How much time has passed? A day? Ten years? A thousand?
It's impossible to tell. Thinking is so hard. I can't remember much anymore. Who am I?
I feel myself fading, drifting away into infinity. There are so many voices, so many fragments of thought—it's like there are hundreds of me.
"Who are you?"
"What are you?"
"Where are you?"
Did I have a body? Yes. No. I think I did. No—I know I did. But it's so hard to hold onto the thought. Right now, it's so peaceful. I remember pain. Endless pain. I remember sleepless nights. But here, I feel nothing. Here, I could sleep forever.
I feel my mind drifting, slipping into that eternal sleep.
But then—
Thunder, sharp and loud, like synapses firing off in a storm of thought. A memory rises from the haze, fragile but clear.
I was in a classroom. Ethics class. My favorite.
We were debating what it meant to be human. Humans have needs, wants, desires, they said. It seemed so obvious to everyone but me. I never understood it—never felt it the way others did.
Growing up, the world always seemed dull, dry, empty. Except for the sky. The beautiful, endless blue sky. It was a tapestry, vast and vibrant, so alive it almost felt like it was mocking me.
But did I have a want? A desire? There was something…
Another thunderclap shakes the void, another memory surges forth.
Crimson. My favorite color. Beautiful, but full of meaning.
I remember wanting to be like the other kids. To feel what they felt. To understand what drove them. But I never could. I was always the odd one out, especially in debates. Always the one to bring up the unconsidered, the uncomfortable.
I didn't believe in innate morality. I didn't believe people were inherently good.
Humans are wrathful, greedy, lustful, envious, slothful, gluttonous. They are filled with desires. To me, morality was a human invention—a fragile, imperfect construct.
I remember him. The one who always argued about justice, about God's divine truth. His words felt hollow to me, as if they didn't belong to this world. To hold humanity to a divine standard seemed absurd. Humans were never so simple.
But there was something more. Something that mattered to me. A wish. A want. What was it? It's so hard to think. So hard to hold on. Sleep calls to me, sweet serenity.
I drift off again. My mind spirals into a storm of swirling thoughts and fragments.
And then—a face. A smile. They weren't like the others. They were kind. Earnest.
For the first time in my life, I laughed. A true laugh. I smiled—a real smile.
But it all feels so far away now, like a dream fading with the dawn.
Got it. Let's clean that up and focus on clarity while preserving the emotional weight. Here's the revision:
Another thunderclap shakes the void, sending ripples through the static. The storm intensifies, the haze of eternity pulling me apart, unraveling what little remains of my thoughts.
I reach out, clawing through the static, grasping at the remnants of myself. Fragmented memories flash—faces, voices, promises—before slipping away like water through my fingers. But there is one thing I hold onto, one thing that burns brighter than all the resti
A crimson wish.
It's more than a memory. It's a promise. A vow I made to myself. To them. It burns with love, with passion, with meaning. I wanted more than this empty eternity. More than to drift forever in endless peace.
"If I give in," I think, my mind tightening like a fist, "I will lose everything. I will be nothing. I will fade."
The static grows louder, stronger, threatening to swallow me whole. My sense of self flickers like a dying ember. But I grit my teeth—whether real or imagined—and hold on.
For the first time in what feels like centuries, I remember what I wanted:
"I wanted to live. I wanted to be more."
The something inside me swells, a cacophony of chaos and energy. I don't know how to stop it, don't know if it's possible. All I know is that I cannot disappear. I cannot lose what little remains of me.