Spirals

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Hi.

I have a secret for you.

I am not here, and I have lost hold of time.

It has probably been more months.

Months, months, weeks, do they matter? Am I still conscious as I drift about?

I am not here. Or here has refused my body. I must be in a limbo copy of my home. I must be in a copy that was meant to keep me infused in a twisted simulation. I must be a test subject of some sorts. Or maybe I am still just a puppet. Puppet. Puppets are not fun. But they make me smile anyway.

I have broken a cycle at the cost of my honesty. I am not thrown into a bus into a building into a bus into a building into a bus anymore. I have been in this copy home and safe in my copy bed for a while, and none of the people around me can tell because puppeteers like to stuff me back in a toy box when they come to visit.

I have been too tired to eat. But I am very safe in my bed, and it does not matter if I eat anymore. There are two hungers that I contain and I have not fed either of them much. I think I fed one something leftover from somewhere in this copy room, and the other is preserved for the puppeteers that take my head sometimes and put it against the wall and take it away and put it against the wall harder and take it away faster like I can break the simulation boundaries and be free. It feels like I can, for a second. A second. A second does not last, though, correct? Some seconds last. Most seconds are worthless.

There are a lot of seconds that I cannot understand.

Well!

I ought to clear my head then. It is too full of thoughts.

Maybe to leave this copy house and its residents for a while, maybe to get some fresh air, maybe to take some nice good snacks and go on a nice good walk so I can clear my head. I might feel safe here, but something is going to get me soon. I can feel it. It feels like something else is going to get me, and its secrecy keeps me up at night.

I need to clear my head, then.

It is necessary.

I am excited now! What else should I do to clear my head? Does it matter? Maybe the puppeteers will let me go to feed my body and their hunger, and maybe I can groom myself and clean the copy house before I go on a walk. I can go on a walk this Friday and pretend I am going to the school that will fill my head with things that will boil over. And maybe my mother and my sister will be happy that I cleared my head and my father would be relieved that there will be no more thoughts that cause him concern and stress.

Should I create something on Friday?

No, no. No, Creator is dead. Creator is dead. How will I make something good enough? I will do a bit of writing on paper and try my best even without Creator. After all, I am no longer Traveler; I am alone. Alone is like a lost leg that I got used to, where it is more comfortable because then I am not expected to move as much.

Well. I will create something on Friday.

I am scared thinking about it because I will be leaving my copy bed and copy home and going out into a fake fuzzy nature with feelings that hurt. But I am excited because clearing my head and purging these thoughts alone will be the best for me and for everyone, and the simulation will end and nothing will be a copy anymore.

That is a good thought. That is a good thought.

I feel better now. The simulation looks different now that I know I have the power to take it down.

Power. Control. It is something I miss.

Control.

I would kill to have it back.

I will have it back.

That is a good thought. It is a thought that makes me want to laugh. But laughter hurts now! The strings that control my lips have worn their muscles out, and now it is exhausting just to part them for water.

I have just asked the puppeteers for permission to go out on Friday, and they have agreed, reluctantly. Good enough. I want to think more about this. I want to think more about Friday. There is nothing else to think about. So it will be a safe thing to think about Friday. I feel safe and relieved thinking about Friday.

I cannot wait. I cannot wait.

I cannot wait to clear this head of mine.

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