Eroding core

01 | Blue crash

I am naked, don't read

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A clear, radiant sky, like a blue fragment of paradise, captivated her senses, as if it were the most exalted creation descended from heaven—a glassy sheet enclosing the supreme light. Suddenly, a dark cloud gathered, merging into a dense mass like a thicket in a forest untouched by human feet. The sun appeared small and pale, curled in on itself, marring the pure blue. Then the rain began to fall—its drops a crimson red that terrified the eternal air, carrying the scent of sin. The sky wept blood, and paradise mourned its own transgressions.

Her legs resumed their movement, and then she broke into a run, fleeing from the blood raining down upon her, staining her soul and weighing it with filth. Exhausted, she collapsed to the ground like a lifeless body. She looked upward, pleading, as the blood poured down, drenching her. She tried to rise, but found herself stuck—ensnared, as if something clung to her. It felt like frail hands with long fingers and rotting nails were pulling her into the earth, dragging her toward the depths of hell.

The falling blood transformed into small, laughing human heads, oozing pus and rot from their mouths. They tumbled into her lap, hitting and crushing her skull. She screamed in vain, her voice stifled, while the heads laughed, and the blood enveloped her.

Then, a shadow approached, its features unclear. It knelt beside her, wiping the crimson from her face and shielding her from the heads with an umbrella of flame. In a soft, soothing voice that brought her a fleeting warmth, it whispered as it took her hand in its fingers:
“Give me your soul.”

She burst into tears, sobbing, begging him:
“Save me, my lord. Relieve me and purify me from the darkness that dwells within me.”

Part of his face emerged from the shadow, revealing long, yellowed fangs forming a grotesque smile. Then, with a terrifying laugh, he drove his claws deep into her throat.

“You have surrendered to the devil!”

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I opened my eyes, but all I could see was the color of sin and the thick liquid dripping from the ceiling of my room. I sat silently, feeling the wretched souls surrounding me, pleading with me to accompany them to a purifying torment. But what about her?

I sighed, and my soul melted with longing at the thought of her. In a hoarse voice, I muttered,
"Day four."

The cold air slapped me, and I exhaled angrily. A harsh, blinding light flooded the room. I got out of bed, stepping on the nails I had deliberately scattered the night before. Some sank into my feet, while the rest scattered in terror. I slammed the window shut, shattering its glass—some shards fell on me, while others escaped outside, fleeing from me.

I closed the curtains so that my heart and the room could share the same darkness. I gazed around; it felt warm, and warmth invites comfort, and comfort leads to love—something dangerous.

I don't want this place to cling to me. It resembles me—dark, disgusting, and cold. And I don't even want myself.

Lately, I’ve been forming too many connections, and I can’t handle it. I can’t even bear this room. The crimson curtains are irritating, the bed is unnecessary, the walls are pitch black, and the large wardrobe looms ominously. The bookshelf is filled with books I dislike. I hate reading.
Why do people read? To escape their filthy world? I want to rot in it.

From the heavens, a solution came to me—I will burn the room.

I don’t need anything, and nothing needs me. Not even myself.