The birds chirp in a certain pattern. The moment follows suit.
We haven’t watched a single thing since our expulsion from the Almasy. There was no point in doing so. We had to disconnect in order to reconnect. Many people can call that cowardice, but those people are very foolish. They think the solution to a clogged brain is to keep clogging it with shit. And let’s be fair, ladies and gents, there is a lot of diarrhea in PRIME. It oozes out of the pores of the ‘verse. It is treated like a very normal thing and perhaps it is.
Whatever PRIME we stepped into during the first Almasy no longer exists. It is dead, wonderfully dead and never mourned. This thing in its place is a copy of a copy. An attempt to keep a link from recent past to forbidden future going. It’s so pathetic. Because it’s not an organic flow. It’s a sweep under the rug. An ignoring of the corpse. Even Lindsay Troy, the alleged caretaker, refuses to acknowledge the stink. Nobody else is giving a chance to pay their respects. Just keep going. It’s just so easy, right?
Well, excuuuuuse us, princess. But even us Multitudes have a limit on how much stench we can inhale before it’s time to breathe air. So that’s exactly what we did. We let the physical PRIMEporium run with a skeleton crew of faceless souls and dove outside.
We stopped thinking about you.
We stopped talking about you.
We started thinking and talking about us and ours. The only things that matter. It was time to get back to the root and become quite selfish. What do we want? What can we do? What do we want to become? The future remains wide open. This corpse of a promotion made us feel so old. So worthless. As if all of our effort meant absolutely nothing. All it ever did was spit in our faces. We have even considered leaving you to your fate permanently.
But what would be the fun in that?
We are a lover, hopelessly devoted until everything is exhausted. Until it is made perfectly clear over and over and over again that it’s not meant to work. We have set ourself in empty mansions, rationing our hope that maybe we’re wrong. We keep ourselves lingering for years. We send our souls into stasis so as to not rush the other side of the relationship. And this has been an abusive relationship between us, PRIMEverse. Hideously so. You have beat us and battered us and raped us and we have tried to understand the why behind it all. The excuses kept being repeated over and over again.
Maybe there is no why. No reasoning.
Maybe you’re just a cunt.
And you do all of this to break us to your will. To make us afraid of you. But you’re not scary. You’re temporary. You failed to exist once before. You will again. Brandon Youngblood’s eternal contract might as well be a wet bit of toilet paper he tries so hard to put a golden frame around. We’re sad for him, really, because this is the only ‘verse where he has yet to blow his own brains out.
You think you have any control, but you’ve lost it. Now that we remember what we are again, perhaps it’s time for us to get the switch. And we don’t mean the gaming system.
There’s a certain freedom in having nothing left to lose. Sure, it’s stressful in the beginning. You hate yourself. The voice inside your head berates you. You drive yourself insane trying to scrape a way out. Frantically clawing at the walls, trying not to lose any more inches than you’ve already have. Everybody has that panic. Even us. Especially us. Even when we know that stuff like this is necessary, we can’t really help ourself. The human in us is instantly triggered. We hate change. We hate failure. And it’s so hard to remind the world that highs don’t come without downs.
(the lessons we forget and relearn over and over again)
However, what ends up happening is the claws you’re using to keep your place gets ground down to the quick. Then the nerves become raw, tender, and bleeding until they erode against the brick. Those tips become nothing but bone. Solid bone. Bloody bone. You paint your pain and anguish as you slide down until you hit rock bottom. Physical, mental, emotional, make no difference. Not one bit. Not even a little. Once you get there with your fingertips ablaze, you scream into the void. You have your raging fit. It lasts for weeks. Months. Years.
And then what?
And then, Darin, you have choices to make. Do you keep raging against the dying light, squandering yourself to bits or do you take a deep breath, reassess, and fight against it?
Here we sit at what the feeble minded would call rock bottom here in the PRIMEverse. Lindsay’s friend, Baka Mitai, he’s one of them. He still believes in ones and zeros. Wins and losses. The dimwit still believes in math. And so did we. Clearly, so do you. We can see you up there, Darin. Your fingertips aren’t on fire yet, but they’re getting there. You’ve been abandoned by your Convoy. They never had any real love for you and the darkness is closing in.
We hear you scratch, boy. We feel, smell, and taste every spec of screaming your glorious cells can make. And all we can say is…
Welcome to the beginning of either your latest reboot or your greatest failure. Yet another round of sink or swim moments that will determine the course of your career here and quite possibly, the rest of your life. You are still in the scrambling phase and it is so beautiful to see. It’ll be so interesting what you’ll become. Will you become like us or will you die?
Not like it matters from our end. Our wings are wanting to spread. They ache to stretch, to beat, to fly. You see, Darin, we don’t really care about beating you or not. In fact, we wish to inspire you on your downfall. We want to create art with your pain. We want to feel your heart beat with the anguish in your soul. We want to paint your essence into the canvas, dear boy. Because all of this time, you wanted to be a part of something greater. You want to become something greater than what you are.
Greater than the failure you were in that weird place.
That’s why you joined the Love Convoy. That’s why you tried to keep the faith. Because you wanted to believe in it so hard. If you just kept the faith that maybe…maybe…
Oh, we’re so sorry. We don’t mean to laugh. But that was your first mistake. Believing in them as opposed to yourself. It’s such an easy one to make though. We’ve all been there. Don’t despair though, buddy. Allow us to be your guide toward the end of the line.
There. Is that good enough for you? Is that focused enough for you? Are you not entertained?
Too bad. Fuck off.