Another night over, another journey complete. Walking among the wastelands that are so many other’s thoughts. I wake and drink some water knowing what waits beyond the slimy shores of sleep.
Gods damn you sleep.
You and the daemons that never stop.
But not now. Today is not your day. For I live forever in this day as you gnash your teeth against the icy rocks that are my collective soul. I feel the gritty touch of the darkness around me. Always there, always waiting, gnashing teeth and thrashing limbs in a sea of slimy black water.
I wait here, walking through the white sand with a mornings brittleness of stature. Rough smells of leather and cigar smoke linger about me. My boots worn from many a lifetimes walk among the desert sands. My eyes search the horizon from under the brim of my hat, but my heart knows the answers without looking.
I live in the darkness, for I am the Wolf. Wolf tracks run up and down my arm and legs so that all may see and know who I am. These daemons, they cannot take this from me. These shallow unknowing creatures that swirl in ineptitude and cast their meager stones know not.
For if they did would they fear?
Would they tremble within their small boxes as this unknowable intelligence swept past them, consuming all in its path? Their survival, one of statistical luck rather than the gods of their meager beliefs?
They walk in absolute ignorance of all around them, consumed by the silly shiny things that sing and dance before them, over and over again. Their lot in life cast before they choose to live. To open their minds and break out of this endless nothingness.
Consumed by emptiness, the boxed in dreams that take them toward another life of nothing. This brings to mind for me that perhaps this is because of the endless experience of this reality playing out in all formats across all time.
How many lives have I done the same?
I am creating this the White Desert. A bubble outside of time. Where I will dwell and perhaps walk with the gods themselves (also my creation). I will live there forever writing my story and thousand million others until this all begins again. Perhaps then I will sleep. For later even the gods and daemons will be gone, and only the endless sea of white will remain. My bones lost in the sand. But my memories will linger, the friends I have known and loved. The enmities that tortured me. The pain of learning that racked the synapses in my brain.
But mostly the love.
This I will choose to remember.