v i s c e r a l s t o r i e s

Hangman (oneshot)

a prologue and an epilogue

That professional danger you create to polish your form will, some day, become your last resort.

In a place conveyed with mystery, I saw forth before me, the universe cracked open, like an egg, waiting for its release. The void sings a harmonic dissonance, alongside the vessels; the white flowers, slowly rotting in the ground, blooming into decay. I have no power or in a state to comprehend the things presented to me, nor wanting to understand every single thing. It was absurd, I thought. I have not moved a single movement from this wooden chair. How long have I been here? A year? A decade? A millennium? Well, nevermind that. It's a curse waiting to be released. What's dead can never die, right? I'll be doomed if it's for eternity though.

"From that room, I'll wipe away...." said a voice in the darkness.

In a middle of a never-ending chess-like room, a checkerboard sky continues to descend before me slowly. But, I know that it will find its way and the act will happen. It always happen, but I know it doesn't work like that.

"All remaining memories, all lot that saw...." another voice said.

The dead whispers in my ears, they are armed with sharpened teeth, their cries haunts me as if by possession. The rope that I tied to a tree remains and the dead in the sky hangs their intestines for it to reach below. Is this what the edge of this seat was made for? Even if the dead aren't by my side, their howls and guttural cacophony accompanies me, though unwanted, I never get bored because of their twisted eulogy, so far. These uncalled presences under the pretense of comfort is contradicting.

"All past, all present, will be copied for the future...."

That's what I thought so. I wonder why tragedy aren't popular nowadays? I love the concept of it — driving a human mind to the cliff of despair, standing at its edge; faced with a beautiful sight. This unknown force is like invisible fingers, waiting to give them a little push — L’appel du vide, or the call of the void. The world is full of absurd uncertainties that are just impossible to fathom. Why am I even here? It became an age-old question for me. At least give me reason.

Hey, are you even listening to me now?

"I'm sorry. Did you say reason?" he suddenly speaks, then he titters, this man front of me, shrouded in obscurity. "The mortals and their 'reasons', a mental facade set in a pedestal of your beings melting into trash. You make a pretty awful impression of one but I recognize all your efforts. Just thinking about it makes me want to throw up."

"It's starting to bore the shit out of me, you know? I can't just sit here for like, infinity and so on." I demanded, but I doubt he would listen to me as he combs his unnaturally jet-black hair with his skinny, long fingers and yawns.

"That was what I was intending to do. This is your judgement. No matter how you're composed now, soon, the thought of giving up will flood your helpless mind."

"I thought so. I can feel it."

"It's not important for me to know what you're feeling but please, let's wait. Maybe one day I'll change my mind. Maybe. Maybe not."

"For fuck's sake, just release me from this hell, you're just nagging the fun all by yourselves. You guys are really selfish to the core. Stop wasting my time."

"Now, now, do not say that. Time is an abstract concept designed to measure the existence of things in the universe, the source of this unusual fear that only mortals could feel. Do you know what is that? The other creatures you share the same fate with feels the same fear as you are except for that. They feel fear to survive, that is its sole purpose, that is why it is made. An evolutionary trait given to beings. The ability to fear but the fear that's only exclusive for humans, is quite and disgustingly senseless."