Work Text
You think too much. Alternatively, you think too little. Your thoughts are relative. Everything is relative. You bring a hand to your mouth. Something crawls out. You do not know what it is. You can not see what it is. It does not matter what it is.
You live in a house. Alternatively, you live in a cabin. Your dwelling is relative. Everything is relative. You sit up and crawl out of bed. Something skitters up your leg. You do not know what it is. You can not see what it is. It does not matter what it is.
You are alone. Alternatively, you are not alone. Your company is relative. Everything is relative. You reach out with that appendage so often called a hand. The chalk is rough in your...hand. You assume it is chalk. You do do not know what it is. You can not see what it is. It does not matter what it is.
You know what to do. Alternatively, you have no idea what to do. Your knowledge is relative. Everything is relative. You walk out of the room. The stairs trip you up. The stairs always trip you up. There is something on them. Something wet, and sticky. You do not know what it is. You can not see what it is. It does not matter what it is.
You wonder why it had to be you. Alternatively, you do not wonder why it had to be you. Your curiosity is relative. Everything is relative. You get down onto your knees. The chalk is still in your hand. You taste it. It tastes like copper. You know that is not what chalk tastes like. You put your hand to the floor and begin to draw. You do not know what it is. You can not see what it is. It does not matter what it is.
You hear a noise from upstairs. Alternatively, you do not hear a noise from upstairs. Your hearing is relative. Everything is relative. You finch at the crunch. “
I am sorry”
you think. You do not say it out loud. There is something that prevents you from saying it out loud. You do not know what it is. You can not see what it is. It does not matter what it is.
You remember feeling your teeth sink into the soft organs. Alternatively, you do not remember feeling your teeth sink into the soft organs. Your memories are relative. Everything is relative. You finish the circle. You know it is a circle, now. You smile, now. You are free, now. Someone has told you this. You do not know what it is. You can not see what it is. It does not matter what it is.
You hear the deranged, angry screams of whatever you have summoned. Alternatively, you cannot hear. Your perception of the world is relative. Everything is relative. You can see. You can see, and there is blood. You know it is not
all
around you. You know it is there. Demon, your brain supplies. This thing you see before you, black as the void that will one day surround you and etched with the same glowing yellow lines that have always surrounded you is a demon. Something about the situation is funny. You do not know what it is. You can not see what it is. It does not matter what it is.
You know that the demon has killed your house guest. Alternatively, you do not know that the demon has killed your houseguest. Your house guest's death is relative. Everything is relative. You stand, accidentally snapping a few fingers underneath of your feet. You smile. You laugh. There is something urging you to run, because you are next in line after your houseguest. You do not know what it is. You can not see what it is. It does not matter what it is.
You die. Alternatively, you do not die. Your death is relative. Everything is relative. You die in a way that is slow and painful. You love every second of it. Something in the back of your mind objected to it. You did not know what it was. You could not see what it was. It did not matter what it was.