Hoping for a ray of light in an evergreen forest is nothing but a fantasy. But in desperate times we long to see the faintest ray of light in this perpetual darkness, it is reasonable of course, we do wish to find ourselves in a better state than the returnal torture being inflicted upon us, by forces beyond your control. We feel like we need someone or something, we look for all these things and in some way or the other, we end up biting the bullet that it was and will be a fantasy.
In this world, we live we are surrounded by wolves in sheep's clothing we are hopeful that we will end up finding another like-minded soul, in this search we pour our whole reason for existing, instances where we trust the gut, I feel is out of sheer desperation as it overrules the logical reasoning of the brain which are telling you the "objective" facts you get from the data you have collected. In desperate times they will be overruled, you are in that much of a dire state that you will take anything and everything can grasp. You finally find a rope to climb out of this pitch-black forest guided by the flickering flame of your soul.
You grasp it with all your strength and tug it to see if it is rigid enough to bear your weight, you see a piece of heaven when it is able to withstand your weight. You climb up, and with each heave, you rise from the vantablack forest into the light, the euphoria escalates with each millimetre you rise from the ground.
You finally pull yourself up to the surface and you can't believe what you see. What you have been searching for in the jungle is finally found, you slap yourself to see if it is a dream, and you bite your tongue to double-check it. This ritual does no good to confirm if it as you aren't blessed to dream, what you get instead of this is lucid living nightmares which you can't tell is a nightmare as the process of slapping and bitting your tongue feels as painful in this nightmare you have no idea what is real and what isn't. You come with two explanations, The first is that your flame has finally died and you have transcended to wherever you people go after they have passed away. The second is that somehow this is actually real.
The eyes are feasting on like-minded people who claim to be in the jungle and have come into this wonderful place just like I have, what they seek is someone to share the light, someone who will be there when shit hits the turbine. Ultra sceptical at first but then as time passed so did the scepticism, but it never went away it was always there at the back of the mind, "This shit ain't right, this ain't one bit right confront confront CONFRONT". Well at least now I'll die knowing I was right all along, was it worth it? Losing the "people" I found here, seeing how everything has turned out they were never worth it anyway that's what I want to believe, sure did a lot of things for all of them, desperate times show one's true colours I believe. The fault is mine, should have just stayed in the jungle, well I am back here now anyway with some changes, sadly not the pleasant ones. The emotional baggage from whatever Siren-infested hellhole I brought with me isn't being disposed of no matter what I try. Happy now Sirens seeing me break before your eyes? Isn't this what you wanted? Feast your eyes upon it, yes enjoy and relish yourselves as this petty human slowly loses his sanity.
You know what's next, don't you?
The man's sanity breaks after being in the forest with the baggage. As if the universe has laws he is being dealt more and more shit each day as of now 2784 hours of continuous brutal chaotic mind shattering atrocities have been done by literally each and every person he knows excluding his brother [ thank GOD for that guy] . With the hopefully final nail in the coffin coming in about 72 hours ago he has lost the twiddling and flickering flame in him.
With absolutely nothing to lose he breaks open the ceiling and goes up there tearing out the larynx of each and every one of the snakes who lied, cheated and used him for their personal gains. The slaughter begins with the hierarchy of course, THE SNAKE is first kicked down to the floor, his left ankle is kicked on, smashed with a glass bottle, the thighs are slowly lacerated with a blade the wounds are filled with glass pieces from the broken bottle. Every bone in the body is broken with a bike exhaust, as the waste of matter and space is bleeding to death and can die any moment, his life is extended by hooking up a drip full of blood. The show is not yet over some piping hot screwdrivers to pluck out those eyes and feed him his own eyes, the kill shot is tearing open his larynx with my hands and throwing it at the next person who awaits his judgment.
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