Oh. This is new. Well, it is horrifying really because I’m seconds close to death but it’s also a profoundly new sensation. I thought I’d be more afraid of death but now that my fate is sealed, I think I’d like to take in all the particles and particulars of being brutally axe-murdered which most people don’t even get to experience in their lifetime. It seems kind of childish even, how a second ago all I was feeling was pure shock and terror in the face of betrayal. But that was past me, a second less wiser than I am now. She could never begin to imagine how gratifying it feels to accept your doom and taste the loudness of your cranium being cracked in half so hard that it busts your eardrums. Oh. My eyes don’t seem to function properly anymore. My vision is distorted as if my brain can no longer process the two separate images each of my eyes send to it and make them a whole, singular vision. I can tell my legs and arms are twitching uncontrollably, even though I’m not the one moving them. I don’t want to go into further details about what’s happening to me because, this isn’t meant to be frightening or disgusting. Yes, a lot of bad things happen when you die but that’s only because you’re looking at it as a living person and, don’t get me wrong, I’m not judging you for it. It’s just that, to me, who’s already dead, that’s not the point. It is a little scary because I don’t know what’s in for me in the future but that’s not what I want to think about right now. That’ll just bring my mood down and makes me feel hurt, regretful, or in pain. Yeah, I probably could’ve prevented this but it’s not my fault. How could I know. No seriously. I’m serious. I can’t really stop you but, I don’t condone an interpretation of my words that supports your misogynistic worldview; it’s kind of fucked that I feel like I need to put it out there just in case. But yeah, with that said, I probably could’ve prevented this, but what’s happened has happened. I don’t want to cry about it. I expect us both to move on with our thing without being stuck on this for long. Me with my non-existence and you with your existence.
That’s enough introspection. Let me describe to you what happens next, but only if you promise me you take it well. Okay?
Alright. Next, he pulls the axe out of my head and swings it horizontally, slashing me in the neck. I can feel the air leaking into my throat from the wrong place. It mildly itches, my throat. It instinctively makes me want to cough a bit to clear it up but… well, I’m dead by now. I’m still a little bit conscious actually, but not enough to directly assume control over my body. The axe is still stuck there, also. So, when he pulls it out, I feel blood surging, gushing out all over the wall and slowly drip down my neck. It’s not the most pleasant feeling, for sure. Makes me want to take a shower, or brush it away like a drop of sweat annoyingly trickling down my skin. Another slash. He wants to cut my head off my body. Well, I can’t stop him now, can I?
Whoa, what’s wrong?
Oh, don’t be disgusted or horrified, please. I’m asking this of you. If you truly care for me, if you truly love me, you should promise me you don’t feel sorry for me. I promise, I’m actually enjoying this. No, like… I don’t mean I enjoy being killed or stuff, but I enjoy contemplating on these feelings and pulling something positive out of them. Something for my mind to feast on and… I don’t know, be generally fascinated by. That’s why you love me, right? For the record, I’m not talking to all of you who’re reading this piece. I’m specifically talking to a one person who might be reading. So, if this sounds weird or it doesn’t seem like it makes sense, that’s why. That doesn’t mean you’re not welcome, though. I appreciate if you know this too.
Well, in any case I’m gonna go into less detail with the descriptions because they’ll get a bit repetitive. I think I’ve made my point already.
He cuts my head off and it tumbles down. It’s a bit hard to explain, especially when even I don’t know what’s happening or why, so just take my word for it: I see myself through my head that’s resting on the floor, but I also see everything as if I’m a ghost floating around the room; and it’s all a singular vision. It’s not two separate images patched together or something. It’s hard to explain if you’ve never experience it before and well, in a way I hope you don’t ever experience it so let’s just leave it at that.
He grabs my body and strips it. It’s kind of irksome. Well, it most definitely is. I don’t think I’ve ever been nude in presence of any other person but myself, and that’s a completely okay thing to me. My body is not mine anymore but the sense of possession I still have over it makes me angry a bit. Maybe it’s because I’m looking at it from outside now and I’m not longer inside my body; although, I doubt I would’ve liked this even if I was still inside. But… everything is too absurd now so I guess I can live (you know what I mean) with this knowledge. I’m not gonna go into detail about some of the things he does to my body. They’re unpleasant, even to me. Maybe some of you would’ve loved me to do that but you should go somewhere else for that satisfaction, no offense. What’s interesting is this: EVENTUALLY, he grabs a knife and cuts my stomach open. My intestines fall out and I feel their weight pulling me down slightly, though it’s a very distant feeling. It’s distant in the way that I have to actively pay attention and try to grasp and feel it. Again, not going into the grosser details. He forces out the intestine and grabs my kidney. Ah, I know what’s he going for. I mean, I guess if I was him the first thing that’d come to my mind is trying out to see if Jack the Ripper was right about human kidneys. It’s not too original or whatever, but in the spur of moment it’s the first thing that comes to your mind. I assume at least. Unless I’m wrong and he’s more experienced than I’m assuming and he just loves kidneys, though I kind of doubt that by how he opened my stomach right here right now while I’m still slumped on the chair without thinking about the mess he’s making.
He takes my kidney to the kitchen and washes it under the water, and then puts on the cutting board, cuts it into cubes. He washes the cubes of organ meat again, probably because the idea of eating a kidney fresh out of a human being still mildly grosses him out, and he wants to make sure it’s clean. It probably doesn’t matter that much because you eat animal kidney without being this meticulous with it, but what do I know. He puts a skillet on the stove and turns it on to a medium flame, and proceeds to pour some olive oil in it. And guess what happens next? Yeah, he fries up my kidney. Now, I don’t think it’s going to cook all the way, or even if it does it’s going to taste that good. Dude doesn’t even salt it. I guess he might be a little too excited by the prospect of eating human meat. Even then, though… well, whatever. I don’t even know why I’m so bothered by that.
So yeah, he fries it all up and the whole house smells like cooked meat. I can see how the smell would be nauseating if I was still living but… actually, I’m not going to defend the smell. I don’t like the implication. Just know that he starts eating it and he tries really hard to like it, but after two or three bites he mutters “tastes like shit” to himself, frustrated, and puts it away. (What else did he expect.) He then grabs my hair and pulls on it… well, my BODY, I mean. And it slumps over on the floor and he takes it by two hand and drags it away to another corner of the house that was still clean. He then chops off my arms and legs, blood spouting out because he didn’t take the time to drain my body of it before jumping on to chopping me off. It makes a hell of a mess, but whatever. He cuts my limbs off and stores them in plastic bags in his freezer (I imagine they’re going to smell awful soon), and puts my head and the rest of my body in a big black plastic bag, and then puts that inside another plastic bag to reduce chance of leaking. Yadee yadee yada, he takes the rest of my body out and dumps it in the gutter.
I don’t think I maintained the same attitude while retelling the whole thing. I kind of got bored by the end. But that’s not necessarily a problem; not to me at least. And it’s not like I’m completely apathetic about the whole thing. It kind of started to get to me after he starts chopping up my corpse and all that business. Sorry if it was unpleasant for you to listen to all of this, but I’m grateful. I love you. Thanks for not treating me differently than you did when I was still living. I’ve no idea what’s next for me but I guess for now, I’ll just chill a bit in the gutter, and wait to be found. It’s not as bad as it sounds. I can still introspect my situation a bit, or what I’m feeling and how does it feel to lie headless and limbless in a gutter while the sun shines on my hollowed-out stomach and the breeze brushes against my cold skin. Ugh… this is unnecessary. I’m just hurting you for no reason now. Well, I see you around, cowboy! Thanks for the beauty you gave to my life, even if I was a little bit uncharitable with it. But our memories are still beautiful and true, aren’t they? Nothing can make them disappear. They happened and they’re real. Before I go though, I just have two things to ask you: Don’t forget me, and live happily.
Sincerely, Me. From a seaside city
Sinking. I sink down the city and each level further beneath, the more sinister and flooded in black water, I get washed and sunken. When the tsunami comes, we all sink. There’s a primitive man, walking on the vacant pavement without a sound in his skull, his spinal cord being directly attached to his brain with his soul sewn on his back. Sun sinks into the sea and I watch it fall down into the horizon while it leaves a blood smear on the sky.
I live in this town. Its sky is blue and its tarmac black. At times very grey, under the intense hea
I live in a world of nothingness. I am not white. I am not black. I’m not lit, I’m not unlit. I’m not a checkered pattern of white and grey. I am nothing and I refuse to let myself be submerged in anything. I am my own and nothing is derived from me, and neither I am derived of anything. World of obs
I live in a world of whiteness which nothing engulfs it. All’s mine is white and not a shade dimmer or brighter. Not marred by what you call color. Not obfuscated with borders since there is unity, singularity and nothing else, resulting in nothingness. AND WHAT AM I. is also whiteness. Is also brightness. For I am bright and only and a cloud of fog is only me. No
Night chases me like a precious death blanket. I walk on whiteness and the fetus sewn to my brain whispers an incantation, and black water rains from the sky. I am pathetic, as my
Night chases me like a poisonous snowflake. I am walking. Hunched with a brightness in my stomach. The breeze cools my brain, which is attached directly to my spine. I rid of my skull and instead,
There’s plenty colors in this world, and yet I only see white and black. The line between them gives shape to nightmares and monstrosities. I’m sorry you had to die like this. I’m so devastated and torn, nothing is orderly in my world anymore. Nothing is right. Everything is glitched and distorted. Everything is wrong. Help me. Don’t go. Don’t go. Don’t go. Don’t go. Don’t go. Don’t go. Don’t go. Don’t go. Don’t go. Don’t. Don’t. Don’t. Don’t. Don’t. Don’t.
And this black ocean is connected to a white beach.
And this white beach starts to fade into black the farther you go away from the black sea, but there is only black or white you see. There can't be both.
And there's a god in the sky resembling a squid.
And lightning.
And something is being sucked out of the ground to the sky.
And the clouds are black and white, not wholly black or white. Glitched like black and white.
Hacked off the signs of life off of the scorched asphalt
From its faults rises steaming souls of men forlorn
Forever born in midst of fire and war finally cut off from the face of inferno
Sky humid with humans, trees feeding on the blood-soaked dirt
Leaves that fall on the ground no longer make its skin crack
An eternal slumber and in face of it, life blooms
Free from the shackles of lifetime-long dictatorship
Where’s my bag? Oh god, no. Did I lose it? Where’s my bag? Oh god, I didn’t lose it. I didn’t just lost my baggage! I couldn’t have. I’m so fucking retarded. The train is moving. Fuck, I need a ticket. I need a ticket fast. Hey! Can you give me a ticket please? What? I just lost mine. Yeah, thank you. You’re a lifesaver. Where is it now. Number three… number three… Where am I now? Number hundred fifty. Oh god it’s going to take a while. I should hurry up before it’s too late. Come on… come on… she must be there. I just wanna see her, I don’t care about anything else anymore. I just wanna see her face and cry on her shoulders.
So, he slams open the door of cabin three and she looks at him rushing inside, flustered.
“What wrong? What happened?”
“Baggage… I lost my baggage. What’s going to happen now?” he looks as though he’s about to almost cry.
“Oh, gosh. They’ll board it on the train for you, silly. You don’t have to bring it with you,” she says with immeasurable kindness. “Good god, you made me really worried there for a second.”
"Oh... thank god. I thought I lost them for life."
He sprawls to the ground, hand on his forehead, forehead to the ground, and starts crying. “I thought I lost them…”
She kneels and pats his hair. He draws closer to rest his head on her lap and cries his heart out.
“It’s okay,” she murmurs. “It’s okay. They’re safe now so you don’t have to worry anymore.”
As he cries and she pats his hair, she looks up, gazes at the smoking buildings going past them out the window and whispers, more to herself than him, “I don’t know who you are, but it’s all okay now. It’s okay. You don’t have to worry anymore.”