopping when it met the immoveable mass of the fingers. The lamp shade from the ceiling light whipped into the portal, the light fixture itself only bending to the will of the portal, and not coming loose.

It wasn't long before even the locked motel door began rattling, threatening to fly from its hinges and join its brethren within the portal. I gave the scene a last once over before releasing my iron grip on the headboard. Giving my arms a quick wave, I realised I wasn't being pulled by the vacuum of the portal. Obviously. I don't think feeling as if gravity was doubled was a particularly rare hallucinogenic side effect, but having a portal drag you sideways, now that might be a first.

To think that all of this was happening as I lay comatose on the bed, frothing from my mouth. Awesome. I'm glad that this is the last thing I will ever experience.

You hear stories of people jumping, or otherwise, and when they were rescued they would always say "As soon as I jumped I realised how easy my problems were to fix. I'm glad I survived.".

I wonder why I'm not having those thoughts. If anything, I'm much happier that I chose this. This experience is probably one of the best moments of my life. Truly fun.

I stood from the bed, the covers and pillows eagerly joining their friends within the portal, no longer anchored by my weight, and walked over to the insanely large opening. I noted that I was walking quite stable for someone in my state, but the largest likelihood was that I wasn't even walking at all, and only imagining these events with half lidded, rolled over eyes.

I raised a hand and touched the vanta-black portal.

Cold. Very cold. So cold that I reacted much as you do when you touch something extremely hot, but no matter how much I pulled, my hand wouldn't come free of the substance, in fact, I was being pulled into it. Like quicksand. The more I pulled and struggled, the deeper my hand was being sucked into the blackness. I foolishly pressed my other hand on the portal, subconsciously seeking a leverage point to push my weight against. I couldn't even regret my mistake as I was swiftly drawn into the portal, and only managed a quickly drawn deep breath before my face was dunked into the void.

I can't remember how long I waited with bated breath, afraid that the void would be devoid of oxygen, eager for the darkness to give way to something else.

Is this...? Is this it? Is this death? The drugs were really kicking in now. Even though I was surrounded on all sides by an unknowingly deep blackness, with no way to orient myself, I could feel the room spinning, my eyes feeling as though they were stuck in a loop, moving back and forth without pause. I frothed at the mouth. I willed my arms to wipe it off, but they didn't seem to care for my instructions, only spasming erratically in response. I could feel my mind being peeled from the current situation, the complete darkness disallowing me from knowing whether my eyes were open or shut. I'd heard similar stories from drug addicts online, they could be in the most important situation of their lives, but alas, their mind wandered, and their consciousness ended up in a different plane entirely, completely apathetic to their current circumstances.

I dreamed.

It was a strange and grandiose dream, unlike any I'd ever had before. I was watching myself fall from a great height, completely without control of my movements. I could physically feel the air brush past my skin, but It didn't phase me, somehow intrinsically, I knew this wasn't me. For a reason I can't even describe, I knew fundamentally that I was detached from this version of me I saw falling, and thus, I watched it similarly to how one would watch a movie, mostly unconcerned with the fate of this person. It helped that this version of me was probably a decade younger than I currently am. Perhaps my subconscious telling me that my trauma started from the age of thirteen? Who knows.

The clouds zipped past, and the world made itself known. Great plumes of smoke towered into the skies, and my doppelgänger adjusted himself just slighty, his body falling diagonally for a while, narrowly avoiding flying headfirst into one of those plumes.

The world got closer, and I looked down onto what now made itself clear to be a grand battlefield. Skirmishes were being fought all across the upturned brown flatland, but not by tanks and artillery however, the groups seemed to be fighting head on with each other. A mounted group cleaved their way through their enemy, their impact visible even at my height. Imagine if ancient strategists could view a battlefield like this.

The din of battle was drowned out by the overwhelming rush of air, the ground getting closer with every second. I descended... I? No. That didn't feel right. How could this be me if I wasn't even in control. No. This was... Aralmann. As is normal in a dream state, the first thing to come to my mind was set in stone, and thus my doppelgänger became Aralmann forever and always. Aralmann continued to fall, tucking his arms by his side to quicken his descent, now hurtling towards the rapidly nearing earth. His adjustment from earlier had flew him away from the centre of the battle, landing him inbetween a mass of currently waiting warriors. When the earth had become only tens of metres away from crushing him into a paste, he flicked his arms outwards, and completely unlike you'd expect from a human doing such an ineffective action, his descent actually slowed to a controllable degree, only forcing him into an awkward, stumbling landing amid the troops, instead of outright flattening him into a me-flavoured mancake.

"GAGLEG KOR'PET DU MAGSKE!?" A reverberating shout bellowed through the battlefield, outright flattening some of the smaller troops around Aralmann. He ignored the shout, choosing to survey the scenery before him instead.

These troops... they were orcs.

At least as I could best describe them. Overly large, tusked, dim-looking humanoids. I suppose there was one distinction to be made, which was their blood-red skin. I'd also noticed that I... Excuse me, Aralmann, was stark naked.

"GAGLEG KOR'PET! MAGSKE!?" Aralmann seemed to notice the roar this time, meeting eyes with the creature that had issued the shout. A monstrously large twin-horned Devil. It's blazing yellow eyes bore down a force upon my soul, giving it the impression of being larger than it already was. It stomped a pace forward, which was a sizeable distance for something as massive as itself, the casual swing of its arm batting away a group of careless red-orcs that were unlucky enough to be distracted by the commotion enough to forget to move out of the way of this beast. Orcs vaporised at it's touch, what was once their innards became outards, splattering messily over their comrades, which only turned to invigorate them more, the now even-redder orcs bellowing a gurgling warcry, weapons raised high. The hands it used to make orc-smoothies were more beast like than the hands that had pried open the portal I noticed.

"You know not to whom you speak, half-blood. This Great One's words are too valuable to be wasted upon such a pitiful dog as yourself. Perish."

So... Aralmann has a little bit of an ego...

Aralmann waved his arm, and the Devil marched forward, visage twisted in unrestrained fury. Devilish and orcish howls assaulted my ears, similar to when the start up music in the cinema was set just a little too high, and would jolt you out of your seat. Aralmann didn't seem to mind. The Devil continued forward, lowering his hulking mass into a short stance in order to- No.

The Devil was falling.

The colossal body smashed into the ashy war-ground, sending a wave of soot barrelling throughout the surrounding area, along with a deafening bang.

"I am exhausted so? After only dealing with such an inconsequential foe? By Araleve, what have I become? I apologise, boy, I can not guarantee your survival through this. Hold steady, and you might even live. You had some poison within your system so I cleared it up for you. Sorry, but I must hand it back to you now."

I felt a sucking feeling, similar as to when I had entered the portal, and before I could question it, my body was back in my control.

I managed only a brief, confused grunt before my overworked muscles spasmed uncontrollably. The mind-splitting headache rendering me unconscious before my body even hit the ground.