It is currently nameless....
There was a ground. At least there should have been. What I was looking at was a sky. Big, blue and vast. It was surprisingly cloudless that day. The sun was big and bright but it was not blinding like it usually was. No, it was a dark, almost sickly, green. From my point of view it looked like it could have been a big floating ball of vomit. It was a rough round shape, with bit and pieces jutting out and a few lumps over its surface, so that it was not smooth, as I’d always thought the sun would be. So there was the green bright sun, suspended, below me a few feet, in the vast blue sky.
And so was I.
Everywhere I turned there was blueness and the green glob was always below me. When I had turned my head to face east, or what was my right anyway, I noticed a black spot. I leaned forward as far as possible so not to risk stepping out of the place I was in. If I didn’t know how I’d gotten up here, I wouldn’t know whether I could walk without falling or not. So I decided to not risk it and stay rooted where I was. So leaning forward, I still could not see well enough and craned my neck forward, hoping to see more than I initially could of the spot. Still nothing. I leaned in more, as far as I could, until I was balanced on my tippy toes, but the spot still did not become clearer or less mysterious. Slowly, cautiously, I returned to a normal standing position and gave sigh of abandonment. It seemed I was alone and too scared to try to move out the place I had been put in by whomever. Well there was only one thing to do; wait. Wait for anything. Either for someone or something to come around or until – let’s not consider that other option.
Some time that felt like hours passed and still I was standing, with no signs of fatigue or a possible rescue. This really was a strange place. But it was also boring. With nothing to do, I was left with just the option of playing mind games with myself and recently, I’d been playing mind chess and, because I could not keep track of all the plays, I always won against myself. The black spot was still to the east and was as enigmatic as before. I’d studied it earlier, thinking it might be a moving object far in the distance that would soon reach me, but it neither moved left, right nor closer nor further away. It was stationary. Soon enough I was creating stories and fantasies as to what it could be; the wildest of which was that the spot was some kind of alien space ship the size of planets that was so far away, its movement was barely perceived until a phenomenal amount of time had passed. At least in that fantasy there was no hope of being rescued; I was too far away to show up on its radar. I eventually gave up on that idea. Just because I was bored and stranded did not mean I could stand there creating fiction beyond the absurd. So I started with the mind games.
Hours later, I’m still standing here. I’m starting to feel an itch in my leg. I scratch it and the itching stops, but then my fingers start to itch. I scratch it with my other hand and that hand starts to itch. I rub my now itchy hand on my shirt and my stomach starts to itch, while my hand stops. Confused, I scratch and rub furiously, while the itch jumps from one surface to another. Confusion flies out the window and fear sets in. It’s just an itch, but it moves, it travels and it gets worse and worse.
Now I’m scratching like a maniac and my entire body is on fire. The itch never stays still and I’m constantly raking my nails over my skin until it turns red and splits open. Soon enough I’m scratching and expanding open sores. The pain is unbelievable! I start to scream but I can’t stop scratching. The itch is no longer a pest; it has become a catastrophe; a physical and psychological threat; slowly driving me into madness and pushing me beyond the limits of reality. The feel of my flesh and skin being peeled away under my own nails is no barrier to the maniacal obsession and one-minded objective my mind has created; to stop this itch. I scratch and scratch. My fingers dig into my flesh and strings of ligaments, torn tendons and blood coat my fingers. The sight disgusts me but my brain is confused. It doesn’t know whether to stop because what I’m doing is inhumane or to pursue the crazy task of ending this unending itch. My eyes go wide with shock and fear as my fingers not only refuse to stop, they get faster and faster. Chunks of flesh from my legs, back, neck and arms are being ripped to pieces and shredded by fingers, which have taken a whole new life and are acting on their orders to chase down and end this itch. My body looks like a bed sheet that has been passed through a shredder multiple times. Skin is hanging off in odd places and blood-covered flesh surrounds me like some sick, twisted bowl of cereal and I’m the surprise in the box. Despite the horror of my actions, the comparison almost makes me laugh.
Suddenly, my left arm falls. It’s dead. I look down and I can actually see my bone. The whiteness of the bone sets my mind in turmoil. I’ve gone to a place no-one should ever go and I’ve seen the thing no-one was ever meant to see. The sudden realisation that I have a crossed a barrier that should never be crossed, pushes me over the edge of sanity and suddenly there is no pain anymore. Now everything is just a tickle. I look at the mangled and mutilated flesh of what used to be me and all I do is laugh. The itch no longer exists and I’m scratching simply because I’m used to it. My laugh is that of an animal with no thought; as spine-chilling as the shriek of a hyena yet full of pain and anguish similar to that of someone dying a slow, torturous death. My barbaric sounds are wild and carefree. To the green mass of vomit I am contently in the throes of madness but my mind is shrieking out at the travesty I’ve performed.
In my head I’m crying out, begging and pleading for my body to stop this merciless assault. But it’s useless. My body’s beyond the point of salvation and refuses to take orders anymore. Suddenly I see something. It’s familiar and something in my sick, twisted head registers the sight. My blood-shot eyes go wide with fear but soon recognize the sight. My strained lungs stop moving, and my heart slows down from the frantic pace and suddenly all I care about is what my eyes can see. The spot. The black spot. It’s exactly the same. Nothing has changed but now instead of filling me with curiosity and yearning, it clears my mind and suddenly it’s all I see. The tickles and itches and pains don’t affect me anymore. I no longer feel the blood flowing freely down my body and pooling at my feet. I no longer care about the flesh that surrounds me, or the skin that hangs off like a costume which has been exposed to the ferocity of wild cats. From my lidless eyes I stare, unable to blink, and the empty holes where my cheeks had once been, drop open. The lips that were once used to speak, now a tattered mess, stretch open and from my ripped throat, a gurgling sound, covered in blood, spews out. I try again. Still more gurgling. Then I try to swallow the blood clogging my throat and I choke. A hoarse but wet cough forces blood out of my throat and up into my mouth where it pours out of my cheeks. I can feel more blood on its way to replace the regurgitated one but a moment of clarity is all and I need.
Before I can say anything, my legs give out and I hit the ground hard. Blood is forced in my throat and I choke and cough. My body spasm as blood and guts come out of every opening available but I’m paralysed now. I can’t do anything anymore. I’m staring up at the vast blue all around me and then the spot’s there. It shouldn’t be. It’s right in front of me. It’s within arm’s reach but my arms are unresponsive. My body makes no movement but my mind howls out curses of rage at the spot. How dare this spot?! It kept its distance and watched me go mad and now when I need it the least it actually comes up to me. Goddamn the spot! My mind screams at the spot while my body slowly and torturously dies. Soon all that’s left is my eyes. My mind is tired and is shutting down. I just stare up at the spot and the last thing I say before I’m blinded is the spot. The last thing I feel is a full serenity and calmness I’ve never felt before and I silently say goodbye to the spot. This spot that destroyed me, then saved me and is now the only thing to see me die and mourn me.
