An itching to pry open my own stitched up head, a need, an unexplainable feeling to tear it apart. I want to know how to explain this pain. This never ending pressure, the madness. It builds with no reason. I can feel the black and red wires that patch it together, uncomfortable and achingly painful. With each breath they grow in my mouth as if made of thorns and my blood tastes of rust. A small thumping noise that keeps me from sleeping, a small metronome that is never-ending. It comes from inside of my skull and grows louder when I sit still, like a pulse that echoes through my body.
The skin over my fingers and palms grow back thicker than before. The scarred flesh on my elbows has spread to my face. My left side and right side are not even at all and nothing works as well.
My limbs were built with parts not entirely compatible with the rest of me, my teeth grind constantly against one another, for I have no control. At the base of my throat is a bump of torn muscle, but when the rain comes I feel it less. The sounds in the darkness take up all my attention, but I can't focus long enough to figure out what they are.
I don't know where I am, for my eyes deceive me worse than they did before. The blisters around them have turned into scales, leaving small black holes around the sockets like deep pores that the blood seeps through.
If there was an explanation for all of this, then maybe I would get better.
If there was a way to understand why I became the way I am, then maybe someone could fix me.
I wish it wasn't so dark. But I wish I could see things again as well.
Able to see things more clearly.
The shadows move and grow smaller when the light is shined towards them, yet I see something. It's small and blacker than the shadow, shiny as if wet and alive. It moves with the same pulse inside of my skull and I'm afraid to stay and see what it really is, but more afraid to look away.
It watches me from its spot in the corner, whatever it is. Is it looking at me? My eyes fall upon it now; do they? I think they do...or do I? And how long has it been?
Two months since the stitches and staples were taken out. My jaw aches for being shut tightly all of this time, but it makes the grinding more bearable, and I feel more relaxed this way, less jittery.
One of my eyes had fallen out weeks ago, but where did it go?
Maybe the creature in the corner took it or the shadows ate it.
The light hurts when I turn it on; it stings so terribly. I had put a large crack in the side of the desk lamp to cause the brightness to dim.
Sometimes, in my own mind I would imagine what was inside of the desk lamp's shell.
Is it similar to what's underneath the skin that coats my body? Perhaps I should make comparisons or test a theory... just a minor scratch here, a little poke there... or a slice into a major vein, some place thick and bloody where the life source flows.
A geyser would spout blood and soak the floor before draining down to white and then nothing at all.
Okay, I'm getting a bit over done with the visuals.
My eye itches...the one still there within the socket, it throbs and aches deep down with each tiny movement it makes, and it stings from the hot tears and puss that run across its surface and then down the creases of my face like small streams.
Like streams running toward an ocean; red, salty waterfalls.
And I cannot even remember what I looked like before...
Only my hands are still the same as they were, but now they shake and twitch in anticipation and fear, as if wanting to help end this torment, they only know one solution.
I feel that this feeling is leading towards death...
What is death? Where does it happen, why must it always come when someone has fallen too low? Why wouldn't it happen the ones who have done this to me?
Death must be something unimaginable. Is it real? How do we really know that it exists?
I want to understand the feeling, I want to explore it. Explore it like the unexplorable pain within my skull, but how to begin? The idea is not new. People have been committing suicide since before anyone can remember, the world doesn't need another person killing themselves.
Maybe the world doesn't want anyone else dying. Maybe... All I need is to solve mortality... a cure for death.
Now wouldn't that be the thing worth doing in life? An ultimate escape from Death. Not that I could actually figure out such a solution... but then maybe Death really has no solution at all.
The blood drips steadily off of the blade now held between the fingers of my left hand.
What would happen if you died? Where do people go once the last spark of life is lost? Do we become ghosts? Do we reincarnate? Or... is it as though we were never here? Never alive at all? A blank slate.
I'm very frightened right now. What if none of that happens, what if once your dead it's the same as sleeping... Dreaming and waking up seems to be a sort of life after death doesn't it? That moment between sleep and awake... What do you experience then? Are you floating in nothingness, unable to wake and unable to die?
I wondered as I began to draw a warm bath. I found some matches and lit the candles around my room, wanting it to seem more peaceful, calmer than what the bedroom light gave off... and somehow, making a confession more dramatic.
In truth, I have absolutely no idea as to why I am going to do this to myself. There really is no explanation to any of this madness whatsoever.
No reason other than that I feel tired and I want to know what death is.
Tomorrow, I'm going to have to go outside once again with this horrendous patchwork face of mine and listen to everyone whisper their small minded theories on my scars, so full of shit and far from the truth. Not a single one has any clue...how badly I was maimed nor how I managed to stay alive through it all, surviving against impossible odds.
It has only made me wish that much more that I didn't live through it. Maybe it would have been easier to die that day instead of being saved by strangers.
But who cares? I am but a walking corpse now anyway. No job. No friends. No money. Nothing at all but these scars and this painful burning sensation that goes on without reason or rhyme. My eyes sting horribly from where the hot acidic tears of sorrow spill across their surface.
The bath water was now lukewarm.
Taking out my pocket knife, I opened the longest blade I had with a trembling hand, hoping that it would slice through thick flesh easily enough, all the way down to the veins.
The pain was nothing similar to the pulsing in my skull, rather, this hurt came like fire; hot and agonizing. I felt each cut deeply into my forearms, slicing with a roughness as though scratching away the scarred flesh like sandpaper, tearing and burning as they peeled away. Blood poured outward in small waves of darkened red; tiny droplets spraying outward upon impact against the bathtub walls, splattering against my skin in specks and dots. But once the vein was cut through, there was only agony which was welcoming to me. Watching the blood spurt from each incision was like watching a miniature fireworks display that quickly diminished, leaving a pool of thick dark liquid flowing.
I almost let out a sigh of relief, finally, my arms were becoming numb, and the pain subsided.
Only moments left of pain, and then, nothing but silence.
I thought about God for a moment.
How cruel of him to let a creature such as I continue to exist in this way...
I've always hated religion anyway.
All lies created by man to feel superior yet inferior to everything else. To be a slave under another name.
The cuts along my arms continued to bleed outward and inward, growing deeper and wider, as my knife seemed to continue cutting long after my grip went limp. It felt like someone else was holding the blade now... like I wasn't in control of my body. But I watched as my own hand guided its movements and felt the sensation of every nerve being slit through.
My arm was shaking, throbbing with an intense surge of heat.
I grew very hot and suddenly feverish. As if my insides were boiling.
Everything became blurry...
But I wanted to keep going; needed to keep going, for just a little while longer, so I could fall asleep with no pain...
Fall asleep in this quiet room... Where it's safe and calm.
But the itching had returned. The itching and scratching beneath my scalp and inside of my brain was overwhelming me with such a vicious force as to make me scream in agony; it trembled throughout my body and caused the pain within my arms to flare up ten fold. There was a ringing in my ears and I could barely open my mouth to breathe any longer; my lungs had grown tight and I felt paralyzed.
For now, this'll do. Though this does not solve mortality, it simply adds yet another question mark to its already existing pile.
But even questions can leave an imprint behind as to solving something...
If there is a point to existence... maybe it is simply to understand that there is nothing at all, but darkness at the end... it begs a lot of questions and answers them quite perfectly:
We don't exist once we are dead. So why waste so much time pretending otherwise? Letting people make us feel bad for our appearance or talk us into feeling guilty for wanting something better than ourselves when in reality we'll never actually obtain anything worthwhile is foolish.
For even dreams aren't real nor are nightmares either and yet both seem more tangible than whatever exists beyond this lifetime.
I kept telling myself over and over until eventually my mind calmed down somewhat even though every bone within my limbs felt broken apart; 'stop crying,' I said sternly against my trembling lips which still bled profusely upon my cheeks and chin. 'Stop crying.... Stop...'
Silence... and blackness swam around me like cold oil before my thoughts ended, I don't want to die... Please don't kill me. Help! Save me. Please. Anyone! Please!
And yet no one came to stop my bleeding nor take pity on me as I drowned slowly beneath red murky water. A paste formed at my mouth; I struggled against it desperately wanting to breathe just one more time... before slipping further downwards into darkness.
Darkness darker than the absence of light itself and emptiness that stretched forever onwards toward nowhere. I would never reach an ending because there was none at all. This torture would go on eternally within me; inside my head where madness resides. In some far corner locked deep down below conscious thought processes lies a part of me which lives without limits.
For it lives solely within insanity alone. That is my true nature: A lunatic; deranged madman driven completely insane by his own tormented thoughts turned murderous.
When did this start? Why has everything gone so wrong with my life and who exactly did such horrible things to me? Well, no matter. I am here now and must act accordingly. I am one with despair after losing all hope in humanity's decency. No human should suffer thus nor die violently from self harm under circumstances so terrible and unfortunate. Not unless their minds have truly broken apart from grief due to horrendous crimes perpetrated upon them beforehand. A constant reminder everyday of their humiliation. Always having people staring rudely upon scars while mocking their injuries. Neverending reminders causing memories unending pain day by day.
And there was also another feeling mixed in among all these feelings of misery that seemed even stranger still. One I'd never known previously until experiencing firsthand such tragic misfortune firsthand—hatred of others' happiness coupled with jealousy toward those lucky bastards whose fortunes remained intact whereas mine had vanished completely overnight like snow melted beneath bright sunlight warming earth anew once winter had passed away once more leaving me behind alone forever, forgotten forevermore unmissed forevermore forsaken and condemned to damnation unending within eternal torment for eternity unyielding eternally denied solace everlastingly damned to perpetual pain incessantly suffering endlessly anguished perpetually aggrieved inexhaustibly distressed immeasurably afflicted.
...
The next morning came, I woke up and wondered when it became tomorrow.
Yesterday or today?
When exactly did time change its meaning overnight? Yesterday was yesterday; today should still be yesterday's continuation.
Time doesn't flow continuously nor evenly like clockwork; it had always been a confusing entity since birth, a concept which eluded many people's understanding especially those who think themselves above average intellect because they could comprehend simple logic easily enough even though most fail miserably attempting advanced mathematics formulas requiring higher cognitive functioning skills necessary in order complete such complex equations accurately.
Time is a serious subject, you see. And not one to be joked about either... seriously now, who takes lightly anything related directly back towards matters concerning death? Certainly nobody sane would consider doing so unless he were completely oblivious or totally ignorant.
I touched my patchworked face and the stitches and staples were back, as if I had never removed them before.
My eye was yet missing, oh, where are you, eye? Or I should say, eye am here for you, I will find you.
My forearm and the murky water had dried up, my blood stained the tub in a dull reddish brown color and I was a pale, cold gray. Like a stone statue.
There are no more matches in this room. I am afraid of the darkness. Yet the light itself hurts me and makes me want to tear the last remaining eyeball from its socket, like pulling a grape from a cluster. I can hear them, they whisper at me, I see their shadows dance about on the floor and on the wall.
The man in the corner was in the bathroom today, it seems. But I was used to it. Wherever I woke, wherever I slept, he'd always be in the same room in the corner, pale and dark and shiny as if wet and very much alive. But I know that this man had no pulse. For he is not a man, but a creature of sorts. Something that is here with me in this house.
Yet again, I failed to die, so I rose from the bathtub. My knees buckled under me, but I got back up. The floor was cold and I heard something scurry beneath my feet.
Crawling out of the bathtub, my legs shook with exhaustion as if I had just run a marathon, but It was simply standing up straight that caused such fatigue. My stomach churned painfully inside my gut making me feel nauseous while trying hard not to vomit all over again.
Every inch of exposed skin felt inflamed and raw from contact with air or anything else touching against any part of my body including clothes or sheets covering the mattress beneath my body laying atop it right now. Everything seemed too sensitive to bear much longer without going crazy. Even the slightest breeze blowing lightly through the window seems unbearable, causing intense discomfort bordering upon agony every time wind brushed lightly across my bare chest where my shirt hung open exposing pale white flesh beneath it.
Ahh... Today is another one of those days. My face will be exposed yet again to the people of the outside.
I never cherish it enough, this little home of mine. Where I get to live in my own darkness, where I get to live without people seeing my face and judging it.
I've had no money for over a month now and there was no food left in the cabinets. The pantry was bare and I couldn't afford to buy anything. So in the end, I had to resort to eating some of those insects that crawled through my floorboards and even then it wasn't nearly enough calories per day needed to keep me alive much longer.
Eating bugs and spiders... what a way to live.
But as for the good news, I am now able to walk out onto my balcony without falling into the ocean, which was what had caused my initial fall last time when this started.
My left arm had healed completely from all cuts sustained during the suicide attempt yesterday morning, so at least I don't need bandages anymore.
I still haven't found my other eyeball however, but it won't hurt anyone to look around with only one eye instead of two... right? I mean who cares anyway? Who needs both eyes open in order to see things properly? What do I lose, depth perception? Pah. That means nothing if there aren't even objects present within viewing distance besides the empty space ahead.
I'm thinking about getting a new job soon, perhaps something involving manual labor outdoors like landscaping work outside somewhere nice where fresh air can blow freely between trees and flowers growing abundantly throughout grassy fields.
That sounds pretty appealing after living indoors all these months cooped up inside alone, doesn't it?
Thinking about it, it isn't very appealing. I don't like the idea alot. offended anyone else nearby either since no one else had shown up yet besides myself who lived alone within this small apartment building anyways.
I don't like being in the presence of people, and my body is a fragile mess. Lifting heavy stuff would probably kill me.
But hey, I'm sure somebody somewhere is hiring right now! Maybe they're looking for a person exactly like me to help out around the yard or clean up after customers at local restaurants. I will no longer have to worry about eating bugs ever again if I land such an easygoing position within walking distance away.
It's a small town and there are plenty of businesses available to choose from. There should be no problem finding something suitable enough for me.
Though... I haven't talked to anyone in 347 days, minus the old cashier lady. I might need some sort of support system if I want to survive out there in this big wide world.
Perhaps a friend or two would suffice as well, maybe even someone willing to go shopping with me or visit places with me whenever we're free together...
A nice dream to have. I laughed, imagining the people avoiding me, afraid to look me in the face or even near it.
In all honesty, I was ugly before the stitches.
The scars and patchwork only made my ignominious appearance worse. People were disgusted by just gazing upon it briefly. Or even seeing it in their peripheral.
No amount of makeup or plastic surgery could ever repair my deformed face back into normalcy. It would take much more than superficial alterations of skin coloration, hair length and style choices...
The more I thought about it, the more I felt the stitches between my skin and the bugs inside fester and crawl beneath my fingertips, poking at me with their antennae and probing with their spiky legs.
I felt along the gash where my missing eye should've been, but instead of feeling smooth tissue like most humans possess upon their heads... It felt as if I ripped apart some sort of thick hide which resembled leather rather than flesh itself.
And when I poked deeper under my eyelid and further inside the gaping wound, it stung painfully for several seconds before ceasing altogether; afterwards I could only experience an uncomfortable numbness emanating throughout my entire head and neck area. As if something had penetrated through bone structure itself until reaching deep down within my brain matter where no nerve endings existed whatsoever.
I went to open the curtains in my room to let some sunlight flood inside, despite the horrible stinging and burning sensation that it caused me whenever it reached into contact with exposed skin tissue upon parts of my body closest to direct rays of light streaming down from above me.
But alas! Alack! I noticed another problem after opening them up completely: There were people out there observing me from afar standing near the sidewalk, watching intently while pointing fingers at me laughing quietly amongst each other.
They must've seen how grotesque I looked earlier without even having to glance over here first. Those assholes didn't care how I appeared visually—they were just curious as hell about what kind of freak show was going down inside this rundown building where nobody ever visits anymore nowadays due to lack of interest within community activities these days...
These mother fuckers!
I swear, my own mortality to be severed and cast into flames at this very instant, if I knew I wouldn't be forced into an undying body, I would have solved mortality by now.
Mortified by immortality. Ironic. Morbidly poetic. But it's my truth and there is no escaping it.
And I couldn't stand being stared at like that by everyone passing by constantly every single time I ventured outdoors.
So I did the next sensible thing—I put on sunglasses and hid my hideous appearance underneath a hooded sweatshirt in order to blend in with all the other pedestrians who walked around aimlessly along streets filled with traffic and loud noises coming from cars honking horns at one another all day long. The sound of car exhausts polluting the air made my head pound heavily every time I breathed in deeply.
The clothes against my skin felt like somebody was tearing my skin off with sandpaper, slowly peeling away layers of flesh little bit by little bit each second. But it couldn't have been worse than exposing my stitched up face to passer-bys every couple of minutes as I walked down the street.
But this was nothing compared to how it felt being outside surrounded by people everywhere I went; constantly hearing whispers behind backs regarding appearance.
I raised my right hand and stared at it for a good minute or two—it still worked fine regardless of everything else going wrong with the rest of me, a demon hiding behind cloth and cotton.
Or rather, a monster. I suppose.
My wrists hurt worse than ever before though, especially right around the area where veins protrude outwardly through the thin layer of transparent membrane protecting inner workings beneath surface level... If I pressed too hard then blood would begin dripping steadily downward toward floorboards below feet.
Ahhh.... Why am I doing this again?
Why do I keep trying to find a way to die, and a way to live forever?
Aren't I already undying?
I'm not so sure.
I should stop overthinking that so much, what I have ahead of me is the arduous journey to get a damn job in this unforgiving economy and failing society, no need to complicate matters unnecessarily...
Everything is complicated already though.
Well yes, but you know what I mean by that statement, I'm trying to say is that I'm just trying to simplify my own problems here, for the sake of others who may have to deal with something similar.
I attempted to welcome what was once known to me as a breeze of fresh air into my lungs once more... But instead inhaling toxic fumes and carbon dioxide produced from vehicles passing nearby instead of oxygen molecules required to breathe normally.
My face felt like someone stabbed needles through it multiple times, then poured acid on top afterward to dissolve leftover tissues away until nothing remained visible upon surface levels.
Visceral fluids oozing outward from wounds left behind by punctures in skin. Feces stained fabric covering portions of body exposed publicly.
I couldn't stand this any longer. Everything hurt too much for words alone to describe. Every part of me wanted nothing but rest and peace.
But I knew there was no such thing as rest nor was there any such thing as peace, not while I lived within a world where a likely demiurge lived above all others and reigned supreme without question. I wanted nothing more than freedom from this life of misery which had become a living hell for me.
And yet, I couldn't even kill myself properly, let alone figure out how to do so without making a mess or causing pain and suffering to do it.
It seemed that no matter what method of death I chose, they were all equally as agonizingly horrible in different ways depending on how far I got before failing miserably.
I needed a way to end myself permanently. Or a way to live a different life. Perhaps a better way.
Or maybe, there wasn't a way to live. Maybe, this was all that life was.
And perhaps, death is not possible either. At least, not in the sense that most people believe in.
I wished to see an angel again. To know there was good in the world. I wished to find a reason for why I should keep trying so hard when nothing seemed to work out right for me anymore...
I've been looking everywhere for something to hold on to but found only despair awaiting at every corner of every street I traveled.
Ah... speaking of corners, there he was again.
In some dark alley, in a corner visible all the way from my front door to the building across from it.
A pale, black and white figure with eyes as red and cold as death itself.
He stared directly at me with an expressionless face devoid of emotion or life, flipping like a comic book between that and a face of absolute shock and terror in an instant, the man in the corner never left me alone. As much as he'd be a scary creature to the people of the outside, he was my only company, my only companion.
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He'd watch over me as if I was a baby in a crib. He would be in the room I'd be in, watching me from the corner with that expression that seemed to have no expression, yet so many expressions all at the same time.
I pointed my head down while walking onward down the sidewalk, avoiding eye contact with strangers and other people alike.
The sunglasses and hood helped a little bit but didn't completely hide my disfigured appearance.
I could feel their eyes burning holes through me every time they looked over at what I wore or saw the stitches holding my face together tightly around edges of each cut.
Some people even had enough nerve to laugh aloud when passing by me without caring about anyone else's feelings toward seeing them doing so.
And even fewer had enough decency to apologize afterwards, or try to comfort me in any way whatsoever.
No one cared how I felt inside anymore, no matter what kind of pain and suffering they may have endured themselves, they still acted as though I wasn't human anymore.
Well, who's to say I was still human?
As if they were superior to me somehow simply because they weren't mangled beyond recognition like myself... As if I was some sort of animal, rather than a living being with feelings just like everyone else.
Thinking about it, had I ever interacted with the man in the corner? I had forgotten entirely whether I have ever even talked to him. Have we even exchanged any sort of verbal communication between one another? What does his voice sound like?
My line of thought had been interrupted by a familiar voice greeting me, "Patchwork, how are you doing today?"
I looked over towards the sound of that voice. There she was again—the old lady from yesterday, smiling at me cheerfully as always.
She seemed friendly enough for someone who worked behind the counter of a convenience store where I bought my groceries once or twice a year whenever I had the chance to, or got left-behind food from the store to feed myself, but it was hard for me to feel comfortable talking with anyone nowadays after so long.
"Oh, hi... I'm doing fine. Just out getting some fresh air."
"That sounds good! It must've been lonely living alone all those months."
"It is, yes," I said quietly while looking away slightly. What do I say in a conversation like this? Her smile is oppressive and her friendliness is a facade of a facade. "It's nice seeing you again though..."
"Likewise! How's your day been so far?"
Yet another question that caught me off guard. What should I say here? Am I supposed to lie or tell her the truth about my day thus far?
"It went pretty well overall. I mean, I'm still alive, right?"
She chuckled softly before continuing our conversation further, unaware of everything else going through my head right now as we spoke together while in the middle of the sidewalk surrounded by strangers walking by every few seconds, "Oh come on, don't get too negative on yourself like that!"
"I wasn't being negative," I replied calmly before adding something else under my breath, "...Simply that it was just an observation."
She nodded once then began talking again, "So anyway... You said you were out getting some fresh air, huh? That must be nice, I'm sure it must feel refreshing after staying indoors all day long, am I right?"
Right... "Yes, yes it does."
"That's great!" She exclaimed happily, "I've been meaning to ask this since we first met the first time actually but... What's with your face? Why do you wear sunglasses and hoodies every time you go outside?" Her smile is condescending.
My mind froze completely at her sudden question. How should I respond to that? Do I lie or tell her the truth about what happened to me back in the day when everything started going wrong? Could you people not get a fucking clue and stop talking about it?
No. I'm done with these questions. Fuck these people.
"Nevermind that, what about you? How has your life been lately?" I asked quickly changing subjects before she could press further.
"Well... Not too bad really, nothing new happening around here as always which makes things pretty boring!"
"Ah okay..." I trailed off slightly, unsure of how to proceed with the conversation anymore, and then remembered, I don't want to talk. Most of the time I don't, besides I need to look for a place to apply to for work. This was too tiring. "I'm sorry to end the conversation short but I've got somewhere else I need to be soon," I half-lied through my teeth.
She seemed surprised by my statement and nodded slowly in response, "Alright then... Good luck with whatever you're doing today."
I turned around without another word spoken between us, leaving behind the elderly woman behind me who stood there watching silently from across the street waiting patiently until I disappeared into the crowd.
One bird, two birds flew past my vision as they went overhead. I looked upwards at their silhouettes soaring high above us; those below.
They reminded me of freedom in a way; something I'd never had before even once during all those months spent alone within this city filled with pests and parasites that crawled throughout its walls.
But still, no matter what kind of suffering one may experience while living here amongst everyone else, they're not free either. They are stuck inside their own minds just like I am trapped within mine. Even in happiness, one can be stuck in their mind.
And so are those birds above us, trapped inside an infinite cycle of flying endlessly through the skies until eventually falling back down towards the earth where they came from, only to begin the entire process once again... that's what freedom truly is: a cage without bars or locks. An illusion.
A cruel trick played by nature upon itself for no reason other than it being natural instinct to do so.
It doesn't make sense does it? No, it never makes sense anymore. Not when you've experienced certain things like I've had done to me. It changes everything about how you perceive reality around you... Even your perception of self-identity becomes skewed due to traumatic events occurring within such short periods of time.
Freedom is a densely populated wasteland filled with corpses piled atop one another; decomposing bodies rotting beneath hot sunbeams shining brightly down onto pavement covered roads where bloodied carcasses lay strewn across its surface.
Red liquid stains everything around it, soaking deep into concrete cracks and crevices creating pools of crimson sludge underneath your feet wherever you step next.
Smell of burnt flesh hangs heavily throughout the air making it hard to breathe properly; the oppressive weight of freedom thinks itself a privilege, like an undeserved reward given out to those who haven't earned their place yet...or perhaps they have already been punished enough by having to suffer through some horrible ordeal beforehand?
Either way, freedom seems like nothing but torture most times rather than anything resembling pleasure or enjoyment. Freedom is the same as being lost, except you can't go back home nor do you know where you even belong anymore; which causes panic and anxiety to take control over your thoughts leading ultimately towards depression resulting from lack thereof purpose or direction left remaining inside oneself afterwards.
Regardless...
The streets were busy as usual; crowded with people bustling about everywhere as they try desperately to avoid bumping into others, or stepping on each other's toes accidentally during their daily routines (which often includes pushing past one another rudely). But I wasn't concerned with them at the moment. Instead, I focused solely upon my own task ahead, ignoring everything else around me for now including that strange shadowy figure watching silently from behind some building corner somewhere nearby.
I kept walking forward without stopping for several minutes longer before finally coming across a large sign hanging above what appeared to be an office complex entranceway ahead of me:
JOB
FAIR
NOW HIRING
EASY JOB - EASY PAY!
FIND THE JOB OF YOUR DREAMS HERE
IT'S ONLY A STONE'S THROW AWAY!!
DON'T MISS OUT ON THIS WONDERFUL OPPORTUNITY!
JOB SEEKERS CAN APPLY INSIDE AT THE RECEPTION DESK NEAR THE END OF HALLWAY TO MEET OUR TEAM LEADER AND GET AN APPLICATION FILLED OUT QUICKLY & EFFICIENTLY!!!
ONLY TAKES 5 MINUTES TO COMPLETE APPLICATION AND BE IN PLACE FOR YOUR INTERVIEW WHICH WILL BEGIN IMMEDIATELY AFTERWARD!!!
THE JOB IS SO SIMPLE ANYBODY COULD DO IT JUST SIGN UP NOW WHILE SUPPLIES LAST!!!!
PATCHWORKED INDIVIDUALS ESPECIALLY ENCOURAGED TO APPLY
DID I MENTION THAT YOU DON'T NEED QUALIFICATIONS TO START WORKING HERE?
YOU WON'T GET THIS KIND OF OFFER ANYWHERE ELSE IN THIS TOWN!!!
It seemed too good to be true really; how could someone get a job this easily? Especially since it looked suspiciously as though nobody had even bothered putting up any posters advertising such event taking place... But maybe, that meant there was more availability to fill a position somewhere here after all?
It also got more and more... enthusiastic, as if they really needed an employee... No, like they really, REALLY needed an employee... This could work out well for me though, I'll get the help I want without wasting much effort doing so.
It was odd though how they mentioned the thing about Patchworked individuals being encouraged to apply for the job opening here...was this advertisement tailored specifically towards people like myself? How did they know I am even qualified enough to work in such field yet? Who sent out those advertisements anyway... Oh well, nothing could be worse than what I'd already gone through throughout the two years previously right now. At least I'm still alive, so far anyway...
I proceeded further ahead inside the office complex building itself before arriving at the front desk receptionist area where an older woman sat behind a computer screen, typing furiously away as her fingers danced like lightning against keyboard keys in front of her face.
"Hello! Are you looking for something?" She asked politely while glancing upwards from behind thick framed glasses perched atop bridge of nose.
Her voice sounded friendly, yet distant. Somehow as she continued to speak, it felt as though she was reading off cue cards instead of actually conversing directly with me herself...
Something didn't seem quite normal about this situation either: Something sinister lurked within the depths of her words hidden beneath surface level observations and emotions displayed by facial features visible to casual observers.
Was I thinking too much?
No, no, no. These people still cannot be trusted. I am here for my own life and goal.
"I-"
Though I was about to speak, she interrupted me with a scream of disgusting laughter before saying,
"Aaaah! Haha!! You're Patchwork right??"
My heart sank low within my chest as soon as those words left her lips... Why would anybody want someone else calling me such names? Especially not strangers like her. Why must people continue to do this to me, is it too hard to be normal and treat someone else with decency and kindness rather than treating them like dirt beneath their feet? It hurts enough just trying to survive day by day without having others making things worse for me every time they look at or talk about what I've become due to all that's happened...
How can anyone possibly understand how painful it is when you lose your own identity overnight because some psychopath decides you were worthy of being torn apart into pieces then stitched back together again? How can someone possibly comprehend the agony involved with losing parts of yourself one after another over a period of weeks, months, years...or decades?
My face must have shown the dread that was building inside me. She immediately spoke again,
"Hey, don't worry. It's alright! We are here to help people like you."
People like me. The same exact words I had heard many times before from different people who had approached me out of the blue and tried to hide that snicker in their voices. I don't need that.
"I see..." I responded quietly without making eye contact with her, "So what do you want from me anyway? What kind of job is this place offering?"
"Ah! I'm so sorry for my informal... ah, introduction! My name is Aldema! You can just call me that," Aldema continued speaking quickly while gesturing towards a large sign hanging behind her which read:
WELCOME TO OUR JOB FAIR! PLEASE TAKE A NUMBER AND WAIT IN LINE FOR YOUR TURN TO APPLY FOR THE POSITION OF CHOICE! WE WILL CALL YOU WHENEVER WE'RE READY FOR YOU!
It looked suspiciously similar to the one posted outside the building's entrance...but there wasn't anyone else around here besides myself and the receptionist sitting behind her desk now.
This seemed strange to say the least... why did I need to take a number when there were no other applicants waiting in line ahead of me? Perhaps they had all gone home already?
No... No. There was nobody here when I first walked in. Not a single soul except the two of us at the moment; what the fuck was going on? Where did everyone else go off to after seeing that sign out there advertising such event taking place here? How come only one person showed up today out of thousands of possible candidates living nearby within this city alone?
Her smile and gaze went deep into my soul. I felt it pierce through my chest and twist into my heart like a sharp blade. But it was a false smile, I saw her eyes, it wasn't happy at all, her eyes were full of disgust and malice.
I can see the eyebags under that make-up... Aldema...
What am I thinking? This woman isn't to be trusted. She is just like everyone else who pretends to care about others but doesn't give a shit when it comes down to actually helping them out in any meaningful way whatsoever. No matter how much she may act like she wants to help, I know she really has her own selfish motives hidden away, just like the other assholes that I've seen so many times before in my life.
"I'm not sure I want to apply for anything here, nevermind." I said slowly, turning my back towards the front desk receptionist and began to leave.
"Ah! No, no, please! You have to at least fill out this form! I can't let you walk out of this building empty handed! You don't need qualifications, you'll fit right in!" she insisted, holding up a sheet of paper with a pen attached to it.
I looked over my shoulder at her, yet again... what should I say here? I was beginning to feel stressed as deep down I could sense some kind of strange pressure building within the atmosphere around us. As if we were both trapped in some invisible cage where time had frozen completely.
I was in a room of my own.
The pen in her hand floated, I was all alone and it was completely dark outside as if the world itself was sleeping deeply while I stood alone, watching everything unfold from afar like an observer looking through the lens of a microscope or a telescope. I could hear her voice still echoing throughout my ears but she wasn't anywhere near me anymore, and I could see that the receptionist was no longer behind the desk either.
There is something wrong here... something is wrong about this whole situation... why does it feel as if I'm being watched by something else? Am I losing my mind again? I thought I had gotten over the feeling of insanity and the need to kill, to hurt myself, to end it all even if I couldn't.
The man in the corner was there, he was sitting near some kind of black mass. He seemed more human in appearance than he did previously.
The black mass moved, as if it had been alive, and then it began to take the form of a giant man-like creature that looked very similar to a human being except for its lack of eyes and mouth, which disturbed me greatly considering it was able to communicate with me somehow. "Ooooohhhhhh..." it said in a low, gravelly tone while staring at me intensely without blinking once.
What the fuck was that? Why do I keep hearing voices now? Why is my mind going to shit again?
"Ennnnncumbbbbbeeeerrrrr," the monster continued, "Encumber." Its voice seemed to echo through my mind and I felt as if I had heard that same word before in the past. I couldn't help but think of the creature in my dreams from when I was a child...
It said this exact same word... now that I think about it... 'Encumber', is it some sort of demonic name or title? I don't understand any of it anymore. My thoughts are scattered and chaotic and I'm having a hard time staying focused on anything for too long.
My eyes fell back upon the creature standing in front of me and it stared directly into my soul with those long lanky limbs that it has... so many divisions and segments, its arms are covered with little hands and fingers that seem to be reaching out to me, trying to touch me.
I'm not afraid. I don't feel fear, but I'm not sure what to do next or how to react to what is happening right now, I'm completely lost in myself. "W-wait..." I managed to stutter in response, feeling overwhelmed by everything that's going on around me.
The man in the corner was no longer there, he had vanished and left behind only a small patchwork of shadows that looked very much like himself. Was this him? Or was he the shadow? I was confused, I didn't know what was going on. "Encumber" the creature said once more and I felt a chill run down my spine. "Yooooooouuuuuuu haaaaaaaveeeeee beeeeeeeen eeeencuuuuuumbeeereeeeed." The creature said and I could hear its voice reverberating within me, as if I was some sort of a reflection or mirror that was reflecting back at the creature. It spoke slowly and clearly but it seemed to have a very limited vocabulary, which was strange to say the least. It almost seemed as if it was talking in a foreign language or a code of sorts...
Couldn't be a foreign language, what am I, stupid? I am understanding its words, just not the intent.
It did not move from its spot and it didn't seem to be breathing, or even alive. "Y-you are..." I stammered, unable to find the words. "Naaaaaaammmmmeeeee..." the creature replied, "Naaaammmmeee.... Paaaaatchwoooooork?" The creature asked and I felt my skin crawl as I heard that name being uttered by something other than myself. It sounded like the name of a person who was long dead and buried.
"N-no. I am not..." Though I wasn't at first, fear began building up in me after hearing that name.
"Liiiiiiiieeeesss! You liiiiieeeee!!!" the creature said angrily, its voice growing louder with each syllable until finally reaching a crescendo of fury that made my ears ring and my head ache with pain. "You liiieeeeeeee!!!! YOU ARE PAAAAATCHWORRRKKK!!!" the creature screamed and I could see the rage burning in its eyes.
My body was shaking uncontrollably now as the creature continued to scream at me. I tried to speak but no sound came out of my mouth. "Whhhyyyyyyyyyyy? Whhhyyyyyy liiiiieeeeeeee, PAAAAAATCCCHWOOOOOOORRKKK??? WHY DO YOUUUU HATE US???"
The creature was now standing right in front of me and I could feel the heat radiating off of its body, and I was able to see it better.
Ah... is that what this is?
Its body was fully covered in stitch lines that were crudely stitched together, leaving behind a trail of scars all over the creature's body and face.
The stitches were not perfect by any means and there were some areas where they were missing entirely or were simply not visible due to being hidden underneath clothing or skin flaps that had been sewn together so shoddily, but nonetheless, they did a decent job at holding everything in place, albeit barely. There was an area of skin around its neck which had been cut open from the front of its throat, revealing a large patch of muscle tissue and a gaping hole in which I could see a pulsing heart, that was also pieced together. Hell, I could see pieces of metal jammed in the veins, its chest was a mess. A jigsaw of skin and bones.
It didn't look human in the slightest, even its very eyes were stitched and wired and stapled together, it looked painful to even blink as I could see the eyelids bulge and twist and fold when it closed them.
Its hands were completely different, it had many small fingers visible on each one of its five hands. They looked like they were made out of a combination of bone and metal, with the fingers being able to move independently of each other.
I raised my right hand to touch its cheek, "There, there," I said softly, feeling a pang of guilt for what had been done to it.
"Encumbers is to be hated," I said.
"Paaaaaaatchwooooooork..." it responded quietly as bloody tears streamed down from its shoddily put together eyes.
Its body began to become more and more transparent as the bloody tears dripped down to its chin and fell off onto the floor where they formed into small pools of crimson liquid which then slowly dissipated away into nothingness.
I am not sure why this creature had such a reaction when it saw me and recognized me. I do not remember anymore... but I know I had once met this creature before, before it was a mere 'creature', when it was human.
But that is impossible.
How could I ever have been acquainted with this monster? It makes absolutely no sense to think that we have ever known one another.
The monster seemed to be in a state of confusion as it continued to stare at me, and I felt the same way, but it was also at peace.
"A-"
Yet another time, my words were cut off and the light came back.
"Sir... Patchwork? Patchwork, sir? Hello... hello?" It was Aldema, she had snapped me out of that vision. I was no longer in the dark room, I was no longer with that creature, that thing.
Ahh, I'm tired, my legs are weak and my mind is foggy and confused and I don't know what to do next.
"Aldema..." I called, "I-"
But then I realized, what was I supposed to ask of her? These people were not to be trusted... Right. And why was I even mentioning her name, as if she were a friend?
This is the result of being such a lonely bastard for over a year. This is what I get.
My legs gave in and I collapsed on my knees, hitting my kneecaps hard on the hard floor, though I didn't even flinch from the pain. Aldema stood up and rushed over to me, "What happened, sir?! Are you okay?!"
The pain from my kneecaps nearly shattering was excruciating but I was so exhausted and worn out, I didn't care. It was almost like I was anesthetized.
"Nothing," I mumbled, "I just tripped on my own two feet... An...d...." I couldn't finish my words before my head then hit the ground, my skin shattering from my skull and blood flowing from my head and mouth as my consciousness began to fade.
There I lay, blood gushing out of my head as my patchworked head was slowly being ripped apart by my fall. But I was not afraid, I did not feel pain anymore.
I was dying. At least that's how I saw it.
I was finally going to be put to rest, to sleep eternally, perhaps.
...
I woke up, the air damp and my room dark. I know where I am this time. I touched my head and took notice of the fact that my wires and stitches are still in place…
Still unable to die, huh? Why?
I tried to stand but found that I was unable to move. It seemed that I had lost the use of both of my legs for the time being, so I had no choice but to lie down on my bed.
I never pondered the question, but who is it that keeps placing me back in this room when I lose consciousness or end up injured and unable to continue living?
My face was a mess and my arm had fallen off from my left side. I could feel my right hand twitching every now and then, and I knew it wouldn't last very much longer before falling apart as well. It looks like some of those taken out staples and stitches should've stayed, but it helped me, at least have some housing in the end.
My head was aching and pounding and my thoughts were becoming more and more difficult to focus on.
But, what now?
I couldn't just lie here forever, could I? I had to get out of this room eventually, I had to find a way out of this nightmare.
I could see something above me, in a high corner of the room there was a figure, no, a creature watching me from its place near the ceiling.
I couldn't tell what it was exactly because it was too dark, and I could barely see anything besides a pair of bright red glowing orbs looking back at me with an expressionless face. Ah, right. It was the man in the corner.
He never really left me, he was always there watching me.
The figure spoke to me in a voice that sounded like it belonged to a child. It spoke slowly, and quietly, yet firmly.
"It's time," it said to me.
"Time for what?" I asked in return, feeling confused as to why I had to talk to a thing on my wall, but my curiosity got the best of me anyway, it wasn't like I hadn't talked to myself or inanimate objects before.
Though, I surprised myself by how I managed to speak to this thing for the first time ever without any manner of speech impediment or difficulty whatsoever.
"To die." it replied calmly and matter-of-factly as though this were nothing new or unexpected. To die...? To die, to die, to die, to die.
"I thought that's what I've been doing," I said in reply, though I didn't even know if it was true or not, I was just repeating words that seemed to be floating around in my head at random intervals without rhyme or reason.
"No," the thing on the wall responded, "not like this."
My vision began to blur, my mind was becoming hazy and everything started to become increasingly difficult to process.
"Like how?" I asked.
"A distant sky that is dark and cold." The man in the corner answered me. "It's very cold there, and it's very far away from here."
I didn't quite understand what he meant by that, but I could feel his presence fading away slowly until finally, it disappeared entirely leaving me alone again.
A distant sky, a dark sky, a far-off place, a place where death is a blessing and not a curse. I want to go there...I need to get to that place...
I closed my eyes and drifted off into a deep sleep.
...
I dreamt of it, I dreamt of being in a world of eternal darkness, I dreamt of the end, I dreamt of a distant star that shined brightly above a vast black ocean. It was the only source of light for miles around me. It was as if the star had been dying. Isn't that what happens, after all? Once a star dies, it goes supernova, or fades out, or turns into a black hole, or something like that.
And yet this star was different from any other star in existence, it was the only one left shining in all directions and it didn't even seem to care about how far away it was from anything else. It was simply in its own little corner of space and time where nothing could reach it. It was alone.
I sat down on a large rock, looking out over the endless expanse of water before me, gazing up at the solitary star in the distance. Oh stars, how I miss you, when had I last seen you?
I watched as the waves crashed against my rocky seat, feeling them gently lap against my legs and feet, the water warm against my cold, dead, corpse-like body.
My vision began to blur, and my mind began to become hazy and foggy.
The dreamscape changed, I was no longer in the middle of the night. The sun had come up, and the star had disappeared from view. The day had arrived.
There was a faint smell of salt hanging heavy in the air as a gentle breeze blew through the air around me, carrying the scent of the ocean along with it. The waves hit me harder, and the sound of crashing waters became louder as they hit me harder and harder, until finally they were slamming against the ground beneath my feet so hard that it felt like my whole body was being shaken by the impact, which was odd, because I didn't even have a heartbeat.
Why did that matter anyways? It wasn't as if this place was real.
My head began to pound, my heart began to pound. It began to beat rapidly and erratically.
My eyes grew heavier and my vision began to fade in and out.
Why was it that every dream was so short, yet so painful to live through?
Had this been the result of my horribly put-together brain? I felt like I was being tortured for no good reason. This wasn't fair, it wasn't fair.
Why must I continue to suffer through this nightmare?
It hurts so much to watch the sun rise, to watch the day pass by, and then to watch the night come once again.
"Then you should kill yourself," a familiar voice spoke.
I turned to look at who had spoken those words, but all that greeted me was a black void of darkness. No one else was there with me except for my thoughts and feelings.
"You were never alone, Patchwork, you were never alone," the man in the corner's voice echoed in my head, "You're not alone now."
My vision blurred, my eyes were beginning to water.
"Then where are you?"
"Right here."
And there he was, the man in the corner. He stood before me, a pale faceless man. He was no longer faceless, though. His face had become a mix of everything. It was grotesque, his face was no longer flat and featureless, but instead it was covered in a mixture of flesh and bone and cartilage and blood vessels and nerves and sinews and veins and arteries and muscle tissue and fat deposits and connective tissues and cartilages and tendons and bones and skin.
All these different materials were all jumbled together into a single mass, with each organ being a part of some larger organ system.
He was no longer just a single faceless creature, he had transformed himself into an entire collection of interconnected parts that were held together with a myriad of stitches, staples and wires.
Was he mocking me?
Not that I cared.
This was all just so strange to see.
I reached out my right hand, the only hand I had left and I touched his shoulder. It didn't feel like anything. It didn't even seem like a living thing.
"I am sorry," he said, "I can't help you anymore."
"What do you mean? You are granting me eternal sleep, right?" I asked, confused and scared at what he was saying to me, I had been hoping to finally be put out of this hell, I didn't know what to do.
"No," he said.
"Why not? Why won't you allow me to die?"
"You defied death already by your own doing, you are the one who did this to yourself."
"Are you blaming me for wanting to die? Why are you blaming me for wanting to die?!" I asked, my voice becoming louder as anger rose within me, but my voice cracked in between words.
"Sznthmir, Encumber."
Sznthmir.
It was a word; a name that I knew very well.
Sznthmir, the goddess of death, the embodiment of death, the one that grants life eternal. She is also known as 'the great mother' or 'mother death' and is also called 'the mother of the damned' by some people, though they're wrong. She's not a monster, not some evil entity. She's simply the end of all life, and the beginning of the afterlife. She is death.
The name has always stuck with me since I first heard of it from my own father. I remember hearing it so clearly from him as a child. And yet, it never really made any sense to me. According to him... If memory serves right, death was once a human woman warped by her own suffering, who then became the god of death herself... She was supposed to have a child, but it died while still inside of her. She came from this exact same town as I...
Is this my curse? Or was this the curse of all those who lived in this place?
Was she my fate? Did I choose to follow her path, did she force herself onto me? Was she responsible for me? Or was she my own creation, and this was all a product of my own doing?
Right, I was nothing more than a mere puppet.
And I hated it, I hated every second of this torment that I was forced to endure, I hated every single moment of being unable to escape my fate, and I hated every single person in this town, and I hated my father for not telling me about any of these things.
"I am tired of living." I said.
"You are tired of living, but you can't die."
"I am sick and tired of this torment." I replied angrily.
"You are tired of this torture, but you can't die."
"I just want peace, and quiet, and solitude." I begged him.
"Your life is a lie. Your mind is broken. Your body is rotting."
"Then end it."
"You don't understand," the man in the corner replied, "You are not ready for death."
"Then what must I do?"
"Live, and let live, Patchwork." The creature said as his face slowly began to fade into the background once again, "And remember... That there is no such thing as a perfect world. There are no such things as a perfect ending."
And then he vanished completely from view. The man in the corner was gone. He had disappeared from my sight forevermore, leaving nothing but emptiness behind.
...
I understood less and less as the days, the weeks and the months went by. I died continually and my wounds would not heal themselves properly. My face continued to decay, my skin fell off my body, my flesh rotted away and my bones cracked. The only reason why I wasn't dead was because my mind kept going back into its normal patterns, despite how horrible and painful it was to even think anymore, but my mind kept on functioning and it refused to shut down no matter what.
My own soul hated me, my ego hated me.
I found myself wandering through the city streets at night, searching for food in the garbage bins that littered the streets, but there was nothing edible in there. Not that it was of importance, I had long stopped needing sustenance, and the pain from hunger was something I was all too familiar with.
I had met many a patchworked being like myself, I granted them death.
And I remembered every one of their faces. I remember the sound of their screams, I remember their cries of agony, I remember the way their eyes widened when they saw my patchworked body, and the way their lips trembled as their final words were spoken to me.
"You were supposed to save us!" One of them said before I tore into their throat with my own bare hands, feeling the blood rush from their neck and spraying out all over the floor and my face as the blood flowed out from the hole that I had created in their throat with my own fingers.
"A-aahhgghh... Dear... S-sz...nthmir..." Another patchworked cried out before dying in my arms after being ripped open by me.
"P-please..." a patchwork begged as it fell down to the ground and clutched its stomach as the intestines spilled forth from its open belly and poured out onto the floor.
Not many of their final words were anything memorable, but I remembered them all nonetheless.
"I... don't wanna die... please..." Another one begged as it laid on its side, writhing around on the floor in agony.
It was all the same to me.
I had become numb to it all, I knew it now, what was meant by 'death is an illusion.' I didn't die, because I was never truly alive. My mind had been destroyed and rebuilt so many times that it had lost any sense of individuality or consciousness, and I was nothing more than a collection of thoughts and memories.
All I did, all I was. All I am is nothing but one of the many messengers of death, my own death that I could not grant myself. Is it salvation? Or is it damnation?
I always wondered, what is the antithesis of Freedom?
It is Conformity.
Is there such a thing as a perfect ending?
It is only a dream, a delusion, an ideal, a fantasy. It is something that can never exist.
I walked off as I picked up an eye off the sidewalk, placing it where my left eye should have always been.