There is a certain energy that I draw from the place. It is the place I awaken in, when I am still asleep and dreaming. Visions of it's consciousness flash through my exposed thoughts and I attempt to cry in the night. My sensations and emotions have a strong unyielding power here. It sails through empowering barriers that hold me back during waking hours. I hear myself, as if projected into the inside of a barrier of reality, both intangeable and invisible, yet, still very present and noticeable.
How I have become accustomed to this wall... like I am trapped in an invisible bubble around my body, or perhaps, just around me.
I visit this place. Sometimes as a wondering spirit, floating around as a consciousness, as it should be... as it shall some day be. I float around, hover across terrain that was once a place of young, uncorrupted mystery and magic.
The smell of pine!
I fly into the air. Looking out over my loss, I attempt to cry.
Sometimes I revisit my fortress, the way it was... before.
Sometimes, however, the interior light has failed me, and a gloomy haunted fog covers everything I see. I stumble and try to make it through to a destination, but the floor plan of this building is ever-changing. Sometimes the doors no longer cover the door frames and all I want to do is protect myself from an unidentified fear.. an evil. I panic.
One time the ceiling had collapsed in the main room. I stood with others, admiring my shame. The hole it had created was so deep and menacing it looked like it could consume all that were present. As I looked, I realized that there was no end to its vastness. The edges of this hole hung down, imposing on one's sence of comfort. So jagged, with broken, splintered boards, and pieces of ceiling tile, and dread. Slats poked downward toward us, like fangs, ready to consume me.
Even the spirits that I love, cherish and hold in my heart have turned to hate me... They are now sinister shells of what they once were. I try to speak with them, as I once did, but now they are empty. They now only say what I input into them... What I broacast.
HOW FUCKING CRUEL!
When they do speak for themselves they are mean... laughing at me and colding turning away... They were once comforting spirits. I loved their visits. Now they are mindless zombies and with them bring FEAR, and self doubt. They LIE!
What's worse, before I realized that they were empty, they always displayed warning signs: Advice that lead nowhere; Statements which were not true; Other visiters appeared who were not yet dead.
I should have known...
I lived with them for a while. It was strange living with the deceased at first. Eventually I got used to it. 'I live in a cemetary.' -Silverchair. I used to take care of the house, and pay the bills, and they would provide guidance. She would usually stand in the kitchen. I believe this is imprinted from the time we would spend preparing to go out onto the patio. He traveled around. He would appear in other places. - - even places he didn't belong.
Sometimes he would just stand in the corner... watching me.
At some point it occurred to me that I should not be seeing these dead people. I became worried that other people would not understand. I would try to hide their existence. Eventually, I became worried that I may have gone insane again. They became my secret. One of the hardest parts is going from being insane, to remembering that one is not. So true.
Suddenly, I knew that they should not be there, and that it is a probability that they are not there.
One day I finally had the nerve to ask her. 'Are you really who you appear to be?'
She stopped as she was walking across the room and looked at me. She had long sence stopped being herself, but I will never forget the horrible evil grin that spread out across her face, like a small piece of hell and the look in her cold, dead eyes told me more than I ever wanted to know. Then, as my brain went numb with shock and dissappointment, she murdered my hopes with a laugh I will never forget. That laugh used to be soothing and caring. What a horribly inhumane impression.
There are still many beautiful memores that they have not yet turned sour. Because of this, I am sometimes afraid to go back to that place... The place I awaken in when I am still asleep and dreaming...
Thank you for your time.
-sloth
