Chapter 16 - Guernica
My eyes are already open when I enter the next painting. Open and hurting. There is no color, no hope, just pain and chaos and violence and I don't want to be here. I want to be far away and I don't want to be hurting but it's the only thing I can do because everyone and everything around me also is. Or they ought to be, it's unclear, and they're not whole and I'm not whole, and there's no way to be whole again, there's just more suffering waiting for us, more suffering and more violence and more pain and it's unnecessary, that much I can understand. It doesn't need to be this way and things could change and I know this is a painting, but I can't see past the pain, I can't be hopeful, I can't expect change because this moment in time is fixed and it's not changing and there's no going back.
Only more pain.
Somehow I know, I can feel it that this painting, all this suffering is my punishment, for choosing death, for fighting for death instead of for life in the last painting.
And unfortunately, there is no quick death in this painting. Just slow, painful and unnecessary suffering.
So, I suffer and suffer and suffer, until I can't take no more.
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