20241129 - 19:56
The abyss stares me in the face and I avoid its gaze, terrified of what might become of me. Looking for anything - anything at all - to hold on to. But the lights are fading, and the curtains are closing. A final cry, sharp and shrill, into the night. What use is it? From depths I never imagined existing a pure resistance arises. Running, fighting, anything - just not this, it says. Just not this. If I was in a better mood I would laugh: of course this. Precisely this. Always this, always this. There is nothing else. There never has been. “The illusion of choice.” I want to cry, scream, laugh, perhaps an extravagant outburst of unadulterated rage, anything that would mean release! But no release comes. No more places to hide. No more sneaking away on stray paths. A terror so pure it swallows me whole. JUST GIVE ME ANYTHING, ANYTHING AT ALL, TO HOLD ON TO! No, it says. Purely, simply, as a matter of fact. No.