On the Outside
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If a person fails to differentiate imaginary and reality, would it be a sign of intelligence or is it plummeting down a thorny endless hole of mental and emotional despair?
"On the Outside" narrates the unfortunate and melancholic life of Prelle, and her descent upon misfortune.
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╰┈➤ ❝ [I stood there in unequivocal revelation, the lagging pain slowly catching up with me, but before I could release a fraction of the pain into my screaming, a bell rang, and suddenly, pilfered from my body was the ability to move. My face neutral and my muscles disabled as I fell face-first into the hard, scathing rock that lay unmoved before me.] 》* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ * 。° 。 • ˚《 Imagine awakening in an environment you deemed unfamiliar, your back thrumming in pain, with your mind staying clear of how you ended up there or simply the moments that lead to your position. You try to find a way out and later realize that you can't even remember who you are; your memories purged, your identity unknown. It takes you a good amount of time, pain, and effort, and eventually you manage to gather tiny fragments of who you were along with the trauma of how you retrieved it, but it's okay, maybe it's all worth it as you finally make contact with another person. Turns out she was your best friend. Finally, it looks like all is turning up until you learn of all the inhumane things you've done in your past, things that evade your newfound morals, things that were so detrimental to society that when you hear the reason as to why you've been enduring such agony, you understand why. How many people did you even end up hurting? What did you do that was so bad, that it made millions wish the absolute worst of you? What will you do now?
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