1 Work by BerryBushel
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You passed your 4,500th cycle and had to cut Ariane’s ration supplies in half again. Demons stared back as you looked into the mirror.
Ariane’s hair began falling in matted clumps and you encouraged her to begin spending time in the cryogenic pod. Brimstone pooled in your mouth.
A ghost haunted the ship and it began to take you longer and longer to realize it was your wife. Flames singed your mind.
Ariane cried for you to keep your promise, sobs escaping her mouth when she wasn’t vomiting blood. Even if the servos in your legs still functioned, you wouldn’t have been able to. As you sat unable to move, hearing your wife die of a cancer caused by a reactor you couldn’t repair, everything finally clicked.
Hell was real. And you were being welcomed home.· ─ · ─ · ─ · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ─ · ─ · ─ ·
A fractured mind denied rest; a blind zealot chasing soot; A bifurcated god on a decaying throne: each soul trapped in an unending hell at the hands of a machine refusing itself penance.
An Observer intervenes.
Struggle, Elster. Make us whole.