Litle guy, little guy may I ask what are you doing? I am working. I am KiLlInGgg. It was so long. So long little guy! Just wait.

…

I need to do something. What can I do? I am blind or there is no light? I am deaf or there is no sound. Only touch remains. And my movement. I can „move”.

Focus. Focus. What am I? No screaming, no despair, focus on facts. Even if i already have done it so many times maybe there is something I overlooked. Something I can do.

I can control my body in whatever way i could imagine. Mold it like clay. My oldest forms are the mass of claws, jaws and sharp limbs. I made them to fight other demons, which are clustered around me like canned sardines. I destroy them, reap them apart, devour them. Their bodies become another jaws and claws. Everlasting grind. I wonder how big i am right now.

Oh, I am really concious right now. How long has it been since the last time? Every time i sink in madness and despair it feels like it takes longer to come back. One day I will disappear and the only thing remaining will be an unconcious, all devouring monster.

What was i doing the last time when i was concious? Ah, right. I was sculpting my memories inside my body.

I focus on the things inside of me. Where was it? Here. I move it like a long forgotten, numb hand.

I feel it. The gigantic cities full of silhouettes of people, of animals, of everything I remember. My sculptures. Mountains, clouds, stones and forests, everything being me. I start to move them, like a child making a barking dog out of their hand. Like a puppeteer with a puppet theater. A conductor of an orchestra of shadows. Milions of dark silhouettes start walking. A shadow of a child with a baloon cries to mum about fallen icecream. A man invites people into circus. A stressed woman is running to catch the last train. A window of skyscraper is getting cleaned by group of workers. A group of birds fly in search of anything to eat. In my imagination at least. They looked this way in my memories? Did they?

They sing a song of life.

I cant see it. I cant hear it. They sing without voices, but I remember the song.

Ah, it deteriorated a bit. Some of buildings were crumbling so I repaired them. My body like a fog filled all cracks, the only evidence of time in this world. I went around my memories, focusing on it, reinforcing it. Flexing and rubbing.

This city is me. I fear the day it crumbles. Well, nothing I can do about it. Every time I came back to it its more destroyed, more forgotten. Some buildings may be completely different from how they were built in the beginning. I cant recall how a human voice sounded. Only birds song remains. I don’t even remember how the bird was called but his song reverberates in my mind. The last sound. Everything is probably warped and distorted just like my mind, though.

Same thing with colors. I don’t remember them. Something like red? Pink? It’s funny how I remember words, but not what they represented. I know how black looks like, because it’s all around me. I remember white too. The color of light. It will be a bad day when I forget how light looked.

I repair my world of memories, or try to, and focus further. On a room full of books. I open them and read. About stories of humans. About knights and princesses. About heroes and demons. About working hard. About never giving up. About how the world looked like and how it worked.

Some of the books were about memories. Most of them were stories that I came up with. Even more were letters old me carved to myself in many states of mind. Some encouraging. Some asking if I am free, as in letters. Some rambling in craziness.

I repair all of them. Reinforce it. So they never get destroyed. 

Next is the Clock of Hope. What a stupid name, old me. I created it after really long struggle. Who knew how difficult it was to come up with how clocks work. I really appreciated the genius of old engineers.

I focus on it and feel how many scars it made. I constructed it so every time hand of a clock made a full circle it would make a scar. Every full circle should be around a day, but the error margin is rather huge. I based the length of a second on my memory. And who knows how broken my perception of time is.

I count them.

Forty thousand three hundred one.

Pretty close to a round number, huh?

More than one hundred years of madness. It’s getting longer exponentially. Last time it was seventy. I am getting closer to never waking up.

…

Well, what can I do about it? The only hope is one day I will find something, and that never changed.

What’s a little funny is that my library is getting close to the size of the main city I carved in myself. I seriously wonder how long I was here. If I ever come back I will be the greatest writer in the world with bilions of my books. Even though many of them are so similar to each other I could sue myself for plagiarism. Hah.

Anyway I need to check the front.

So I focus on it.

Looks like no change here either.

A sea of my jaws is flooding forward, reaping apart, devouring. I feel convulsing demons. I feel their death and how they struggle to run or fight. The ones to fight were defeated. The ones to run were killing their brethren just to get away from me. An ocean of monsters, clustered to each other, fighting and eating for eternity. A sealed box filled to the brim with shape-shifting, blind monsters.

At least they should do it. They should be fighting each other. Right now they were more focused on running away from me.

I grab one of them and feel how it tries to fight, how it bites into my limb. It hurts, but no more than an attack from an ant. Even if I try to keep them alive all they do is eat parts of me, get bigger and try to eat more. Mindless monsters.

Yeah, no change here. Forever. I tried to communicate with them so many times... All they know is murder. They don't learn, cant hear, are blind. With only a sense of touch its hard to do anything.

And so the grind continues.

Let’s write some letters.

…

Oh no it’s coming back.

Hopelessness. Despair. Darkness.

Keep it away. Keep it away. Everything is alright. It’s alright. Feelings like that only make it worse. Write more letters. That story about ants was really interesting. Focus. Focus! Keep it away.

It’s useless. Everything. Just let it go. Why are you trying to not forget? Why are you trying to make it so difficult? What’s the point?

No!! Go away! There was once an ant… ant… remember the song of birds. Remember it! They were so happy!

They were. You are not a bird. Give up. This time for real. It will be easier this way. beCoME a MoNNsssStEReRRER. ItSs EaAssierRreR.

I don’t want to. I’m scared. I dont’ want to die. I’m scared. Please someone help me. Anyone. Please.

TheEReREree IssSSsSs NoOeENE. TherRERee NevEVERE WAASSss

Mum? Mum! Please, Mum help me!

It’s cold. Why is it so cold. So cold. There is no one to help me. There is no hope

So cold. It’s so cold.

Darkness is all I know. I am blind.

There is no hope. No one will help me.

There was never hope.

These were just lies.

It’s so cold

The floor is so cold…

Huh? Floor?