This Fic Contains: Death, existentialism, time loops, TS Eliot
Disclaimer: I've never played Pathologic in my life but I've had extensive conversations with
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little_lady_d about the setting and LoreAlternate Title: What Is Going On With This Goth Theater Kid
Word Count: 220
chronicle
you chronicle your own decay. there are so many ways to die, some noble but plenty of gruesome ones, and you are well-practiced in all of them. down the line someone may find it instructive, or entertaining, or somehow protective. you hope.
perhaps that someone will be yourself, returned to the beginning with no memory of how you got there or of what was always going to have happened again. when you read over the mess of tenses and auxiliary verbs, you shrug in an arcane tangle of ink. well. it wouldn’t be the first time.
other thinkers measure their lives in coffee spoons or peach pits; you are more interested in how the Shadow Falls between the walnut shell and the lock-pick. your pages tell you that you have been preoccupied with the Hollow Men and the skittering thoughts behind those impassive faces. you cannot remember the last time you slept but you still dream all the time, and in your dreams you are continually guttering, choking, drowning.
out, out, brief candle. you plunge into the end, into an end at any rate, though to what end you could not say. you cannot speak. game over, but not for you. time to take it from the top.
look here: someone was thoughtful enough to chronicle their own decay.
