The Last Journal of xXSykla

Decent into Madness

The unease that has settled within me has taken on a life of its own. Every night, as the darkness envelops the world, I find myself gripped by an all-consuming dread. The shadows have grown bolder, creeping closer to my shelter, inching toward me with each passing moment. I can't ignore it any longer; there's something sinister lurking in the depths of this world. I've tried to convince myself that I'm just being paranoid, but my instincts scream otherwise.

During the day, I attempted to distract myself by gathering resources, mining for iron, and crafting armor. I thought if I could equip myself with better gear, I might feel safer. But every time I turned my back, I felt the prickling sensation of being watched. I could almost hear the whispers again, faint and chilling, echoing through the trees like a cruel taunt. It's as if the very ground beneath my feet is conspiring against me.

Last night, I decided to confront my fear. I grabbed my sword and ventured out into the darkness, hoping to face whatever was tormenting me. I stood in the open field, scanning the shadows, feeling foolish and brave all at once. But the silence was deafening, wrapping around me like a vice. Then, just when I thought I was alone, I heard it-a low, guttural sound, echoing from the depths of the forest.

The sound sent chills down my spine. I called out, demanding to know who-or what-was there. But the only answer was the rustling of leaves, as if the very trees were mocking me. I stumbled back, retreating to my shelter, heart racing. I felt as if the darkness itself had reached out to grasp me, and I was powerless to escape.

In my mind, the whispers grew louder, more insistent, weaving through my thoughts like a dark tapestry. I found myself doubting my own sanity. Am I truly losing my mind, or is there something real out there? I can't tell the difference anymore. Each passing moment feels like a fragment of reality slipping through my fingers, and I'm left grasping at shadows.

This morning, I found strange markings in the dirt around my shelter-curved lines and jagged symbols that made no sense to me. I didn't make them. I'm certain of that. But who-or what-did? My heart raced as I stared at the symbols, a feeling of dread washing over me. I quickly covered them with dirt, as if hiding them would make them disappear. But deep down, I knew that wouldn't erase the fear they instilled in me.

As I sat inside my shelter, clutching my sword, I realized that I've become a prisoner in my own mind. I'm constantly looking over my shoulder, waiting for the shadows to consume me. And the longer I stay here, the more I feel myself unraveling. I fear that soon I will be nothing more than a whisper, a memory lost to the darkness.

- wrote this part at 2am and I'm tired af, Take Care of yourself.

~ 514 words