I fought so hard. Everyday, I battled myself, my own consciousness, to stay alive. To stay grounded, as giving in and surrendering would mean death. I did good - I played my guitar, worked hard, treated the love of my life kindly - Yet she took my heart, and wrung it of all it's blood, of all it's life. That, dear reader, is when I surrendered. I entered the hallway bathroom, Do-It razor in my hand, and shut the door, leaving it unlocked. Perhaps I shouldn't do this.. Perhaps I should - no matter.

I look into the mirror, beholding my unlovable face.

I am a piece of shit, I know. I am a malformed abomination of a human, I know. What's the point of beating myself up when I already embody self-loathing?

I slice the razors upwards, wrist to elbow, on both arms. My maroon blood gushes out of my arms like water through cracks in a dam. I fall to the floor, feeling that blood pool around me.

My vision slowly grows narrower, as darkness grows over it.

The darkness takes over, and I feel nothing. Not peace, but rather, true nirvana, true tranquillity.

My tranquility is interrupted by a dream.

Strange, I figured death was pure darkness.

Perhaps I have died and ventured to purgatory. My memories seem to fade as I dream, in fact, I find it hard to recall much at all - except people.

The faces of people remain perfect in my dreams, in my consciousness. My dreams are ever-so beautiful -

She's there, where she always has been. Crystallized, perfect, from the one night I knew her.

Oak brown hair, pale skin,

and funny eyes, brown like that. Maybe hazel.

That grey fog in my mind seeps her away.

I won't find her, but that's okay.

Falling, falling,

falling.....

Up.

I sit up in my worn bed, ubiquitous stains covering the mattress.

My room is the same it's been for years, I imagine. Concrete walls, a shattered mirror accented by a broken sink, and a toilet that seldom has running water.

I see my food again, laying in front of my cell door. It's that same fucking paste, that paste with a sickly tan hue, that I choke down everyday, with a paper cup of water.

Yet this time, there is a note. Something different, finally, after these years of torture.

Yet to my dismay, it simply reads:

OBEY.

What?

I don't quite understand what the note is trying to tell me, obey what? I haven't seen or heard another human soul, not even a whimper, since I woke up here all those years ago.

But then, I heard it.

Finger through your paste, Luther; a small knife lay hidden within it. Use the knife as you see fit.

Luther! I'd forgotten my name many moons ago. It truly is wondrous to be reminded of my life before I woke up here, of mother's warm embrace, father's wise words, of her undying love.

Alas, that is of the past. I'll get that knife now - a switchblade, I see. Use it as you see fit, huh?

I could kill myself, but I doubt that my admirer-from-afar intended for me to do so.

So I'll wait. My sense of time is gone and buried, but I'll wait until tomorrow for the person who brings my food to come by. I'm weak, muscle atrophy has reduced me from manhood to a skeletal figure, but this knife should prove more than fatal.

So, I wait. There's nothing much to think about, the aphantasia renders my mind entirely blank, save for my dreams.

After what could have been five minutes or five days, I hear footsteps from afar. It must be the food person.

The moment I see my food begin to slide through the cell bars, I lunge from my bed, stabbing my blade blindly through the bars, striking the food per-

Jesus christ almighty, what is that thing?

It can't be human. I've killed it, no doubt, but it's blood is.... black?

It's eyes are glass white, devoid of life, and it's arms are long enough to drag along the floor. It's so tall, it's hesd nearly hitting the ceiling, although it couldn't have been taller than seven foot.

I see a key on it's strange tool belt, and I grab it. Luckily for me, my door unlocks.

I stare down the long hall from my cell. There are no other cells near mine. Rather, a long, unlit concrete hallway extends from my cell door, seemingly ad infinitum.

So I eat my paste, and walk.

I walk, and walk, and walk.

I don't have night vision, as there is no light for my eyes to amplify, but I can use the walls to orient myself.

I am paranoid now. At least my cell had a bright lightbulb, I am petrified of the dark. Worst of all, I hear noises all around me, from directions whence they could not occur, like from above, through a solid concrete roofing.

Still, I persevere. I choose not to run, as it would only serve to deplete my stamina for no good reason.

Days pass, or years, I don't know. At long last, I see a light at long last.

It's... a light bulb. What a cruel joke.

I continue to saunter down the grimly illuminated hall, eventually seeing the faint glow of a cell. Perhaps another person is there!

As I grow closer, I call out, asking if someone is there, but to no reply.

I finally reach the cell, but to my dismay, it's MY cell.

In my complete and utter confusion, I realize - Death is the only way out.

So, I slit my throat with the switchblade.

As the blood pools around me, déjà vu washes over me. I can't help but feel that I've been here before, that I've died thousands of times.

At last, the warmth of death's embrace consu-

Up.