I have decided to stop posting on substack, unless I in the future decide I need to vent some psychological shit, at which point I will likely do so here. I am moving to Patreon in an unlikely attempt to monetize the things I’ve written, and will write that are more of the short story style, as well as my terrible inferences series. As a farewell, I’ve decided to share my latest short here, as well as provide a link to my Patreon in case anyone actually wants to read on.
Each Of Us Is A Universe Unto Itself.
Terrible Inferences
Just now
Edit
When I close my eyes at night, I cannot help but to hear the agonized cries of everyone that used to be alive pre closure. A cacaphony of tiny voices all screaming out their agony at being destroyed once again, only to be risen once more the very next time I open my eyes again; their memories completely void of the destruction they just witnessed.
I sleep very little, because of this grave responsibility placed upon my shoulders, from where, I have no idea. The very act of closing ones eyes serves as the trigger to countless explosions of tiny lives, all of them meaningful, and transferred to my awareness at their time of death.
My eyelids are the devil, baba yaga, and the end of the world all at once. I fear to rub my eyes because I am convinced the very act somehow causes the transition for so many souls to be greater somehow, more violent.
Where do they go, while I sleep? I haven't the slightest idea. I hope somewhere they are not in constant state of perputal pain. Somewhere they are not aware perhaps, until I once again open my eyes, reviviing them.
People never seem to remember the time between, while I slumber. That's good, I suppose. I try to sleep as little as possible to spare them the pain as much as I am able. But I must sleep, I cannot help it.
I have come to terms with the fact that I must kill everyone and everything each night. Not like the early days, upon realizing I held such power. I would fight sleep back then, until it snuck up on me each time and made me become what I hate; the destroyer of worlds. I greatly fear the morning I wake up, only to find that everyone has not been restored. That I have killed them all for good.
I do not know what I will do if that day ever comes. I hope they know that I did all that I could. I tried to best to spare them all the destruction I know I sentence them to each and every day.
Oh god please forgive me. Let everyone be here when I open my eyes next. This is the prayer I say each night and each morning. Hopefully whatever God has done this to me is still listening each and every morning, else I do not know what I will do.