Humans have always possessed a fascinating imagination, from the ancient Sumerian deities to modern tales of the backrooms. What follows is a journey into that realm of weirdness - a story that might send chills down your spine.
There was a man in the desert, lost, thirsty, and hopeless. Worst of all, he was covered in blood, his arms and legs feeling alien to his consciousness. The merciless sun beat down upon him, its rays penetrating his very being.
"The sun seems to be staring into my soul," he whispered, his cracked lips barely moving.
He trudged forward through the endless expanse of sand, each step a battle against exhaustion. His mind raced with questions about his location, his purpose, the blood that stained his clothes. After what felt like miles of torment, he spotted something on the horizon - a massive rock formation jutting from the desert floor.
"Is it an illusion?" he wondered aloud, his voice hoarse. "How did I come here in the first place? Why am I rejoicing at the sight of a mere rock? Perhaps it's because the endless sand has become numbingly familiar, or maybe I'm hoping to wake up in my bed, probably having pissed myself. Am I dreaming?" He laughed bitterly. "No, this is certainly not a dream."
As he approached, the rock transformed before his eyes. What had appeared to be a natural formation revealed itself as a small city built into a colossal castle. The entrance was flanked by wooden posts, and a horrific smell - wood mixed with blood - assaulted his nostrils. Along the winding road leading upward, bodies hung crucified, their hollow eyes seeming to follow his movement.
For almost an hour, he climbed the path. Gradually, incongruous sounds reached his ears - music, laughter, the gentle clink of glasses being filled. At the summit, he found himself in what appeared to be a Roman festival. Tall, pale men in red and white clothing moved through the crowds, their unnatural grace marking them as something other than human. The celebration seemed obscenely joyous amidst the horror he had passed.
One of the pale men approached, placing an ice-cold palm on his back. "Come, rejoice!" the creature said, its voice like silk over steel. "Here, anything you wish for shall be granted."
Overwhelmed by hunger and thirst, the man didn't hesitate. He fell upon the feast before him, gorging himself on delicacies he couldn't name. He ate as he had never eaten before, until his stomach stretched painfully against his skin. Time lost all meaning as he consumed more and more, until finally, darkness claimed him.
He awoke in a room of perfect whiteness. No sound penetrated the space except for his own biological processes - blood flowing through his veins, heart beating against his ribs, joints cracking as he moved. The walls seemed to resist his touch, neither warm nor cold, neither solid nor ethereal. No doors, no windows, just endless white that threatened to consume his sanity.
"This nightmare is surely not ending anytime soon," he said into the void. "Life is meaningless if I say so, and I wasn't - am not - a good person deserving of grace or kindness. But the world we live in certainly doesn't make it easy to stay pure. Evil isn't always a choice; using tricks and prohibited ways to get what we desire is tempting. I couldn't let go of that and return to poverty - that never-ending loop of false hope, that circle of mist. Lost in the agony of 'be good and life will be good.' What a lie, what hypocrisy."
Time passed - minutes or millennia, he couldn't tell. Eventually, they came for him. The pale men dragged him from his white prison to a chamber of ancient horrors. They strapped him to a boiling iron table, his flesh sizzling against the metal. Four figures in ceremonial robes approached, wielding razor-sharp swords that gleamed with unnatural light. With methodical precision, they began their work, dismembering him piece by piece, saving his head for last so he could witness his own destruction.
Through his screams and tears, they carried what remained of him to a pit of absolute darkness. As they cast him into oblivion, his last thought was of redemption - too late, far too late.
In the desert, a man began walking, lost and covered in blood...