der absoluten Zerrissenheit
Eulogy
A homage to The Upturned
pondering what almost-was
[My back hurts.]
Stop whining. You've annoyed me enough already.
Aren't you satisfied with yourself?
[My head won't stop ringing.]
It's a shame.
You've outlasted the inn. Its lights flicker, but yours remain bright.
The emergency power won't last much longer.
I don't know what I expected.
Useless.
You're the last. The inn has never gone so long without a guest. They flooded this place day after day. This place was once a crowded, screaming building. Every single one of them had something they desperately wanted to return to. Family, friends, pets, places. You have no idea how they desperately some of them begged Ikabod to go back, as if he could do anything about it.
He got good at letting them down gently. Or so he tells me. Not like it matters.
I tried to help them. I have been here a very long time. I've seen it all.
Everyone comes here eventually. From the most entitled to the miserable husks. All of them are the same. They want an out.
Wouldn't you?
Ikabod thought he was giving them what they wanted. Community, companionship. A sad echo of what they once had. The sentiment rang hollow after the first few million.
They don't know what's good for them. What does he expect them to do? Entertain themselves in this hellish labyrinth? The outside is lawless, but this is hardly the safe haven Ikabod paints it to be.
I began with the most willing. I told them I could kill them and they begged me to end this limbo.
Eventually they were left hopeless husks, and I could do nothing more to them. I sent them back to their rooms to rot. Doors locked. Floors isolated. With so many people, it was easy to pick them off. At first.
Their numbers dwindled. I began preserving what little was left. Fear spread; Ikabod had his complaints about it all, of course. Every untouched guest became a commodity, carefully picked apart.
I tried to make you last, but time has told me which of my methods work, and which don't. I can mangle you all I want, turn you into glass just to shatter you a thousand times, I can try to beat the screaming out of you, but none of it changes anything.
Stop staring at me like that.
Stop crying.
Don't you understand? This was never going to be the safety you craved. I tried to help you but you never believed me. Even now, I am aware this is hardly working in my favor.
I'm sorry.
Why do I even bother.
I hope I never see your face again. Alow, alow.
[This must be what death felt like.]
[The pain is blinding.]
[I am tired. I fought so hard and yet I am here.]
[I hear things out there.]
[Something drags over the top of the cage.]
[It rattles it so hard I feel it in my bones.]
[I still have bones, don't I?]
[Biting the bars sends lightning through my teeth.]
[I can't stay like this forever. Even if I wanted to.]
[Metal creaks apart like old wood.]
[The air smells of a house fire. It itches.]
[I try to move. Something emerges from the dark and digs its teeth into me.]
[I scream. Movement comes easier with the fear.]
[Something drags me freely across the floor. It is coarse and unfinished.]
[Something sinks its teeth into my leg and pulls.]
[The darkness is alive.]
[Something snarls. Maybe it is me, but it does not sound human.]
[My throat burns.]
[My mouth sticks to itself when it closes. The teeth do not fit together as they once did.]
[It tastes foul.]
[I don't want to be torn apart.]
[The pain is familiar.]
[So is the reflex.]
[The agony of moving and breathing will be worth it.]
[It's not like fighting has ever changed anything.]
[I don't want to die.]
[It's a temporary relief.]
[I -- - ---
[Something strikes my head with incredible force.]
[- --]
[I am awake.]
[I don't want to die.]
[I cling to what is familiar.]
[Tastes like ash.]
[I cannot walk well. Any movement away is good movement. Though it hurts.]
[I am dimly aware of the fact I am falling apart.]
[If I dig my fingers in tightly, I can grip the imperfections in the concrete
[Thinking of the future is nigh impossible.]
[It's an elevator shaft.]
[I can escape.]
[It has always meant an escape.]
[Yes. I can escape.]
[I can claw myself to someplace safe.]
[I still feel as if I will die.]
[There has to be something beyond this.]
[Please.]
[This is no place of rest.]
[The cacophany is left behind but my head still rings.]
[I have survived, and for what?]
[To be torn to shreds?]
[There is a world beyond this one and it is dead.]
[I saw it end.]
[But I'm still here. Isn't that something?]
[May I live even after all this has died around me?]
[Is this what my luck delivers me?]
The world was made better with you in it.
A shame that yours ended so soon.
It is nobody's fault. You cannot live with it but you must die with it.
[This grand nothing?]
[As if a life lived any differently would have resulted in any change in this ending.]
[I did what I could.]
[There was good here.]
[There was
light.]
[Odd color. I remembered yellow.]
[Familiar.]
[Maybe I can see him again.]
[My body gives out on flat ground. It is covered in concrete dust and leaves.]
[I heave for air but my heart doesn't stop pounding.]
[My flesh flakes off in the wind. It is cold. The moon shines bright. I am vindicated.]
[Dizziness keeps me from standing.]
[The door to the
hotel? inn.
bunker?
is broken off its hinges.]
[The breeze tickles. I've missed it.]
[Is it nice? Comfortable?]
[It is welcomed.]
[In the distance, bells ring. Like wind chimes.]
[My head is heavy upon my shoulders but I raise it. There are things out there.]
[They stampede and screech and tear through flesh like
that's not right.]
[Nevertheless it is a thing to confront. Whatever I must to do rest.]
[Maybe it is relief from the storm raging down on me.]
You were
loved.
You
are loved.
[Not that it sounds angry.]
[It rings of birdsong.]
[I miss birdsong. Not the cawing.]
[Maybe it is only a bird.]
[I stand. I am shaking.]
[There is something out there.]
[I stumble to the door. I cannot walk well. There are things out there. Everything hurts. My flesh flakes off in the wind.]
[The fallen door's glass prickles underfoot.]
[I stop to rest. I rub my face but my hands do not twist and bend like they used to. Claws unwittingly snag into my face and I recoil.]
[The sound that tears from my throat hurts.]
[The trees creak. Branches snap and fall but I barely hear it over the storm.]
[The leaves are scorched to dust.]
[A light flickers through the dark.]
[Even with the distance, I feel the air warm.]
[It is comforting.]
[I stumble out of the inn. Lose my footing.]
[It waits.]
[When I am on treaded grass the storm softens.]
[Nothing is ever quiet for long. Nothing would dare to give me that peace of mind.]
[Even now as I approach the light I hear it buzz like lights.]
[Its warmth angers me.]
[Why does it sit there, scorching my eyes? Why does it come now, when I am left alone and hurting?]
[Does it not know? Care? Does it want to kill me?]
[I want to kill it as everything else in this land has tried to kill me. It has done nothing to deserve it.]
[Hurting and being hurt is exhausting.]
[That thing is neither a reward nor a punishment, but simply is.]
[Blind chance.]
[That thing cannot be touched.]
[It burns too brightly. It singes my
fur? It bristles.
This is not skin anymore.
It singes me.]
[But I will not run from it.]
[May I rest after.]
[Please.]
[At the very least I will look at it when it incinerates me.]
[The warmth is familiar, at least.]
[I behold a pale horse.]
And even when you are nothing left,
not even in death,
I will remember you.