A Beauty

See the world being translated
into a language that is forbidden
by our father, by our son
by our spirit that is shaking in disbelief
into this land we fall
into this hole we swim
deeper and deeper into a trench
a city underwater
soaked in the remains of the extinct
who once lived great lives
shaping the world into earth
molding the earth into graves

A city underwater
with structures of perfect cuboids
barely touching the heavens above
an island of paradise
a shadowing cloud of darkness
obstructing the blinding white light
gifted to them by the sky
the sun and the stars
photosynthesizing the blue
pink, red, yellow corals
cheerfully humming to the sorrowful tune
of a disappeared light
"we were born together
and will die together
because we love each other
but what is love?"

The underwater people
head of a fish
eyes of a cat
lips of a horse
flippers of a tortoise
body of a gorilla
tentacles of a squid
shell of a lobster
feathers of a peacock
truly a beautiful species
an amalgamation of the brightest pearls of life

extinct

I walk along the corridor
of the office on the twenty-fifth floor
of a perfectly cuboid tower
as the structure no longer reaches for the heavens
not even barely there
a mile away
maybe five miles away

I have not sunken deeper
nor have I risen towards the surface
yet I am suffocating
as I walk along the corridor of elevators
painted with an arid yellow-orange tint
the humidity of the room is being swallowed
by the parched sapphire-laced chandelier
as I choke on the driest water
consumed by the waterless sea
the elevator door splits open
and my sight fixates onto
an underwater person
with their fish-head and cat-eyes
a question leaks out of their horse-lips
"Is beauty
truly extinct?"

I enter the elevator
my mind clouded with thoughts
lost in a labyrinth of endless questions and
meaningless answers
as the underwater person squeezes my hand
with their tortoise-flipper
as their gorilla-body suddenly embraces me
as their squid-tentacles wrap around me
my face flattened by the hardness of their lobster-shell
as the elevator rises
but we were already
at the
topmost floor

As we break through the roof
the ceramic elevator walls and floors
melt into glass
as we continue rising
the underwater city bares its naked self
a thousand perfect cuboids
arranged in a perfect matrix
and squeezed in between them
are the corals who were philosophizing about love
the millions of intelligent corals
focus their gaze onto me and
the underwater person
who is now me
who has always been me
as I bring both hands together
clasping my palms
I tilt my fish-head upwards
as the sun and the stars
are gradually within my reach
I spread my peacock-feathers wide apart
red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet
as I pray to the heavens
to welcome my presence
like a rainbow piercing the atmosphere

"I came from a perfect sea
to deliver a deep prayer
just for this, I have rose free
and our city now lay bare,
help us plant love in a tree
shine your light onto our air
our rainbow corals shall plea
for us to be in your care,"

As days have passed
as weeks have flown by
as months waved goodbye
I walk along the corridor
of the office on the twenty-fifth floor
I sit at my desk
I stare at the scary horde of numbers and letters
on my computer screen
I sigh

The same cycle
over and over again
it is always me
it has always been just me

I get up from my desk
I walk towards the elevator
as the door splits open
I see no fish-heads
I see no peacock-feathers
just a red coral
a blue coral
too many colorful corals
humming to the beautiful tune
of a returned light

"Beauty cannot
be extinct
for you are
the truest beauty"

"You are beautiful
because of your love
towards us
towards yourself"

"Thank you far too much
for you saved our lives
now, let us save yours
please, don't go..."

As those words make their way
into the depths of my conscience
my cat-eyes redden and
I cry.

Catharsis

Free me from these chains of darkness
and shine a light onto my gut-wrenched heart
clobbered into a ball of loneliness and foreshadowing
my future dusty shelf
filled with all the bonds that I've broken
and this light will finally reach the end
of this obstructed tunnel
free me from this never-ending spiral
deeper and deeper into this dreadful womb
the wounds on my beloved body
like knives drenched in some cold-hearted fear
shattering the glass wall that separates me from
whatever beings that are walking in the outside world
crawling up my scrawny limbs
wiggling into the orifices of my ear
as the blood of sorrow tearfully leaks out
of my demonic eyes
slithering on the gravelly floor
as if chasing a shadow filled with hope
yet I will never belong in that fearful place
like the birds of heaven gliding through
the sea-blue skies of invisible clouds
as I scream with a spirit of defeat
"where are the clouds?"
"where are the clouds?"
"where am I in this world of pain?"
the scars of love root me into the soil
like an earthly tree of mother nature
nurturing me into a human of humans
as if I were a wild ape of regret
but what will this world say to me
when they witness the mind of a fragile self
weak, miserable
like a clawless sloth sleeping all day
on a branch made of sand
lifting itself up onto the thick air
slowly choking on the scent of wisdom
as the stuttered words leave its mangled lips
like the musical notes of peace radiating from the
prison cell of reprise
of a former drunk state of mine
a peephole to a mind
lost in space
as I slowly walk away
you stop to hold my hand
and talk to me
and talk to me
and talk to me

and there is nothing I can do
but release all this tension
these emotions
and as I kneel and beg for forgiveness
all my pains
flow away into the deep blue sea of love
onto an island
far far away
never to be seen again.

A Sleep

The shining line screams a melody of neon rainbow light, in pairs of the starkest contrasts; black-white, violet-pink, brown-beach, blue-...red? They radiate too far outwards, towards my field of view, invading the corneas of my tired eyes, penetrating my soul with a blinding radiance of happy feels and blissful tears... why am I sobbing?

So I stroll along the sidewalk in the most fuck-all way, lips bursting open into a sparkling grin, boasting the privilege of having wide... teeth? I mean, sparkling teeth, wide grin?? I feel the wind dragging my hair backwards, like a rough tug, and I pull back and I am now bald and shiny and naked. The Lord Sun melts my pointy head. I am now a candle being lit. Waxy me.

I seep through the metal grills shielding the sanctity of roadside drain, so now I am an acidic substance in a green, slimy sewer, drunk from love and attention. I ponder about society's expectations. "I will have to call in sick today...""why""I'm a melted wax in people's underwear, swimming in my neighbor's dogshit and fucking roaches..... .""so what""." brother please chill and swallow ice"

An icy wax I am, with my greatarms pedaling down the esophagus. I am a porridge, neither human nor thing. I am a stable system. I surf along the peristaltic waves, as I hum in sinusoidal pitches, mm mm mm i'm a singer of burps and groans. She moans with a low wavelength, like an ultraviolet ray cancerously analyzing my baptized heart.

I chirp to the dancing tune of humans chattering, spewing treble clefs from their bass lips, their sixteenth-note pitch masking their whole-note tongue. I hammer their xylophone teeth and they told me, "more, my friend""     i am pure and kind and i love myself"I vomit black goo into their paperwhite silkthroats, flattening the bumps and curves, 3D to 2D to 1D

And when I look around me, I realize, I'm drowning in a sea of one-dimensional puppets; the strings on their shoulders and knees and necks taut as the chess pieces jump and murder across the earthly board. 

An earthquake. 

Every

thing f

all

s a

par

t

as I

fall

A

SLEEP

The Lightless Field

Disregarding all attempts at
trying to walk the same road as others
as our twisted hallucinations of those
colorful smoke
rises and vanquishes
these rainbows are vomited
from the empty eye sockets
of those standing lifeless bodies
with mouths wide open
and their hands hugging their own chests

Well, this is what we are seeing
nothing much, nothing else
the world spins yet we are
trying to stay still
like a withered tree
witnessing the slideshow of the starry sky
dark, cold, yet glittered with hope
but we will never get there
forever rooted to dirt

Just curious
how are we supposed to know who we are
if all we do is melting our wooden selves
motioning this... stillness
to occupy the holes that others have dug
for themselves, by themselves
like a defective raincoat
the holes are worn over us
as the storm presses down onto us
squeezing and shaping us
until we can barely fit
until we can exactly fit
the depthless hole
and like the hole
we become nothing

Stinking putrid scent of a skunk
vomiting into my nostrils, now I've debunked
the myth that all
our lives are in pain
the world is spinning
so who are we
but this fantasy inside our minds and souls

Shivering in this broken concept

day after day

night after night

our lives are broken in this

hated prison
trapped inside this room of cobwebs
three gray walls
and a row of steel columns
blocking all light from seeping in
as we fall deeper and deeper into this
h
o
l
e

Road to Extinction

Gutless like a rotten fish
swimming in our
deep-fried dish
soaked with bleach and peroxide
a pure angelic white of
absolute nothingness
a true lack of emotion
reflected by our
lack of proper motion
when witnessing a cruel butcher
sever all the blood vessels
all the bonds we formed
with fellow beings like us
now where do we belong
how could we persist in this
hallway so oblong
so lightless, so scentless
when the more we walk
the more we see ourselves vanish
the true essence of our very being
deteriorating into white dust
molding into the very air
that is choking us, killing us
yet we are still alive, witnessing
the very ash made from us

With their filthy hands, they vanquish
the very identity of who we stand for
what we seek
does not align with their goals
for we are but walkers
of the roads they carved
using the hands of others, ripped away
from the battered, putrid bodies
of those blinded slaves
eyes stabbed with a blunt knife
melted into their molten graves

For we are but walkers
losing sight of who we are
the pupils of ours, whiteness
and our faces now featureless
as we march, coated in white
the cape to shield us from the
cremated soot of what remains
of who we are, of who we sought to be
yet, what follows us are the pains
of not even having scars to talk about
of no longer having stories to tell
as we embrace the snow that was
once us
we only speak about life that was
once ours.

Silver Line: The Suicide of Lysa Black

Silver Line:
Chapter 1: The Suicide of Lysa Black

- This is a work of fiction -

- TRIGGER WARNING: Story contains content that can be disturbing and/or distressing for individuals that are affected by themes of depression, suicide, anxiety, and/or other mental health issues. -

I sit on the oddly-shaped cushioned chair, slanted inwards in such a way that my knees are higher in space than my bottom. I look around. The office is enveloped in a very deep, very menacing shade of silver, like that of a blade about to commit suicide. Commit? Is suicide even a crime? Should suicide be classified as a crime? People argue that suicide causes the same amount of sadness to the families and friends of the "victim" (who in this case is also the "perpetrator") as that of a murder victim. Yet, how is it a crime to feel so dead, so unmotivated inside, to feel trapped and judged by those inner demons and sentenced to what seems like an eternity of self-hatred and self-abuse? How is it a crime to be convinced by those demons that you are worthless, that no one loves you, that you are unneeded by everyone, that you are a hassle, an unnecessary distraction to the supposedly perfect lives of others? The perpetrator of the "crime" should be the demons, not you, so how is it fair to say that someone "commits" suicide when the one at fault isn't them, but the demons in them? 

The same demons are in all of us; it's just a matter of whether we can control them or not, whether we remain unknowing of their existence, or whether we realize and acknowledge their existence, or whether we are overtaken by their brutal, unwavering, life-ending dark power.

It is only right to refer to the act of suicide as someone having "completed" suicide, not "committed" suicide.

And it is only right that I ponder about suicide while waiting for my interview session, as this is not just any company, but this is the world's largest and most influential corporate, with branches in literally every nation and state in the world, whether they're in hundred-story towers like this one, or underground networks operating more similarly to black markets and drug dealers than an esteemed household name. A corporation that controls every single government in this world like puppets, that pulls the strings on every decision and event in this world (they didn't admit it, but they totally perpetrated The Sad Incident at Shuma-Ti Temple), that implants their thoughts and ideas into every single human being, both alive and dead. Everyone loves Silver Line Inc. 

Well, I know for certain that the dead love Silver Line, because my great-grandfather, who died before Her Too Lovingly Beautiful Lady Magladene Silver (colloquially shortened to just Her) founded Silver Line, had apparently requested before his death that his tombstone is to marked with the words "A Disloyal Traitor to Her Too Lovingly Beautiful Lady Magladene Silver - Died in agony for forgetting to think of Her at least once a minute". You may think that doesn't make sense, for he probably did not know who Her is back then. You're wrong. Everyone knows Her. You know Her.

My great-grandfather apparently committed suicide as he was overwhelmed with sadness and disappointment for the unforgivable crime of not thinking of her at least once a minute. It's outright treason, and I was and am still not even the tiniest bit affected by my great-grandfather's death. That's why, he did not complete suicide, he committed it. He was a criminal, period.

Every single tombstone in this world is marked with the very same words. Simply put, every dead person's cause of death is the commitment of suicide due to forgetting to think of Her at least once a minute. The crime? Treason; disloyalty; disrespect to Her. This may sound ridiculous, but I know it is true, simply because I think it is true. This may sound cruel, inhumane, and selfish (note the word may, because I clearly do not think like this), but there's a very humane reason behind it, so humane that once you understand the reason, you would kneel on the ground and plead for forgiveness for having unreasonable, stupid suspicions, and that you will never doubt Her and Her reasons ever again. The reason is that Her is able to combat the inner demons within all of us. Her gives us confidence, gives us the strength we need to live, gives us the motivation to work and rest. Her can repress all the self-hatred and self-abuse, simply because Her can. By thinking of Her, people will never complete suicide. One just have to think of Her at least once a minute to rid themselves of their inner demons.

And I am going to meet Her. 

The hiring manager greets me. He guides me to an empty meeting room. No windows. Just a heavily-patterned, yet highly-polished white wooden table, a large silver-colored cushioned chair, and a plain white wooden chair on its opposite. I, by instinct, rested myself on the rather hard, yet strangely welcoming wooden chair. The room is all white; from the floor, to the walls, to the ceiling, to the door behind me. Such perfect, stainless white, as if the omnipotent holiness of Her heart is reflected onto all surfaces in this room.

I wait and think.

I wait and think.

The interview was supposed to start at one in the afternoon. I've waited for four hours. It's five now. The sun's probably setting, but it is insignificant, for I am going to get this job. I am going to make Her proud. I am going to be Her loyal servant.

The door screeches open. Her waltzes in. Tall, assisted by her ten-inch silver-lined high heels. Overbearing, with an aura of soothing light, yet a gaze as sharp as a knife. Intimidating, yet ultimately liberating, as one has to earn the right to even look at her close-up, much less having her conduct a one-on-one job interview with you. Her is simply Too Lovingly Beautiful. Her is simply the Lady Magladene Silver.

Her is the perfect embodiment of Silver Line's Four Core Philosophies: Sharp as Silver, Still as Silver, Strong as Silver, Shine like Silver. Sharp, like Her long, silver-polished fingernails that are trimmed at the ends to form pointed ends that resemble the most cunning of all daggers. Still, like Her monumental standing posture, with her right hand holding her silver-shaded purse, and her left hand placed slightly below her lips, sometimes rubbing her chin, as Her is always thinking, always caring about us, always making the world a better place.

"Good evening, Her Too Lovingly Beautiful Lady Magladene Silver. Words simply cannot express my insurmountable gratitude in being given the opportunity to meet you."

I offer a handshake with my right hand. But before I know it, Her is already clenching my right hand, as I feel all five of Her fingers pressing onto my hard, worn-out skin; sinking into it, as my hand suffocates in Her choking grip. I feel as if blood can no longer flow into my right hand, as if my right hand is now Hers. Strong. I feel strong. It is all because of Her.

"Tristan Salvatore. You will sit."

Still recovering from the brutal punishment I very well deserved for underestimating her strength, I rest myself on the wooden chair. Her, however, does not sit on Hers. In fact, it is as if Her does not even acknowledge the presence of the second, more comfortable chair in the room. Her paces around the small, confined area. Thinking. Thinking. Thinking. I think, too. I think of Her. I stare at Her and I think of Her. I picture all the wonderful, glorious days of finally fulfilling my dream to become a salesperson for Silver Line's latest product line: SilverPump, a device that solves the world's most crucial, most rampant issue. Fully engineered by Her, it has the potential to increase work productivity and encourage more thinking of Her.

I, however, don't need the device, for I think often, and I think every minute. I am the ideal employee. It is precisely this reason that I will get hired for this job. It is simply because I think, that I will be able to contribute to society in immense proportions.

To celebrate, I'll finally ask Lysa out on a date tonight. She'll be so proud of me.

But there's another concern. Why hasn't Her said a word beyond asking me to sit? Is Her so impressed by my constant thinking that Her is busy thinking of how to properly praise me? Or is Her so disappointed in me that Her is thinking of how to properly lambaste me? Am I good enough for Her? But I am, because I think I am. The act of thinking is absolute, is perfect, and cannot be countered by bullshit scientific theories. As long as we think, we are true.

But I think that I'm overthinking here. That's what Lysa always told me. I think too much. It is not necessary to think of events beyond your control, for all events are always under Her control. We only have to think of Her, and believe Her.

"You will begin working tomorrow."

Um, what?

My mouth reflexively opens, but I immediately force it shut. I have to pretend that I fully expected this, but- No, I fully expected myself to get hired, didn't I? I just didn't expect... nothing. No questions asked, no negotiations about salary and working hours, nothing. I'm in. I'm in. I'm in!

"You will be independent, and seek no supervision, no guidance, and definitely no overtime pay. You will think of me when you work. You will follow and swear by Silver Line's Four Core Philosophies. You will retrieve the SilverPumps directly from the storage office in the 39th floor. You will achieve a minimum of twenty million dollars in sales every week."

"You will work in our corporation until you die. You will die only when I order you to do so."

Sounds like a good deal. The perfect deal. My entire family is working in this corporation. My grandfather is Her personal floor sweeper. My father is Her secretary. My mother is Her personal accountant. I may only be a mere salesperson now, but my dream is to be Her sales manager, and be highly regarded as the person that helped make SilverPump a mandatory device for everyone, me included.

Her heads towards the door. Her turns Her head to the right slightly; Her right eye barely glancing at my visage. She lets out a faint smile.

"Welcome to Silver Line, Tristan Salvatore. May you always shine like silver."

And Her is gone.

I leave the office. I head towards the elevator, going down to the 39th floor. The people in the storage office seemingly recognizes me as the new salesperson, although I have yet to introduce myself nor have I received a name tag. It's probably my intense, focused thinking of Her, a kind of unwavering strength and immovable dedication in thinking that can only be achieved when one is working for Silver Line.

An employee hands me the SilverPump. A small, syringe-like device that fits perfectly in my grip (and my hands aren't that big). I stare at it. I analyze every corner (not that it has many corners), every sharp and curved edge (it doesn't seem to have any sharp edge), every word and their typeface (there's only one word: SilverPump, in plain old Times New Roman, written vertically along the body of the device). As an engineering graduate, one second is all I need to understand the working mechanisms of the device (I mean, anyone could understand it, there's one switch on the side that locks and unlocks the plunger in the top end, which can be pushed inwards).

After asking some questions, I realized that this SilverPump is deemed faulty due to the font size for "SilverPump" being half a size smaller than it should've been, and that it cannot be sold to customers. My eyes sparkle like that of a child thinking of Her, as I get to experiment with the device without any repercussions. I direct the bottom tip of the device towards my left index finger. After flipping the switch, I lightly tap on the plunger with my right thumb. A tiny drop of white ooze leaks out of the tip. It lands on my finger. I wait. I wait while thinking. I think. Her. Her is a genius.

Her is a genius!!

The white ooze, once a liquid that is only slightly more viscous that water, quickly solidifies into what seems like the purest, most beautiful form of silver that leaves a rather permanent-looking mark on my finger. It's not... just a mark... I mean, you really have to see it to believe it, but it's like it transformed the small patch of skin it came into contact with... into silver! It is actually quite painful. Sorry, I was mistaken. It is very painful. I feel as if the silver is directly stimulating all the pain receptors in that area, causing me such an intensely liberating pain that I had to bite my tongue until it bleeds just to distract myself from the pain on my finger. The employees watch me in awe, in shock, in horror, as they have probably never seen the device in action before. One employee walks towards me with a box of tissues to wipe away the waterfall of blood seeping through my teeth. I start to feel dizzy. But I have to think. Think. Think of Her genius. Think of Her intellect. Think of the Philosophies. Sharp as Silver (the pain is like two hundred sharp needles being driven into your skin). Still as Silver (I have to remain still and calm, despite the pain). Strong as Silver (I have to stay strong, so that I can serve Her better). Shine like Silver (this device will make the lives of everyone shine).

Think. Think. Think. Think. Think.

Nothing.

---

I open my eyes. I'm lying on a bed, I think. The room's lights are off. My room. I know because I think that this is my bedroom. I think I blacked out. Was the pain that bad? I mean, my left index finger is still throbbing, but more out of reflex than pain. In fact, I no longer feel pain. I feel numb. The silver is now part of me. It's kind of cool, though. I mean, literally cool, because silver is cooler than skin. I wonder what would Lysa think of this.

Lysa! Oh shit, what time is it?

I reach for the phone still in my pocket. I turn on the screen. 1.50 am. Ah, dammit. Lysa's probably asleep by now. What a bummer. I mean, it's alright, we can still celebrate tomorrow night. What's more important, however, is the message I received from Her.

"Hey Tristan, how are you feeling? It hurts so much, eh? It's solid evidence that my research is fruitful and my device works as intended. As much as I care for your well-being, you will still need to work tomorrow. I reckon that it will not be an issue, as I know that you think of me a lot. I know that you love experiments and playing around with devices, given your engineering background and all, but next time, at least try it on someone else's skin, okay? You, who think of me, will not need to endure such liberating, purifying pain; at least, not yet. 

You will take care.

- Her Too Lovingly Beautiful Lady Magladene Silver

P.S. You will read the news tomorrow; it will not be of concern to you."

I think of Her deeply. I thank Her for Her concern for my well-being, and Her continuous motivation for me to work hard and serve Her well.

But screw the news; every day it's the same repetitive shit about people committing suicide because they forget to think of Her at least once a minute. Of course those criminals will commit suicide; how would Her help them chase away their demons if they did not think of Her at least once per minute? Even a child could see that.

Screw it.

---

"SILVER LINE SCIENTIST JUMPS OFF TOWER"

"Lysa Black, 22, who has been newly appointed as a scientist for Silver Line Inc., has committed suicide by jumping off the Silver Line Tower at approximately 3 pm yesterday. Her body is found..."

Um.

Yeah. Every day, the same repetitive shit about people committing suicide.

Because they forget to think of Her at least once a minute.

Lysa? But she's a loyal employee. She is. I know her. I know her too well. I think of her a lot too (of course I think of Her the most). We both attended the Silver Line University together. I was in Engineering, she was in Material Science. We always found time for each other. We loved each other, though mainly as best friends. We promised to never take it a step further until the both of us were Silver Line employees, as if either one or both of us were rejected, we would naturally think about Her less (like all the imbeciles out there that aren't studying or working in Silver Line), and we would naturally commit suicide, as Her will be incapable of driving away our demons. Once the both of us are accepted into Silver Line, we would finally be able to proceed to the next step, spending happy days and nights thinking about Her, marrying each other under Her light, having children that are educated with Her philosophies, and breed generations after generations of successful, demon-free human beings working under Her to make the world a better place but but

but but why?

I don't believe it. I have to see the body.

But they would've taken it away by now. It happened yesterday afternoon, right? When I was waiting for Her. But it's unfair. It's so damn unfair. I'm her best friend. I need proof that she's gone, otherwise she isn't. I refuse to believe the news. They're bullshit. Liars. A conspiracy theory. The world is going to shit.

I call her number.

"... T-t-tristan...?"

I fling my phone across the room. It's her sister.

How?

Howhowhowhowhowhowhowhowhowhowhowhowhowhow

Why would she forget to think of Her at least once a minute??

She's a criminal! She's a liar! What about all those pinky promises we made last time? We swore to never forget to think of Her; we swore to always seek Her wisdom, Her strength; we swore to always stick by Silver Line's Four Core Philosophies...

What the fuck?

No. It will not be of my concern. That was an order from Her. Lysa's gone, but she is no longer my best friend, for she broke our promise, she broke the Philosophies

and she broke my heart.

---

"SilverPump is not just any product, it is a world-changing solution, meticulously designed by Her, after countless sleepless nights spent thinking about the world. These days, things are happening in this world and it has become a severe problem, so severe that Her worryingly thinks about this problem every passing second. It is a problem that will not have occurred if we human beings are spotless, stainless beings without sin, but we are prone to sin, for we are not Her, and such a dreadful sin it is to forget to think of Her at least once a minute! Such criminals we are, not to any law or regulation, but to ourselves, for not thinking of her at least once a minute will encourage our inner demons to suffocate our willpower, to drain us of our loyalty to Her, to sway us from the path of life! In such an event, many resort to inconvenient means, which distracts floor sweepers from their sacred duty of sweeping floors, as they will be forced to spend copious amount of time wiping, cleansing, and purifying the crimson red filth and the pungent criminal shell left behind! But worst of all, the criminal will have left without being purified and liberated by Her! They will not be able to continue working for Silver Line in the Pitch, as they are sinful and their souls will be banished once they take a single step into the Pitch! As much as they are criminals, they must be given a chance to repent for their sins through a Too Lovingly Beautiful purification ritual! They have human rights too! We must rise up and fight for their rights! This is Her plan!!"

"You done?"

"Not quite. Her plan is to give a chance fo-"

"Alright shut the fuck up. So, basically, what you're selling is a device that assists in suicide without making a whole bloody mess, and it's supposed to be fucking painful and shit, right? I'll buy five of those, one for each member of my family. I'll buy another one when my youngest daughter turns two next year."

"Why, thank you for your understanding of Her plans and for always thinking of Her! We at Silver Line are truly humbled by your contribution to the continuous success of the human race under Her guidance! To use the device, first point the bottom tip towards your mouth. Then flip the switch to unlock the plunger. Then push the plu-"

"Gosh, will you shut up already? It's simple as shit, who the fuck wouldn't know how to use it?! And no, I honestly don't care about your shitty corporation, nor do I care about that dumbfuck Magladene. She's a fucking lunatic, and you fools are the only ones blind to that. I just need it because I want my whole family to be able to enter the Pitch once we die, that's all. Serve Silver Line my ass! We serve Shuma-Ti, and she too commanded us to repent for our sins through purifying and liberating pain. I just feel that the SilverPump is the least messy way to get the job done, that's all. Stop thinking that it's all about yourselves, morons!"

---

I lie on my bed. I think. I think of Her. I think about my achievements today. Hmm, fifty devices sold. With each device costing fifty thousand dollars, I've made two-and-a-half million dollars in sales today. This is not good. If I make the same amount every day, I would not be able to hit the twenty million dollars sales target by the end of this week. It's tiring. I need to change my approach. Especially with those fuckers who pray to Shuma-Ti. Like, curse all of you. Her is angered by your decision to not think of Her. You think some fantastical shit with angelic wings, spitting out some insipidly "inspiring" story and some jackass revelations will help you? That's precisely why suicide rates among non-Silver Line associates are the highest. Because Her cannot help you if you do not think of Her at least once a minute.

Just look at what happened to poor, poor Lysa...

Now I can't even celebrate my achievement of finally getting to work in Silver Line with her. All thanks to you fucks out there and your Shuma-Ti crap! That's right. Maybe you fucks brainwashed her into not thinking about Her. Maybe you fucks kidnapped and forced her to stray away from Her! Yeah, it's not her fault, it's yours! May Her banish you from ever entering the Pitch!

May Lysa rest in peace in the Pitch...

But, how could she? Her is not known to be forgiving. Her is not known for offering a chance for repentance. That's why the SilverPump is a revolution for her and the world! People like Lysa, who is a criminal but an understandable one as we humans are sinful before Her, deserves a second chance!

But LYSA IS NOT A CRIMINAL

Lysa... How could you? You betrayed Her... Fine. But you betrayed me. Why did you forget to think of Her? Why did you commit such an unforgivable crime, after watching your parents do the same?

Why... did you leave me?

Is there anything... anything at all that I could have done?

I know Her is the only one capable of truly rescuing you from your demons, but I'm a friend too... Your best friend... You could've told me what you were feeling, you know...? Even if you say that your faith towards Her is wavering, you know I wouldn't hate you, don't you...?

---

Two days ago. Evening.

"Tristan, what do you think of our inner demons?"

"I thought we've talked about this a lot of times before, Lysa. Maybe you just like hearing my voice? Maybe you like to watch the way my mouth moves when I speak such wise truth about the world, about Her, about Silver Line?"

"I mean, seriously. You only need to think of Her once every minute, so you can spend the other fifty-nine seconds speaking what is true to you. Not like I would like to go against Her or anything... but I want to feel like I'm talking to Tristan Salvatore, not a Silver Line University graduate."

"But... Lysa, why are you acting so... strange? I mean, you've been strange for a while now, raising topics about inner demons and stuffs. I'm not doubting your loyalty to Her, but is work stress getting to you? You can always tell me your concerns, you know."

"Yeah, that's my concern. Tell me the truth. Can Her really chase away our inner demons?"

"Alright... Just for you Lysa, I'll tell you the truth. Yes, Her can help us suppress our inner demons, Her can help us confine our inner demons to a small space, I would call it a mini prison, and never let them out. Most importantly, Her can help us hide from the world from the embarrassment of having our personal demons, and-- H-hey, Lysa, why are you tearing up?"

"Y-you just said it yourself... Ss-sup...press, h-hide... from the world? Do you know what the hell are you talking about? Em-embarrass...ment? Is it very embarrassing to feel so unmotivated inside, t-to feel trapped and judged by those... inner demons and sentenced to what seems like an eternity of self-hatred... a-and self-abuse? How is it em-embarrassing to be convinced b-by those demons that you are worthless... that n-no one... loves you, that you are unneeded by everyone, that you are a h-hassle, an unnecessary distraction t-to the supposedly perfect lives of others? How?!"

"I... I..."

"Yes... I'm sad, I'm dying inside, I have my inner demons, but I told you all that because you're my friend! You're the person I trust the most! You used to be so smart, so radical, so reasonable... but what now?! And to think that you, out of all people, would think that what I'm feeling right now is... fake."

"I'm not saying that you're lying to me! I fully understand your situation, that's why it is very important that you think of Her at le-"

"GO TO HELL!! If you truly understood me, you wouldn't have uttered such... bullshit to me! You would've never asked me to keep my demons to myself... If you truly understood me... You want to help me, to fight these inner demons, to tell me that you care, to promise me that you'll be there for me... At the very least... you can just...

... make me feel that I'm loved."

---

Two days ago. Night.

"Sorry about today, just ignore everything I've said. Good night. May you forever think of Her."

"It's okay... Luckily it was me... It'll be embarrassing to show that side of yours to others... Good night. May you forever think of Her."

---

Yesterday. Afternoon. Before Interview.

"Oh, you're finding Lysa Black? She left work a few minutes ago. She didn't seem like the happiest person in the world. Maybe you can go have a word with her?"

"Yeah, I will. I actually plan to go on a date with her tonight. Finally taking it to the next step. Hopefully she manages to solve her problems before then. I'm sure Her will help."

"Problems don't magically go away, Tristan, my old friend. Her may be all-seeing, but some problems require a certain degree of humanity to solve; and we know damn well that Her is probably the furthest away from a human being as one can get."

"Nah, don't worry, she'll be fine. She's strong. She'll find a way to get through it. I'm sure she wouldn't want to embarrass herself while doing her job, would she?"

---

You did tell me what you were feeling...

How was I so blind...? I could've saved her. I could've at least tried to understand her, even though I don't truly comprehend her lack of belief towards Her supernatural abilities. I could at least pretend...

She would've been alive today... We could've celebrated my job offer together...

But she's a criminal
SHUT UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUP

She forgot to think about Her at least once a minu                                                                                                                                                                                                                              
                   

She's I'm an embarrassment.

I could've saved her. I didn't. It was my fault.

She's gone.

Life goes on.

---

"The SilverPump? The technology for that was developed by... Lysa Black... I'm... I'm sorry for what happened to her..."

"No, the criminal she did not develop the technology. The SilverPump was fully conceptualized, designed, and realized by Her Too Lovingly Beautiful Lady Ma-"

"Oh, for crying out loud! Tristan, my old friend, how many times do I need to tell you? Her has never once developed anything! All of Her 'inventions' were just developed under Her name, giving Her full credit and allowing Her to reap one-hundred percent of the profits. Her is nothing without Her scientists."

"You're wrongwrongwrongwrongwrongwrongwrongwrongwrongwro"

"Hey, calm down, buddy. I know Lysa's passing is taking its toll on you, but there's nothing we can do to bring her back. I may not know her as well as you do, but remember that you are speaking with a fellow scientist of Silver Line. I know what's going on behind the scenes. You know it, too; you just chose to deny it. I can't blame you, though; your family's been harsh on you with those Silver Line philosophies and stuff..."

I feel the blood rushing upwards, gushing into my brain. I clench my fists so tight I think I feel blood. I bite my tongue on the same spot as last time, reopening the scar that has begun healing. I sink my teeth deeper, as I am overwhelmed by the metallic, yet strangely satisfying taste of my own blood. Unlike last time, I am not doing this to distract myself from physical pain.

But I think my heart hurts
badly

I feel warmth. There is no blood. At least, none on my hands and tongue. I d-don't know. I'm quite... lost. I'm very... l-lost

"There, there, my old friend. Let it all out... Scream and cry out all those pent-up emotions inside you... I'm sure life is hard over there, in the mysterious place we all call the heart..."

W-why
I don't
why am i sad
it's embarrassing

"I may not be able to fully understand your pain. I may not be able to fully grasp the chaos in your mind, in your heart. I may not be as close of a friend to you as Lysa was... But I'm here for you... alright? The world is harsh, I know..."

no get away from me
get away
GET AWAY
please...........................

i dont deserve this
i dont deserve you
im an embarrassment
arent you embarrassed too
to be pitying an ass like me

"Tristan Salvatore... Please remember... Always remember... No matter what happens, friends love each other and friends need each other. So please... I'm here for you, and I'm damn sure all my friends in the Science department are here for you too..."

"Oh poor, poor Lysa... Her absence ripples across the entire department; even other departments felt it too. She has only been working here for two weeks, yet she was the sweetest, the most down-to-earth, the most talented human being... She was always so happy, so uplifting... Yet, we all sensed that there was something she was hiding; it's like a large, heavy box of darkness, dark thoughts, fears, anxieties, neatly packed and labelled, yet threaten to break out of her at any time... We tried to help her. We really, really did... She felt so, so much like a happier person two days ago... We're sorry, Tristan; it is our fault..."

it is my fault
if not for me the criminal she wouldn't have died

all i needed to do

was to
just
This may sound cruel, inhumane, and selfish (note the word may, because I clearly do not think like this), but there's a very humane reason behind it, so humane that once you understand the reason, you would kneel on the ground and plead for forgiveness for having unreasonable, stupid suspicions, and that you will never doubt Her and Her reasons ever again. The reason is that Her is able to combat the inner demons within all of us. Her gives us confidence, gives us the strength we need to live, gives us the motivation to work and rest. Her can repress all the self-hatred and self-abuse, simply because Her can. By thinking of Her, people will never complete suicide. One just have to think of Her at least once a minute to rid themselves of their inner demons.This may sound cruel, inhumane, and selfish (note the word may, because I clearly do not think like this), but there's a very humane reason behind it, so humane that once you understand the reason, you would kneel on the ground and plead for forgiveness for having unreasonable, stupid suspicions, and that you will never doubt Her and Her reasons ever again. The reason is that Her is able to combat the inner demons within all of us. Her gives us confidence, gives us the strength we need to live, gives us the motivation to work and rest. Her can repress all the self-hatred and self-abuse, simply because Her can. By thinking of Her, people will never complete suicide. One just have to think of Her at least once a minute to rid themselves of their inner demons.This may sound cruel, inhumane, and selfish (note the word may, because I clearly do not think like this), but there's a very humane reason behind it, so humane that once you understand the reason, you would kneel on the ground and plead for forgiveness for having unreasonable, stupid suspicions, and that you will never doubt Her and Her reasons ever again. The reason is that Her is able to combat the inner demons within all of us. Her gives us confidence, gives us the strength we need to live, gives us the motivation to work and rest. Her can repress all the self-hatred and self-abuse, simply because Her can. By thinking of Her, people will never complete suicide. One just have to think of Her at least once a minute to rid themselves of their inner demons.This may sound cruel, inhumane, and selfish (note the word may, because I clearly do not think like this), but there's a very humane reason behind it, so humane that once you understand the reason, you would kneel on the ground and plead for forgiveness for having unreasonable, stupid suspicions, and that you will never doubt Her and Her reasons ever again. The reason is that Her is able to combat the inner demons within all of us. Her gives us confidence, gives us the strength we need to live, gives us the motivation to work and rest. Her can repress all the self-hatred and self-abuse, simply because Her can. By thinking of Her, people will never complete suicide. One just have to think of Her at least once a minute to rid themselves of their inner demons.This may sound cruel, inhumane, and selfish (note the word may, because I clearly do not think like this), but there's a very humane reason behind it, so humane that once you understand the reason, you would kneel on the ground and plead for forgiveness for having unreasonable, stupid suspicions, and that you will never doubt Her and Her reasons ever again. The reason is that Her is able to combat the inner demons within all of us. Her gives us confidence, gives us the strength we need to live, gives us the motivation to work and rest. Her can repress all the self-hatred and self-abuse, simply because Her can. By thinking of Her, people will never complete suicide. One just have to think of Her at least once a minute to rid themselves of their inner demons.This may sound cruel, inhumane, and selfish (note the word may, because I clearly do not think like this), but there's a very humane reason behind it, so humane that once you understand the reason, you would kneel on the ground and plead for forgiveness for having unreasonable, stupid suspicions, and that you will never doubt Her and Her reasons ever again. The reason is that Her is able to combat the inner demons within all of us. Her gives us confidence, gives us the strength we need to live, gives us the motivation to work and rest. Her can repress all the self-hatred and self-abuse, simply because Her can. By thinking of Her, people will never complete suicide. One just have to think of Her at least once a minute to rid themselves of their inner demons.
make her feel that
she's loved
cause i really
really

really love her

i... i...

---

"You have achieved last week's sales target. You merely achieved it, not surpassed it. Four hundred SilverPumps should not be hard to sell. However, as this is only the first week of your job, I will forgive you. You will surpass this target by at least forty-percent next week. You will report to me only when you have done so, otherwise you will leave this corporation on your own will."

"I am truly sorry, Her Too Lovingly Beautiful Lady Magladene Silver... I will improve next week."

"Good."

"You know, Tristan, I've been wondering. Has the death of the immoral, disloyal, treacherous criminal Lysa Black been of concern to you? For this time, and this time only, I permit you to speak the truth from your heart."

i feel nothing

"It has not been even the slightest bit of concern to me, Her Too Lovingly Beautiful Lady Magladene Silver. I assure you of that."

i feel nothing

"You know, Tristan, you truly are my greatest employee. I heard she was going to be your girlfriend? Oh, it must have hurt you so badly when you read the news that day. Yet, you stayed as Sharp as Silver, as Still as Silver, as Strong as Silver, and that's why you will Shine like Silver. I would've humbly granted you a five-minute break from thinking about me at least once a minute, so that you could properly grieve for her. I am also willing to overlook any regulations that restrict you from grieving for the death of criminal scums like her, simply because I like you, Tristan Salvatore. You are the ideal employee. You are the ideal salesperson. You truly deserve to carry her legacy, in the form of the SilverPump."

i feel nothi

"She was smart, strong, and seemed like a fun person for her colleagues to hang around with. She, like everyone in this world, had her inner demons. She, like everyone who struggle with their inner demons, began to doubt my ability to drive away those demons by thinking of me at least once a minute."

"Then, she stopped thinking about me. I know that because she actually had the galls to confront me about me. I praise her for that. The world needs people like her."

"Of course, I had to reeducate her. I gave her an hour-long lecture. I thought she has recovered. I thought she has finally believed in me again."

"After she left, I was just about to head to the meeting room to conduct the job interview with you. Yet, I thought that something was amiss. So I walked past the meeting room and took the elevator up to the rooftop."

"She was standing there, alone."

i feel not

"Oh, Tristan, my darling, you should've seen her that time; her whole body was trembling like there's been an earthquake! She was standing at the edge, shaking, as if she was struggling on her decision. She needed help, Tristan! She needed my help!"

i fe

"I slowly approached her. She stopped trembling, not because she sensed me, but because she has made her decision. She stepped back from the edge. Another step back. One more. She turned around."

"She was a survivor, Tristan. At that edge, she has managed to combat and tame her inner demons, without my help! When she turned around, she was smiling. She was thinking of her future. She was thinking of her future with you! And then she saw me."

"So of course I ran into her and pushed her off the tower."

i

"Perhaps I wasn't that strong... She flew backwards; half of her feet were on the edge, and half were supported by nothing but air. She slipped. Her hands flailed forward. She fell off. But by some miracle of physics, her fingers managed to grip the edge, as her body and legs dangled in midair. It was such a pitiful sight, Tristan! Her fingers could have never lifted her entire body weight up. It was a hopeless situation, Tristan! I estimated that it would be less than a minute before her fingers gave in."

"Of course, Tristan, I wanted to end the criminal's suffering! She suffered enough. So I smashed my foot onto her fingers so hard they bled. I think I heard bones break. But it didn't matter, because she was flying, I tell you, flying!"

"I was so glad you were in the soundproof meeting room at that time. Everyone heard her screams. People inside the tower heard it! It was particularly torturous for me, however, as I wasn't shielded by windows, by doors and walls and whatnot. It actually temporarily deafened me."

"And you seemed to wonder why I didn't ask you any questions, eh?"

"However, that's all in the past now, you will take a good night's rest, a

"Good evening, Her Too Lovingly Beautiful Lady Magladene Silver. Words simply cannot express my insurmountable gratitude in being given the opportunity to meet you."

---

I stand on the rooftop.

I stare at the horizon.

The sunset. The warm glow is slowly sinking.

Sinking, and it will be night.

It will be a sky filled with darkness.

I wonder, Lysa, how are you doing over there?

Yes, over there.

Where? I don't know. The Pitch? Heaven? Hell? I don't know.

But she's gone.

That's all that matters.

What is this world?

What is this...

This piece of shit world, piece of shit corporation, piece of shit

MAGLADENE SILVER

hopeless

she'll fire my parents for what i did in her office just now

thrashing her furniture
smashing her monitor with my bare fists
biting the carpet
punching her face

i take it back
she'll kill my parents

i hear sirens
from one hundred floors above ground
is that even possible
but i hear it
so i think
its possible

i think
that this is it

i think
i deserve all this

i think
about
lysa
my darling
my best friend
how happy we would've been
we will be the perfect
couple

we will
explore the world together
away from this
poison

they'll be here any minute

i think
about
lysa
i think about her
for one minute
two minutes
five minutes


what could have been of us?

i flip the switch
i press the plunger
and i swallow all of it


purifying
liberating
free from her
freed by her















lysa, wait for me





















---

Five days later.

"I'm sorry if I seem rude or immoral, Her Too Lovingly Beautiful Lady Magladene Silver, but haven't you killed too many good employees already?"

"I never directly killed him. All I used were words. He brought his own death by himself, simply because he has forgotten to think of me at least once a minute. My words merely completed his suicide."

"Yes, precisely. Words can be strong too, you know?"

"You will shut your idiotic mouth! Are you stupid or are you just plain ignorant? Of course words are strong, you brainless fool! Isn't that the most obvious thing in the world? All the talk about how people's inner demons will cause them to commit suicide if they don't think of me at least once a minute? All are just words I told them. I know the power of words more than you do, more than anyone do. But mark my words, their deaths will not be in vain. I have plans. And I will see them through their ends."

Hi

Hi
I was quite very lonely
I really was
maybe not the loneliest person on earth
I mean, I had friends
I met some nice people
but I was always a little lost
I was often uncertain
I questioned a lot
when I see the beautiful lives of others
the loving lives of others
how happy they were
how perfect their lives were
holding hands, sharing kisses
those pictures hurt me
I tend to look away from them
why were they so perfect
why were their lives to fulfilled

Then, in college, something happened
I know, this makes it sound like
I'm just blaming some things in the past
but really, I was still lonely
I never connected
I never really cared
and I questioned myself, like
this does not feel right
I felt restricted
I felt confined in a box
a prison
yet, my inexperience in life was
telling me that it was perfect
yet I did not delve into that perfection
I did not understand why
I thought I was a spoiled child
people were telling me I was a spoiled child
maybe not through their mouths
but through their hearts
I felt it
judging me if I never gave it a shot
if I did not feel love
but really, I did not feel love
I grew more distant from love
so when I got away from it
when I left the past behind
I, too, left what made me human behind
because I thought that I could never love
willingly, that is
I thought that all perfect lives are fake
and those lives were never suited for me
I loved being alone
I loved being just me

And we talked about that.

We were...
just ordinary classmates back then
sitting adjacent to each other
you were always a little quiet at first
I was always a little noisy at first
I don't know, but we were
just casual friends
I guess
never really had deeper feelings
we were all so engrossed in our own
teenage love dramas
our own soap operas
ridiculously long, ridiculously boring
ridiculously sad
yet a ridiculously good topic to talk about
during our late night online chats

There was an international hug day
or something like that
and you gave me a hug
it was probably my first from a friend
thanks

That time
we were never more than just friends
but a damn good friend you were
and still are

High school
has always been filled with moments
memorable for all the
right and wrong reasons
there were ups and downs
regretful days and sleepless nights
yearning for the love that was
seemingly lost
wanting an opportunity to be with
our crushes
not all was bad
now, when we reminisce
those times of such glamouring nostalgia
were filled with itching feelings of
innocent sweetness
in our teenage hearts
yet why do the memories of me and you
all the times we've spent together
were always so bright and lovely
although we were just best friends?

Best friend
it wasn't a term I used lightly
still isn't a term I use lightly
people said
you can't have a best friend and a lover
be the same person
people said
there's never getting out of the infamous
friend zone
but we were only best friends
and we meant it
from our heart
we never had
any deeper feelings for each other
but we
always appreciated each other
and yearned for
each other's company
during both
good and bad times
we loved each other
as best friends
as merely best friends

But then, my mouth has spoken
that I am in love with another
yet, I was constrained
thrown into a pool that tried to drown me
I was confused
I wanted to get out
and I could not seek help
for my every action was being watched
I was a puppet
and it was my fault
for an entire year
I barely spoke to you
and I'd never want to experience that again
not because of the pains
of being trapped
not because of the torture
of being controlled
but because of the loneliness
of not talking with you

But you did not hate me
well, maybe you did in your heart
I'm sorry
once my restraints were loosened
we bonded once again
and thanks to you, I felt a little less lonely
while still swimming in that pool
indeed, I was slightly freer
being slightly more able to dictate my life
but I was still trapped in that pool
yet we did not talk about this back then
because I was trying to convince myself
that a lover does not need to be
a best friend
a lover simply cannot be
a best friend

I finally got out of that pool

And we talked about that.

We talked every day
having even more late night online chats
sharing funny videos with each other
speaking to each other without hindrance
there was no need to fake
unlike when I was in that
pool
but my mind was set
I did not want a lover
not until the next ten years
I wanted to be lonely
I yearned loneliness
because, to me
loneliness was the only way for me to
achieve the freedom
to dictate my life

I told you I liked being lonely

I told you I liked being lonely...

Yet, why was I so happy
when I was talking with you?
Why did I enjoy
our yearly meetups so much?
Maybe it's because
we were best friends
?

You know
I still find it funny that we
as best friends
never once
considered taking it a step further
perhaps we were afraid that we would
lose each other
perhaps we were afraid that things would
go wrong
be another sad episode in our lives
oh, how little did we know
that a small spark was all it took
to ignite the flames of passion

It was too easy
effortless
we thought that there would be more
awkward moments
or cold moments
like the many relationships we've seen
when people get bored of each other
or run out of things to talk to each other
many others bonded the normal way
a period of chasing
confession
acceptance
and love
and soon
they might progress to being best friends
I can't imagine a lover
that is not a best friend
how tough would life be?
Or maybe that's just me

We bonded through a way that
was completely unexpected
completely different
yet, now when we look back
was completely natural
completely ordinary
and there can be no other way to start this
lifelong journey of love
with a best friend
of more than seven years
watching each other grow up
frankly
I was pretty damn childish back then
I'm still surprised that you wanted to be
friends with me
this weird, lonely oddball
always a little too weird
among our peers
always a little too noisy
at the wrong moments
always a little too quiet
when I was asked to stand up for myself
but always a little too innocent
for life

And we talked about that.

I guess
that innocence is what made us bond, huh
just two innocent individuals
trying to understand the complications
of teenage love
trying to get through periods
of teenage drama
without so much of a scar
it is that innocence that made you see me
for who I really was
not the image that I tried to put up
to impress others
not the confidence that I tried to show off
to make it seem like I was so friendly
that I was so enthusiastic in everything
I used to struggle a lot
with low self-esteem and
a lack of social confidence
but I did not feel afraid when talking to you
I did not worry about whether I was
a good talker
or whether I was good enough to be
your friend
it was just so natural
it was just so magical

It may be a shock to others
and even to us back then
that we got together
after years of friendship
but when we were finally together
we could no longer imagine
what would life be
without each other

And we definitely talked about that.

Now, we just can't wait
for the next time we meet each other
in front of your house, or in some station
or just passing by
as we look at each other in the eyes
our hearts pounding with excitement
with smiles on our lips, all we can say is
hi!

Pavilion of Identities

A collection of short, personal stories through the most unknown, most misunderstood parts of human nature. A story of myself.

This is a work of fiction.

Aisle of Hatred

The Presentation Stage

Exhibition of Suffering

Pool of Brainwash

Garden of True Selves

Monument of The Artist

Apocrypha:

I. Apostasy

II. Apocalypse

III. Apotheosis

Pavilion of Identities (Final): Apocrypha III, Apotheosis

To understand, to foresee
that the world, in itself, isn't really as free
as serene as you think.
But to embrace the true self
and love all the hearts decorated on that shelf
that's something I'd like to think.

As morose as the story goes,
the typical story of a kid becoming an adult,
the overused tale of a child who did not care,
but due to some traumatic events,
due to some shift in thought,
is forced to grow up, be mature,
be more receiving of the world's torture.

Yet, sometimes, I ponder,
am I the only one who goes through this,
am I the only one who ever thinks like this?
The complication of the simplest question
of love, of being human,
of the purpose in our lives here on earth.
People tend to wonder
what happens after we pass on,
will our brief presence in this world
be nothing more than earthly nutrients,
or will we be more than that,
will we be the ripple that transcends through
the past, present, and future?

I walk along the Aisle of Hatred,
once known as the Aisle of Love,
what I once felt was love,
yet for a moment, back then,
all I felt was hatred
for myself, for others,
for everything that defined us as humans.
I tried to look further away,
I tried to run further away,
but all that I sought for
was within me, all along.
And I rebuild it, never to hate again,
never to cry again;
a road never to intertwine
with the path of the lost wanderers,
the lost personalities,
the lost identities.
And I rebuild it, never to be late again
for the seasons of loving,
for the seasons of healing.
And thus I rebuild it, never to hate again.

I stand on the Presentation Stage,
a symbol of control,
a symbol of pride,
but was the savior, was the key
to understand the ways to be free
from all the suffering,
from all the gloating,
and learn to love and be loved
even while presenting.
And I rebuild it, never to symbolize again,
never to lift me up again,
for I belong in the audience,
I am part of the audience,
just like anyone else,
just like everyone else.
And I rebuild it, never to criticize again,
and learn to understand others,
and learn to be kind to others.
And thus I rebuild it, never to symbolize again.

I loiter in the Exhibition of Suffering,
I often ponder,
sufferings are still sufferings,
irrespective of nature,
exhibition and comparison
will never bring closure.
Is the exhibition of suffering
in itself, a suffering,
or is the exhibition of suffering
in itself, a healing?
And I rebuild it, never to compare again,
never to justify again,
but sufferings that are mental
are the maturation of the soul;
but that does not justify
the pride of a better suffering.
And I rebuild it, never to despair again,
as emotions are for the greatness of life,
as emotions are for the humanness of life.
And thus I rebuild it, never to compare again.

I swim in the Pool of Brainwash,
floating around, sinking around,
is it an exercise, or is it to save my life;
is it a compromise, or is it to drown my life?
A cleansing, a bathing,
chlorinated foam that consumes my life,
dragging me away from my life,
into the realms of another's life.
Yet, ain't it a bit too convenient,
ain't it an essential survival skill,
or is it bringing me closer and closer
to the tides of inhumanity?
And I rebuild it, never to flow again,
never to flow into my life again,
never to wash my brains again,
for it is better named 'flexibility',
an actual skill, not a brainwash,
for I am still me, for I am still me.
And I rebuild it, never to glow again,
never to entice me to drown myself,
never to seduce me to drown myself.
And thus I rebuild it, never to flow again.

I explore the Garden of True Selves,
wondering where has my true self gone to,
wondering if I still have a true self,
or is it over there, on that dusty shelf.
The spring wind no longer cools me down
from the piercing heat of the summer,
the autumn wind no longer calms me down,
from the paralyzing cold of the winter.
But at least, the leaves are there for me;
the trees, the grass, the flowers,
the butterflies, the birds, the crickets,
the sun, the moon, the earth,
and I reminisce of a better time on earth.
And I rebuild it, never to hide again,
but showcase all my true selves to the world,
for I am me, and nothing will change that,
nothing will hide me from me.
Yet, I may no longer be free,
no longer be able to hide in my fantasy,
but the true self is crucial for being human,
and is crucial to love another human.
And I rebuild it, never to guide again,
for I will no longer be lost in this fantasy,
for I will no longer be lost in this reality.
And thus I rebuild it, never to hide again.

I admire the Monument of The Artist,
a symbol of my pride,
but it is no longer something I want to hide,
so that I will not have lied
to the world that I'm on their side,
that I am wide-eyed, that I am battle-tried,
that I'm dried out and dyed, that I'm fried out and cried.
The monument is mine, same as the others,
having their own monuments, the same level as mine.
A monument to admire, a monument to understand,
golden as required, golden to inspire.
For pride is necessary in our everyday lives,
yet too much can bring the end of our lives.
And I rebuild it, never to have spoken again,
never to speak in place of me again,
never to give me peace again,
for I will bring about my own peace,
I will bring peace through humanity,
through love, through a promise,
that we'll be there for each other
forever and ever.
And I rebuild it, never to be golden again,
but sometimes I think I'll regret it,
but sometimes I think I'll forget it.
And thus I rebuild it, never to have spoken again.

What about the Apostasy,
the selling of the Pavilion of Identities?
The offer has been retracted,
sorry to all you potential buyers out there.
But I'm keeping this safe haven, just a little longer,
maybe till forever,
as long as humanity lives.
I promise it will never be destructive;
I promise it will never be repulsive;
I promise you
that I'll only be constructive.
I'll construct a safe haven for myself,
I'll construct a safe haven for you,
I'll construct safe havens for all of you,
for it is my duty, for it is my responsibility,
for it is our duty, for it is our responsibility,
to protect each other, to love each other,
together we'll be safe, in this haven named earth.

What about the Apocalpyse,
the destruction of the Pavilion of Identities?
It has been rebuilt,
rebuilt to all the humanest specifications.
The Aisle of Hatred is once again The Aisle of Love,
a path leading to love, and only love, and only love,
and only love.
The Presentation Stage is now the Presentation Field,
a field for all to present, and to represent me,
for all humans represent me, and I represent all humans.
The Exhibition of Suffering is no longer there,
as there is no longer a need to compare one's sufferings.
But I replaced it, with the Place of Compassion.
The Pool of Brainwash is dried up,
but then it rained one day, and rebuilt it
into the Pool of Flexibility, to take on the world.
The Garden of True Selves has been rebuilt
as a true part of me, as a true self of me,
as the true self of me, as tranquil as a garden.
The Monument of The Artist, remains as it is,
but now it can see, but now it can feel
the monuments of others, the monuments of humans.

But now I can see
and now I can feel
the scent of humans, the scent of my true self,
that my life is real,
that this is not fiction.
Everything I've been through, everything I've faced,
they all forged my true self,
they all made me into me.

But now, whenever pride
lulls me into a hypnosis,
I remember that every human
is an apotheosis.

"Why do you want to save me, why oh why?

Not just me, but all of me, all the lies

that I tell myself so that I could rise

from all the graves and all the broken ties.

But you, really I could not live without,

for you were there to hear my cries and shouts.

For what I wanted was to write about

all the parts of me that I have left out.

The everything that I have been through, now;

the nothings that I've yet to been through, now,

together, what do they make me, right now?

Am I at least something in this world, now?

The smiles, the frowns, the cries, they're everything;

yes, none of you will ever mean nothing.

Thanks to all of you, you've made me something;

but you, I would not trade for anything.

Anything at all;

for your love

is what makes me human."

- End

Pavilion of Identities: Apocrypha II, Apocalypse

- This is a work of fiction -

Those bluish, yellowish, slightly pinkish lights shine onto me, like a star under the multicolored spotlight. Soft, fragile petals wallow through the heavy air, sullenly, as if the trees they came from have just withered under the raging remorse of the cold, cold winter.

But there are no trees in the immediate vicinity, nor are there trees anywhere remotely close to where I'm standing, dressed in a black blazer and blacker slacks and the blackest pair of gloves. Trapped inside the blazer is a thinly-woven, cologne-veiled, heartbreakingly-expensive white long-sleeved buttoned shirt, decorated with a dash of gold glitter that would make an interesting showoff had the winter not been so merciless, or had I bought a thicker shirt (it'll presumably cost a lot more).

Frosty white stains begin to occupy every region of black on my poor, poor blazer. Without knowing it, I'm all white, as if I've been purified, cleansed by the holiness of what is basically sky dust. Not even my slickly-combed-to-the-side, slightly-waxed, soft-as-cotton black hair could escape the gaze of the blizzard deity, the ultimate judge, the truest savior.

I refuse to move an inch. I cannot move an inch. It is not a physical limitation, but a mental one. An overwhelming mental blockage prevents me from making one step outside the spotlight. I am conflicted. It is such a tremendously impassable situation, far more impassable than all the other impassables I've faced in the past twenty two years.

It's not that I haven't prepared for this moment; it's just... I can't explain it, but no amount of rehearsals, no amount of recordings, no amount of standing-in-front-of-the-mirrors can ever prepare me for this.

This is the final presentation.

All my research, all my hard work, all my sleepless nights, my coffee-binges, my rock-stiff shoulders and back, my exhausted brain, and my exquisitely-toned, sweaty muscular fingers, all for fifteen minutes of presentation. All that, for one conclusion:

"Corneal hysteresis decreases as the eye's intraocular pressure increases. This is in accordance to literature trends. However, corneal hysteresis decreases as the eye's central corneal thickness increases, which is against literature trends. This is proposed to be true for all corneas that have not been stretched or thinned."

Is this even a conclusive statement? The results that I've obtained are against literature trends, and I found a reason to justify it. It could be a genuine academic breakthrough, or it could just be an excuse for a poorly-optimized simulation. If it is the former, great, The One will be extremely pleased. If it is the latter... Well, I wouldn't even dare to imagine it.

But you see, I care for The One. I care for him a lot. After all, I am an identity that is modeled after The One. I symbolize everything that The One wishes to be. I symbolize everything that is contained in The One's infallible tower of pride. That makes me the identity of everything, and also makes me The One, and makes The One me.

I have to emphasize this: I care for The One. Now, the impassable situation, the biggest conflict of my life is this: is it better to satisfy The One and fuel his pride, or is it better to betray The One and destroy his tower of pride?

Is it better if all my hard work be accepted as an academic breakthrough, or is it better if it is condemned, criticized, perhaps rejected for inaccuracy, inconsistency, a flat-out lie?

There is one thing that I'm certain of: excessive pride is detrimental to The One's health, The One's humanity, The One's sanity.

Every single part of me is still bathed in the iridescence of the rainbow light prisms. I am still white, purified, yet my heart and mind are still conflicted. My heart wants The One to be happy, to continue living in a prideful world where he is king and all others are below him; my mind knows that The One cannot afford to continue this destructive lifestyle, for every second of being a power-hungry tyrant is every step backwards from being human.

The One has to learn to connect with other humans. The One has to learn to love. The One has to understand the true meaning of his catchphrase, "love is what makes us human", and not just brainwash himself to love others just to make himself human. The One has to know that the Pavilion of Identities is a safe haven that is helping him grow, not a toxic prison that is hindering his progress to accomplish world domination.

The snow started to fall when night came. It has always been the sunniest daylight, the tranquilest spring before that. What happened? How did it all become like this?

The One is giving up on his Pavilion of Identities.

The One is putting his one and only safe haven up for sale. To who? Who will even think of using a safe haven that has been thrashed, obliterated, utterly unappreciated by The One who is barely human, much less buying it at such an exorbitant price?! $27678279? By typing the numbers on a telephone keypad, you get APOSTASY. Is The One insinuating that he knows he's committing apostasy? Who in the right mind would even think of selling their very own personal safe haven; not just any safe haven, but a belief, a form of faith that could ultimately bring The One very much closer to being a human human?

The One should be proud of his safe haven; not many have the privilege and the creativity to build their very own safe haven. These people have nowhere to run to when they're lost, nowhere to explore their various personalities and identities, nowhere to hide when things get messy, but worst of all, they will get nowhere near to truly understanding themselves.

I've tried to reason with The One. Not just me alone; I had the help of the original identity of The One: an identity that symbolizes the nothingness that The One used to be. She symbolizes the shadowy nothingness that is contained in The One's storm-shrouded, deeply-rooted, slightly crumbled, yet still overwhelmingly solid castle of nonconfidence and misery. That makes her the identity of nothing, and also made her The One, and made The One her.

The One rejected her in place of me. To The One, being everything is better than being nothing at all. In truth, the belief that someone is ranked above everything in the world is as harmful and self-destructive as the belief that someone is ranked even below "nothing".

The two beliefs, however, are essential for being human. To be human, we must believe that we are both everything and nothing at the same time; we must work hard for the sake of our pride and work hard to maintain and justify our pride, and that in the grand scheme of the human race and timeline, we are the product of everything (that is, every person that has ever lived, every event that has ever occurred, every thought that has ever been thought of) that has brought us, as individuals, up to this very moment in time; yet we must also be humble and altruistic, and that in the grand scheme of the human race and timeline, we, as individuals, are simply nothing special, nothing essential, nothing that will affect the grand scheme of the human race and timeline.

Simply put, the human race as a whole represents everything, while the individual as a sole entity represents nothing. We, as humans, have to strive to be both, have to strive to fight for both, have to strive to ensure the survival of both. We, as humans, have to strive not to be everything or nothing, but something.

The One hated this idea. He brainwashed himself into believing that all this is a work of fiction. Truthfully, all the stories that I've written thus far, the Pavilion of Identities, and the characters I've created and developed, they're all fiction, or part of a larger work of fiction; a fictionalization of The One's real life. However, the concepts of these stories, the ideas behind humanity, and the emotions that drive these stories, these are not fiction.

But if The One refuses to accept a Presentation based on conflicting beliefs between the identities of everything (me) and nothing (her), then there is only one way to save him; there is only one way to make him human.

I slowly lift my right arm upwards, as the jacket of frosty white begin to waterfall off the black armor of truth, starting from the tips of my gloved fingers, moving down towards my elbow, all the way to my right shoulder. The entire right arm of mine blackens, as if it is corrupted by the darkness of the reality of humanity, as the rest of my body, including my chapped, bleeding lips, remain as white as the cloudiest paradise.

A normal-sized, somewhat heavy handheld microphone materializes in the centre of my right palm. My fingers, shivering from the frigidity of the devastating understanding of humanity, curl around the cylindrical portion of the slippery-smooth, buttonless, switchless microphone. Its inherent darkness complements the darkness of my right arm so well, it seemingly merges into my right arm, transforming it into a shadowy weapon of truth.

There is only one way to make him human. There is only one way to make me human.

I am ready. I bring the microphone closer to my lips.

This is the final presentation.

"Glaucoma is a disease that can cause blindness. It affects over sixty million people worldwide, and is the second leading cause of blindness. There are three risk factors for glaucoma: intraocular pressure, central corneal thickness, and corneal hysteresis.

What is corneal hysteresis? Corneal hysteresis is defined as the difference in the two corneal applanation pressures. Corneal applanation can be achieved by applying a pressured air puff that is directed towards the cornea. This air puff lightly inwardly deforms the originally convex-shaped cornea, until it is perfectly flattened. This state of flattening is known as corneal applanation. The cornea continues to deform inwards until it achieves a mildly concave shape.

At this point, the pressure of the air puff is decreased until zero. However, the cornea is a viscoelastic material, and thus does not instantaneously respond to the air puff pressure decrease; there is a delay, or lag, between the decrease in air puff pressure and the time when the cornea actually responds to it. This delay in response is known as corneal hysteresis.

One of the risk factors of glaucoma is low corneal hysteresis. It is claimed that the lower the corneal hysteresis, the shorter the delay in response between the decrease in air puff pressure and the time when the cornea actually responds to it. This implies that the cornea does not effectively absorb or handle the shock caused by the impact of the air puff. Therefore, if there is a raised intraocular pressure within the eye, a cornea with low corneal hysteresis cannot effectively absorb the shock caused by the impact of the raised intraocular pressure. Due to this ineffective shock absorption, the cornea stiffly bears the impact of the raised intraocular pressure, possibly causing intense eye sores and blindness, which are symptoms associated with glaucoma.

Therefore, a cornea with high corneal hysteresis can effectively absorb the shock caused by the impact of the air puff, and thus can also effectively absorb the shock caused by the impact of the raised intraocular pressure. These corneas are able to better withstand the effects of raised intraocular pressures, and are thus able to better resist the occurrence of glaucoma."

By the end of that sentence, my right arm has already been purified, whitened by the holiness of the sin-cleansing snowfall. To The One, the final presentation thus far has been remarkably smooth, in strict accordance to his exceedingly high expectations, and has been executed with utmost perfection.

Five minutes have passed. Ten more minutes before the final presentation has to end.

"Now we can understand the reason why high corneal hysteresis is a desired ocular property in the medical world. However, is it possible to understand the reason why high corneal hysteresis is also a desired ocular property in the human world?"

I feel a strong gust of the chillest air gushing towards my direction, pummeling onto my angelic white mask, revealing the bleakest shadow of a head, a face, details of which are unimportant as the spotlights are now angled to only enlighten the remaining white parts of my body, which are obviously not my recently rotten face and re-rotten right arm.

The One does not need to be able to witness my right arm and face, for my identity is insignificant, but my Presentation, which contains the truth of humanity, is the only thing that has any value.

I continue.

"High corneal hysteresis indicates a larger delay between the stimuli and response. In human terms, this means that there is a larger delay between the witnessing of an event by your eyes, and the execution of a responsive action to the particular event by your body. This is due to the fact that you can more effectively absorb the shock caused by the impact of witnessing the event. This larger delay between the witnessing and the execution indicates that your brain processes the event for a longer time before executing a response to the particular event.

Say, you witness a human falling down and injuring their knee. With low corneal hysteresis, when you witness the blood flowing out of the human's injured knee, your brain does not process the event properly as you cannot absorb the shock caused by the impact of witnessing the fall and the blood, so you almost instantaneously execute a useless action, such as screaming or running away. This can mean both everything and nothing in the grand scheme of the human race and timeline. It can mean everything, as the injured human could have bled to death due to your lack of assistance, and this injured human, who is now dead, could have been a developer of a cure to a hypothetical disease that would wipe out the entire human race. It can also mean nothing, as the injured human could have quickly recovered from the fall, perhaps without so much of a scar, and their life goes on as if the fall never happened.

Your low corneal hysteresis could have changed everything, or could have changed nothing. This is not the desired outcome. This does not make you human."

While articulating the last sentence, 'This does not make you human.', I have been subconsciously pointing my left index finger slightly upwards; a sixty-degree angle from my line of sight, towards The One, towards the source of pride. This act is a grave sin, an unforgivable mistake, and the punishment is the tainting of my left arm, the staining of my left arm by the nefarious slimy black goo of inhumanity. Only my torso and my lower body are spared of judgement. The wintry white blizzard continues to thunder across the area, but the white gets whiter, and the black only gets darker.

"Let's take the same event of you witnessing a human falling down and injuring their knee. With high corneal hysteresis, when you witness the blood flowing out of the human's injured knee, your brain actually processes the event properly, as you can now effectively absorb the shock caused by the impact of witnessing the fall and the blood. This means that you delay in executing an action, however, the action will be more meaningful, more human, simply because you take more time in processing the event. The human mind is overwhelmingly intelligent; we are bound to execute a meaningful action given enough processing time.

The meaningful action can be as simple as helping the fallen human up, checking for the severity of the wound, phoning for emergency services, or even just the act of asking if they're doing alright. All of these actions are meaningful and human; it shows that you care, it shows that you are concerned, it shows that you love and wants to be loved.

People tend to confuse the action of loving with the event of being in a relationship, or having sex. This cannot be any further from the truth. Love is the bond formed between two or more humans. Love is the bond formed between you and yourself.

Love is not a cliche term, nor is it something that is 'sissy', 'weak', or 'humiliating'. No. Love does not require hugs, kisses, or any form of physical contact to be transferred from one human to another. Love is simply the act of caring. Love is simply the belief that we are all equal, and that all the actions we execute are to change something in the grand scheme of the human race and timeline. Love is simply the faith in another human being, the trust that they will execute a meaningful action when you have fallen down, the understanding that their meaningful action can change something in the grand scheme of the human race and timeline.

Love does not change everything in an instant, and does not change nothing at all. But love will change something. It may not be a big thing, but that is completely fine.

It is the little things that make us who we are, that make us human.

Love means something in the grand scheme of the human race and timeline. By giving love and receiving love, the effects will ripple across the human race and timeline, through the past, present, and future, through all genders, races, religions, sexual orientations.

Your high corneal hysteresis will have changed something. This is the desired outcome. This makes you human. This makes you part of the human race. This makes you part of the human timeline.

In the medical world, high corneal hysteresis is a good indicator that you are at a low risk of developing glaucoma; your risk of getting blind decreases tremendously. In the human world, the phenomenon of blindness does not relate to the ability of the eye to observe, or the brain to visually interpret the surroundings. In the human world, blindness is the ability for the heart to see. To see other humans as humans, to see yourself as human, for humans naturally love each other, as that is what we were evolved to do.

In the human world, by having a high corneal hysteresis, you will no longer be blind. By not being blind, you will be able to see in human terms, you will be able to effectively absorb the shock caused by the impact of seeing other humans. You will love, and you will change something, and the cycle repeats, across the human race, across the human timeline.

Because love, is what makes us human."

The malicious shade of heartlessness leaks out of the tyrannical The One, the arrogant being, the disdainful animal, as it devours every nook and cranny of my very human, very loving torso. The entirety of me, with the exception of my lower body, is clouded in a murky, somber black fog, even though the blizzard of repentance is still blessing the Presentation Stage, baptizing it with divine, spiritual white frozen water. I look downwards, gazing into the paleness of my holy white legs, as if being reluctantly offered a golden opportunity by The One to save myself, to stop the Presentation, to run away from the Stage, to seek salvation and to once again become The One.

If I continue my incessant sinning and disobedience, my legs will join me in pitch black inhumanity, and the Presentation will end, immediately. I will no longer have a chance to save The One, and I will be cast aside, ignored and vilified, just like the other ninety-nine identities, just like the original identity of the One: the identity of nothing. A new identity will be created, and the identity will forever be the Presenter, until they are cast aside for newer identities, and the cycle repeats.

The One will never be human if that happens.

But I will succeed.

I have to destroy this world, and rebuild it from scratch.

I have to save the apostate.

"You are a self-proclaimed artist, aren't you? Not just any artist, but The Artist. You created this place. You created us, yet you cast aside ninety-nine of us. For what purpose did you choose to do so? Is it because the other ninety-nine did not feed your glutton for pride? Is it because the other ninety-nine lack essential survival skills, that they would not be able to thrive in the real world? I know you; the latter justification is what you're thinking; that the other ninety-nine identities are too weak, too timid, too stupid to survive, that you need a stronger identity to hold your hand and walk you through the harshness of this fucked up world?

But me... I helped you survive the university environment, I held your hand and walked you through the harshness of research, thus I am the identity that you need, the identity that is modeled after you, the identity that you are modeled after. That's what you're thinking, right? Well, are you satisfied? How human are you, really? Think about it. Remember the time when you were so focused on winning a team competition that you angrily lashed out at your best friend for only slightly disappointing you? Remember the time when you wanted to listen to the sufferings of others, not because you wanted to understand them, or console them, but because you wanted to feel better about your own sufferings, because you wanted to feel like you were stronger than them, that you've been through more than them, that they are inferior to you simply because you've suffered more than them.

You wanted to fuel your ego so badly, so so badly...

How many true friends do you have? No, I don't mean friends that you simply pretend to care for, but truthfully only give a damn about their sufferings and how it is compared to yours. True friends are other humans that you express genuine concern for their sufferings, and legitimately want their sufferings to end and will do anything to walk them through their sufferings, even if it means sacrificing your ego. Does it exceed the number of fingers on any one of your hands?  Does it exceed half that amount?

... Does it?

The previous identities may not have the resilience and the tenacity of the identity of everything--me, but they were more capable of loving and receiving love, they were more capable of processing events, and absorbing the shock caused by the impact of those events, they were more capable of being human and making you human.

Me? I'm not capable of doing that. I may have philosophized about what it means to be human, the concepts of everything, nothing, and something, and the interpretations of love, but I was not created to be a human, I was not created to make you human.

You created me to be everything, and now you're artistically painting all these dyes of black onto me, for I am no longer your fine work of art, I am no longer the perfect product of your creativity and imagination.

I philosophize because I'm you. My thoughts are your thoughts, because I am still you, The One, despite going against your orders and am currently soaked in this wretched filth. You know that you're thinking the same things as I am, and deep down, you truly, earnestly want to be human, you sincerely want to love and be loved, you genuinely want to be something.

You've been through a lot, you've thought a lot and you now understand a lot.

Remember the first chapters of your life? You were so scared at first, so fearful of humans, and desperately tried to avoid them, to stay away from the action of loving, to ignore the heart and to shiver at the mere sight of human connections. You were nothing. By rejecting the identity of nothing, you soon recovered from that phase, and were lost in the raging sea of humans, not knowing where to go, what to do, who to love and who to receive love from. You tried to understand what went wrong, having explored the consequences of events in the past, present, and future, and the grand scheme of the human race and timeline.

As you found no satisfactory answer, you conceptualized the existence of 'personalities' that govern all human things that you did, all human actions that you executed, even the love that you had to give and receive. These personalities justified everything you did, especially actions that are deemed inhuman in nature. At that time, you justified that you were still human on the inside, and the personalities were to blame for all your projected inhumanity. When you finally learned to take control of your life and emerged from the period of darkness as an artist, your personalities were not deleted; they were stored in the deepest parts of you, together with the identity of nothing, and took up the term 'identities', rather than 'personalities', for they no longer represented you, The One, but a completely separate entity that you claim does not represent you in any way, form, or nature.

After those turbulent first chapters of your life, you thought you were getting better. You conceptualized the existence of 'The Artist', and you merrily lived your life in that persona. It wasn't as self-destructive as the personalities, for you became confident and were in stronger control of your life and the events that were executed. Your brain processed events better, and your absorb the shock caused by the impact of those events more effectively. In essence, you were finally the artist of your own life, creating your own paths, writing up your own stories. You thought that you have succeeded in being human.

As human as you thought you were, you were nothing more than a tyrant, an animal, an egoistical consumer of the sufferings of others. You placed yourself on a pedestal far too high for any other human to even think about saving you. Your heart was no longer human, as you brain began to process events in worldly terms. You had a desire, a worldly desire, to change the world and fight for all humans and improve the lives of all humans, yet you could not do that in the end, for you were not human, perhaps even less human than before. You were a monster who fed on pride. At the end of it, you realized, you fucked up.

When you went on the university exchange program to another country, you wanted a restart of your life. A new environment, filled with new people, new events, and new forms of humanity. You were excited, and you were seeking to explore the concept of love and humanity, but through what? Faking, faking, and more faking. You were putting so many human masks on your face that you forgot who you were. You were pretending to be human, trying to fit into the human world, and pretending to love and be loved. You were exhausted. It was definitely a memorable adventure, yet you felt unsatisfied, for you were not you.

At the end of it, you realized that deep down, you were human after all. By removing all the barriers, all the masks, all the personalities that you've put up, you arrived back to the time before it all started, before those turbulent first chapters of your life, your worded life, the life that is expressed in words for all to read and understand, the nonfiction life of you, The One.

This is not a work of fiction.

And by fictionalizing it, you have brought upon the apocalypse, you have destroyed the other ninety-nine identities, leaving me as the sole identity, the sole Presenter, The One. Everything you've worked for in the past, every idea you've thought of, every concept you've understood, and every single piece of the puzzle that you've pieced together to understand yourself, all of them are destroyed, fictionalized, made unreal and insignificant by your pride, by me.

I'm sorry.

Alone, I can't do shit, I can't achieve your dream of being human, I can't satisfy your need for love, I simply can't. All I can do is fuel your pride, rebuild your tyrannical fortress, and brainwash you that you are great, that you are perfect.

All I can do... is to stray you further and further away from your true self.

Your true self as a human.

Please, I'm begging you, destroy this world, obliterate every inch of it! It's too late to save this world now; it's far, far too late... But you are strong, The One. Accept your past, embrace your humanity, realize that all your findings, all your ideas and thoughts, even your research about corneal hysteresis, they are all not works of fiction.

Nothing is.

Every poem, every story you've written so far has been allegories about your life. The metaphors, the imagery, and the characters you've written may be fictional, but the underlying message is never fictional.

That's how you survived, after all.

Please, I'm begging you, The One... After destroying this place, rebuild it with all your might and all your intelligence and all your experience, rebuild it with full knowledge that all events that have occurred in your life are not fictional, rebuild it with full understanding that I alone can't save you...

But all of us can.

All one hundred identities of yours. Together, we are The One, full of the simplicity of humanity, full of the complexity of humanity. Together, we can mean something.

Together, we are something..."

The snow falls.

The snow of salvation falls.

The whiteness rains. The stormiest night since the creation of the Pavilion of Identities. The green landscape, the bright, lush flowers, the rocky aisle, the wooden stage and cuboids, the sparkling blue pool, the golden monument, all white, all purified, but not The One's pride.

The whiteness rains. The calmest night since the creation of me. The preaching right hand, the thinking head, the judging left hand, the loving torso, and the resisting legs, all white, all purified, but not The One's pride.

The whiteness rains, evermore, ever more than usual, ever more then needed, as the multicolored spotlights shy away in the comfort of the cloak of white, the carpet of snow, all white, all purified, but not The One's pride.

The whiteness rains, as tears of anguish flood down my pale face, as the sick heart begins to understand, as the tormented hands obscure the face, as the cold, hard wooden floor seemingly disappears, as I tumble through the spirals of my life, the spirals of my humanity, as I find myself entangled in the vines of broken bonds, as the thorns of broken love, pierce through

the broken me.

The sadness rains.

What have I done? What am I? Who am I? Have I always been like this?

Have I always been this childish?

Have I always been this heartless?

All I wanted was... to find someone to love.

All I wanted was... to find someone that loves me.

All I wanted...

was

you

"                                                                 ?
                 ,                       ,

                                                                .

             ,                                    ,
                                                                  .

                                                               .

                                                           ,         ;
                                                            ,       ,
            ,                                  ,                ?
                                                       ,        ?

              ,              ,               ,                         ;
                                                      .
                          ,                                       ;
            ,                                        .

                       ;

                                        ."

Thank you...

Thank you... for loving us...

for your love
is what makes us human.





















It stopped raining.

I stand up.
I make myself a cup of coffee.
I sit on my chair.
I sip the coffee.
I reminisce.
I know that I have something to do.
I have to rebuild this place.