The City exists. The Panopticon tried to hide it. I have photographs. This realization has been creeping up on me. When the impossible happens, your mind wants to disbelieve it, in spite of the evidence.
Fuck this shit, I know know what happened, no matter how much I hoped I was actually crazy. I mean, I probably am a little crazy, but my sanity was at least nailed down a little more solidly before November of last year. Creepypasta, a long hallway, and a shadow I thought was Slender Man...I mentioned that already. Freaked out, decided to duck into the computer room and smack the light switch. Wrong door. Wrong Door, really. The light didn't come on. And then it wasn't the right room. And then there was another door. I wasn't on the proper floor of the building. I wasn't near my apartment anymore, didn't know any of the buildings.
It got worse. Much worse. Days of fucking worse. Are the Convocation edible, or do pigeons and ravens manage to get lost in the City too? Whichever it is, I caught one.
There's a pattern there. I've read about the City being alive. I think it's a parasite. Parts of the world become part of it. It connects to them, copies them. No door leads out of the City, they say. Nothing ever comes back. Unless the City wants to let you go.
I don't think that's the case. I recognized pieces of everywhere I went in the City. Not that I went far. It's not random, the places it uses. I only traveled a block, and it all still looked a lot like home. No people, though, and a weird kind of light that doesn't make shadows.
It's like there's only two real directions there. Chaos and order. Meticulously look for a way out. Meticulously observe your surroundings. Maybe a borderline case of OCD helps. Getting out made it a hell of a lot worse, I can tell you that.
But one night, long enough to get hungry again after the corvid, I found my way to a Door, in a long hall. It was across from another door, a closet, and that door was six inches from a third door. An open door led to a laundry room. It matched perfectly with the place I'd left. And when I opened the Door again, I walked into my computer room. The light switch worked.
If I don't know exactly where I am at all times, I worry I'll find my way back to the City. Little rituals help me trust my memory, help me keep everything orderly. Things were normal long enough that I started to think that the worsening of my obsessive behavior almost overnight was just stress. The final project that semester was a bitch, after all.
But, I had to check, just to be sure it was all my imagination. And it turns out that this shit is real, and I am in no way prepared to deal with it. Consequently, I am freaking the fuck out, and my mask of competence is slipping.
So, Proxiehunter, that's why I'm pretty sure the obsessive behavior isn't EAT.
No comments:
Post a Comment