My head hurts. A lot. My brain is leaking out onto the sheets every time I pull myself out of bed, and I am filled with a new understanding of this... room. Not really the "how" or the "why." Just the "what." I'm sure you would love to hear about it. Once again, let me explain to you how this all works. I like when you listen.
My thoughts floated through the boundary once more, though not for introspection. I dreamt that the space was peeled from its core, revealing nothingness to me, and I looked outward into the dark horizon. The familiar, bitter cold spread out for ages beyond that peel. I began my climb further into the unknown depths for an eternity. I was not lost, however, as I felt myself pull towards a twinkle that revealed itself as an exit. It reminded me all at once of a story I can't name. Something about traveling through a long desert to see someone worth seeing. Someone that will always be worth seeing to everyone, everywhere. It coerced me one step at a time in a rhythm fit to the pattern of the peel. It sounds ridiculous, doesn't it? To leave what seems perfectly comfortable? I thought the same thing too, but this is a burning desire that is always worth shedding comfort for. You can never ignore a call like this. You just can't.
No time passed at all between the final and first step. Both were taken simultaneously at the bottom and top ends of the peel. The skin folds out into a narrow wire that stood sturdy against my feet, which floated at its pinpoint edge. I could not see anything but white in front of me as everything melted into the star. Pushing off with one foot, my sanity slipped as my home left my sole, sole from my home. Was it faith that took me? I couldn't tell you who was responsible, because it never felt like it was me who decided to leap. Yet there I was, falling away.
What came next was a violation. Aggressive, painful, excruciating. There must be something out there. Billions of things to see with a billion experiences worth telling to anyone else. There was never a reason for me to be the next thing to put on display. So why is it that when I fly away, my body floating against my will and helpless to everything, that all but five eyes have to look?
They stared at me, watched me scream for help. Its pupils stared through mine and laid me out to display every detail. Nothing was sacred. An impossibility shifted in the darkness. It peeled my world apart or, maybe, watched it and still did nothing at all. All I know is that I was the observed, and it was a silent observer. I begged it to say something, anything, all to no avail. It crawled into my mind to look back at me, through me, until I woke up to see my own eyes. I was tied in the sheets with my bed overturned towards my desk. But the nightmare was not gone. It seems like it's still there.
"Did you even care?" I might ask. "Could you even tell me why you let it all happen?" No, not that. These words aren't putting it all together for you and I am sorry beyond belief. Whatever that was, it is allowed to not care. It is allowed to not understand for whatever reason it was. But it wasn't that it chose not to interfere. No, no. There is no way it's as innocent as that. My idea, the truth of this entire place, is that it could not choose to interfere in my dreaming. The eyes staring back at me cannot possibly be anything but an observer, all because it is not me. Its purpose is torment in the worst way. It chose to look, to look with intent, but there could never have been. And as long as I live I hope no one ever fucking looks at me again.
...
How did I ever say something so horrid? I didn't know I could do that to anyone, anything. Bitter oil spilled out onto the page from my eyes and I can't even recognize what my intentions are. The stench is maddening. What is happening to me? This could not be me. This all has to be dreamspeak, it must be. I want it to go away. I'll take it all back, make it better. You just need to let me try again, okay? It will be better, it has to be. I promise.
Six
I don't even know what to tell you anymore, and I really am sorry to traumatize you this way. It's not fair for me to write things that you've been through. However, I'm glad that you're realizing that I am the only audience that you have in this dark place. I am stuck here, with myself, and that is something I will have to learn to live with. Should I move on with this project, I think it would be better for me to accept the truth of all of this. To be better. After all, I need some sort of goal to keep me going, otherwise I don't know what else I would do here. Daydreaming feels much more faded than it used to be. Playing pretend is no longer the game it presents itself as. Now is the time to figure this all out.
Layer One: Infinite Intuition
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