There was something at the core of his
mind. Something dark, dense and, as he recently found out,
complicated. It felt like a thick grainy cream – like toothpaste
without any cleaning properties. It was not quite something he could
focus on, or really didn't want to. It seemed like an obstacle, but
it was also an anchor.
He didn't feel like anything was real.
Everything had kind of a muffled haziness that came from being unable
to really picture things in his mind. It wasn't that he didn't want
to take things seriously, it was that they didn't really connect to
anything on a meaningful level. It was the kind of numbness that came
from scar tissue. Too much noise, too much darkness.
He wasn't sure if the strength he had
left was entirely of a benign or regular nature. If it left, how
much longer would he last?
Not that he cared any more. It was
harder to focus now, near impossible to feel anything about anything.
His impulses were short circuited. Some
part of his mind was getting input which it was trained to jump at.
There were other parts that were dark and searing. Places where
nothing else could exist. Enough was hijacked that everything else
just ran on secondary systems. It had been like that so long he
couldn't picture anything different.
It existed before reason, logic,
emotion and any other consideration – which made it especially
tenacious. In theory, all that was needed to decouple it was effort,
but it proved to be more difficult. There was almost an addiction to
the stimulation, coupled with the fact it was like a drop of water
trying to change the tap it had already fell from.
On some level there was an insistent
urgency that kept things from being settled properly. An irritating
buzz of alarm that kept enough of his attention preoccupied. It was
like trying to build a house of cards with a fire burning out of
control nearby. Nothing seemed to help as nothing could sink in
enough to dislodge the problem.
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