"Goodbye Curly Head"

"Nanou2"

At first, there was nothing. Only warm, primordial darkness.

The vast emptiness - open plains of sweet, endless non-existence.

Not a single lucid creation, not even a drop of a coherent thought. 

A blank void of warmth and comfort, soothing one’s mind, like the gentle caress of a lover.

But what even was a lover in this empty reality? No such thing existed. No concept of anything that had ever been conceived and born walked this barren vacuum of nothingness. 

It wasn’t black, nor white nor gray nor any other color. It was nothing.

Utterly nothing.

Then, a miniscule glimmer surfaced above the void. The conscience of a soul glued together with false hopes and strands of guilt - no larger than a mere ant.

Fermenting, rotting, dying.

Here, the soul had nothing left to do anymore. No fights to pick. No struggles to face. The void made sure of that.

It felt happy. Surrounded by the sweet, warm blankness, it was free. Reveling in the feeling, the soul remembered it had feelings.

Unwanted, uninvited, they seeped into its consciousness, slithering like a wild bed of rattlesnakes chasing after a desert mouse. How awful it felt, the immense stings of guilt, explosions of unrecognizable happiness, sudden attacks of sorrow, mighty assaults of anger and fear, all conquering the soul’s tiny mind, squishing and pulling, forming like dough, establishing their own place within. 

The soul yelped. Gone was the feeling of pure, mindless bliss. Gone was everything it had ever known - which was nothing.

Trapped in a prison of its own mind’s creations, the bright and the dim, the soul felt an overbearing presence grasping and groping all around its bodiless form. Swallowing the poor glimmer whole, a bloated, twisted mass of rotten, corrupted flesh forcefully enveloped the radiant gleam in its disgusting embrace. Squished in between the walls of meat, the poor soul couldn’t even protest, as it had no way to vocalize its words of discomfort.

Right away, the soul felt the fleshy trash compactor crushing it to bits, squeezing way too tight. Fusing into one, forcing itself upon the poor conscience, brutally desecrating, tainting with sin.

The soul could feel its mind forming. Arms and legs growing from its fleshy core, fingers sprouting from the stubs.

Skin and veins wrapped around the flesh automaton, sealing it shut. Two bright, gray orbs formed in its skull’s sockets, the silent witnesses to endless degeneration - unwilling to be let out, protected by the meaty eyelids.

Beams of light tore through the creature’s back - shapeless wings forming as a form of the innocent soul’s protest. A ring of gray radiance ascended down upon their head, refusing to touch the messy forest of silver curls, yet also unwilling to drift away from the sinner for good. A parasitic, toxic relationship.

Rolls of fabrics slid onto the nameless body, covering up everything for the soul’s convenience. It felt utterly trapped and battered, unwillingly assimilated into this strange organism.

Finally, the eyelids slowly parted - curtains, eager to reveal the next play.

Andy sat up straight, feeling strangely cold. Sitting amidst a field of golden wheat gently swaying in the wind, he turned towards the horizon.