G
It as if I have entered somewhere else, some strange, unearthly region where only I exist.
I can see others physical forms, and they, mine, but I only exist in some faint sense. I am not a real human.
It feels as though everyone I meet, I can only interact with on the shallowest of levels, like, we are communicating through some form of alien technology, but neither of us are really together, we do not know each others language. Nothing either of us say to each other can truly be understood by the other.
It doesn't matter how we act, when in my presence, there is always this underlying tone of unease and uncertainty, like any moment the situation could slip into crisis. And surely it could, if my facade falters for even a moment, and I allow my true self to be seen. In the presence of real humans I must constantly lie and pretend, try to convince them I am natural and orderly, since if what was within was revealed to the outer world, it would seek my destruction immediately, like the immune system would destroy an anomaly. For that reason, I must be alone, isolated.
I do not have power here. How could I? The world's laws and physics are foreign to me, unknown. I can only influence them in the subtlest ways, but to no real effect. I do not have agency or force like the real people do. What they decide, will come true, regardless of my struggles to oppose them.
I don't think it was always this way. There was once someone more earthly in my place. All that remains of him are traces, mere suggestions of a human, fragments that shine through once in a while. Why he had to leave, I do not know. Perhaps it was some cosmic mistake that an entity such as I came to be.
But, for whatever reason, I stand in his place now. In his rotting, useless vessel. Maybe my unnatural inhabitance is part responsible for twisting it into the wretched form it is today. I am unsuited to the pains and suffering one must endure in this world. I pray it is possible that in death I will find a world I can adapt to better.
Why else would the rope call to me so? I'm nowhere. I'm no-one now.
I can see others physical forms, and they, mine, but I only exist in some faint sense. I am not a real human.
It feels as though everyone I meet, I can only interact with on the shallowest of levels, like, we are communicating through some form of alien technology, but neither of us are really together, we do not know each others language. Nothing either of us say to each other can truly be understood by the other.
It doesn't matter how we act, when in my presence, there is always this underlying tone of unease and uncertainty, like any moment the situation could slip into crisis. And surely it could, if my facade falters for even a moment, and I allow my true self to be seen. In the presence of real humans I must constantly lie and pretend, try to convince them I am natural and orderly, since if what was within was revealed to the outer world, it would seek my destruction immediately, like the immune system would destroy an anomaly. For that reason, I must be alone, isolated.
I do not have power here. How could I? The world's laws and physics are foreign to me, unknown. I can only influence them in the subtlest ways, but to no real effect. I do not have agency or force like the real people do. What they decide, will come true, regardless of my struggles to oppose them.
I don't think it was always this way. There was once someone more earthly in my place. All that remains of him are traces, mere suggestions of a human, fragments that shine through once in a while. Why he had to leave, I do not know. Perhaps it was some cosmic mistake that an entity such as I came to be.
But, for whatever reason, I stand in his place now. In his rotting, useless vessel. Maybe my unnatural inhabitance is part responsible for twisting it into the wretched form it is today. I am unsuited to the pains and suffering one must endure in this world. I pray it is possible that in death I will find a world I can adapt to better.
Why else would the rope call to me so? I'm nowhere. I'm no-one now.
