Far-Off Destination (Reader-Insert)

Praise the mutilated world, that rains on your face and shows you sullen shades of grey, shares your woe as you see them die--and envelopes you in a frigid blanket of cold and nothingness. Praise the mutilated world, as with it rises the (artificial) sun, in hopes of warming your frozen skin and peeling your eyes open. Praise the mutilated world, for with it your -dead- friends shall become one, because they will turn into dust and crumble away. Praise the mutilated world, for you grew and stepped over it, indifferent to its spilled blood and cut limbs.

Breathe in the chemicals, swipe the sweat from your brow, try to not faint from the heat and keep plowing the virgin soils of your Mother. Mutilated and pillaged, still functioning somehow, but broken and dying. Don't wish after the grand city life, where there is no death, where dreams come true and no tears are shed, for that is a false reality, standing on a weak base.

Don't close your eyes, child. Darkness will hold onto you, death will latch to your arms and legs, dreams will vanish in front of you. Don't close your eyes, my child. For it is only you who can stop the madness from extending like poison through the world's system, and only you will put an end to the lineage of murderers and perpetrators.