pandemonium † muke [en-slow updates]

11 (seconds)

I'm sure I'm stuck on the floor at least for 10 hours. Repeating this names like a mantra.

I'm sure, 10 hours.

I'm absolutely sure, 10 hours.

I'm not sure at all.

Luke. Robert. Trebor.

Trebor. Robert. Luke.

Luke. Luke. Luke.

My eyes are closed and my head is pressured by both of my hands. I can't stand this horror tune, this fragmentation of thoughts.

I'm okay. I tell myself again.

I'm okay.

I am okay.

I'm not okay, I swear I'm not lying.

I'm not okay, I promise.

But I'm not mad. No. I am not mad.

I am not insane.

I struggle to look up to where the transparent writing reveals the covered chest of Trebor. Robert. Whoever he is.

Whatever it is.

Red. Chess.

Gasping, I force my arms out of the floor and I boost my body, tripping until I get to the scribbled wall. Crawling. Begging for mercy to the blinded man crawling in my direction. But he stays still. The glass floor against my bare skin feeling like I'm ripping it off.

Gelid.

Gelid.

Hell's hot for good reason, he whispers.

I can hear them. I can hear them whispering. The demons. No, not them. It's a voice I recognize.

I can hear him.

Hear him.

He's whispering. I can't remember his name anymore.

Him. Him. Him.

But, it's not his voice. It's a harsh voice. It's not sweet. It's not anything good.

It's an imitation.

Maybe it's my demons. My judges waiting for me.

Maybe this is my final hour, after all, Trebor is outside.

I stop, leaning on my knees and my arms. I pay attention. I try to understand where the voice is coming from. Gasping. Always gasping, searching for air. Searching. Searching for him. Searching for my dream of being with him.

Till the rest of our lives.

I'm remembering.

I remember.

No, I don't remember.

But I know it's not his voice. It's not the same voice I've heard in so many ways.

Asking.

Smiling.

Begging.

Moaning.

It isn't his voice.

It isn't his voice. It's just his words. Stolen words, being used in the same tone, because I've heard them before and that voice is not their owner. But it's not coming from the outside.

It's not coming from outside of my Pandora's box.

It's coming from the inside.

Stolen.