November 3rd Curt opened his eyes as his alarm sounded. Even if it was becoming more regular, it was still a pleasure to be woken […]
Had to happen sometime, Spyder.
It wasn’t supposed to happen so-
You were the walking dead, be glad of what time you had.
How do I get you to shut up?
You don’t, I’m the one that keeps you sane.
Do I need sanity after death?
Just let me think, please…Death is being trapped in your own head?
This could be that millisecond before death.
But…there’s supposed to be…like…happy bits…
Nothing else in the world works like its supposed to, and you still expect that?
Still, I don’t know how I feel about being trapped in my own head…
You must be the lucky side of the brain, cause I’m not feeling anything over here…So genius, what are you feeling?
I’m…I feel…I’m not…nothing, I’m feeling nothing. Well, fsck that. I’m angry. I want to be angry, so I’m angry.
There we go, manufactured emotion, just like the old days.
I wanna open my eyes…I’m scared.
You’ve got nothing to be scared of.
Theories. Theories. Theories. Theory one: I’m dead. If that’s the case, I can deal with that later.
Yeah, we’re not exactly going anywhere.
Theory two: I’m in a coma.
Coma is good. We can wake up from a coma.
Theory three: This isn’t me, this is all the data left behind on the net. I left behind more than I had intended. That would be neat, I wonder if I can Google myself. Here we go, here we go…
Did you really expect that to work? I don’t think we’re on the net.
I’d know more if I could hear anything except my own thoughts. And…I’m still scared.