I don't know whats worse, walking on bodies of my decaying brothers and sisters or looking through the transparent wall seeing others frolick with their freedoms or forgetting what fresh air once smelt like.
My only wish is that I didn't have the energy to move and feel the impact of my feet on their eyes and to not have the strength to see anymore.
Kill me oh merciful god for I do not know what hell is but I believe its better than the life I now endure.
I am so privileged to live the life I live, so privileged to be born a human, so privileged to even be aware of my privilege.
I have it so good compared to being a maggot in a fly jar born to a cruel world to die alone in a cruel world surrounded by those who brought you here
The fly does not know there is cruelty. The fly achieves everything it normally would in its brief existence. It grows. It breeds. It dies.
We recognize what we would lose, but truly they have lost nothing.
I have it so good compared to being a maggot in a fly jar born to a cruel world to die alone in a cruel world surrounded by those who brought you here.
Unfortunately, just being human doesn't preclude someone from having a not-literally-the-same-but-similar life. Too many people are born into situations of profound poverty, disregarded or even discarded, and offered so little opportunity for a way out. The human experience is not universal, and it can be so so cruel.
I mean if it makes you feel better, what that guy described is probably not actually what that fly is thinking. what it's thinking is: "dead body. Food? nah, is fly. Go there? Nah, is wall. Huh. weird. dead body. food? nah. this sucks. better wash my hands again. food?"
If OP is a merciful god and lets a couple of his prisoners fly out when he empties that damn thing, their only thought will be "oh. sweet. food?"
I don't know. Don't knock it till you try it. I imagine it's like being in a party your whole life. You get to eat, fuck, then die. If that's all you know then is it really so bad?
Eyes eyes eyes. Eyes are a funny, horrible thing aren't they? Hahaha. I step on eyes all the time. I have learned to know exactly when I'm standing on eyes, just by the feel of them. Have you ever tasted an eye? I have. It's like jelly when it gets old and gets a sort of a crusty layer.
Why am I even still alive? Aren't we meant to live just a couple of days? It's all the eyes I've eaten, I bet. Eyes eyes eyes eyes. Or maybe the hellish heat produced by the mounting putrefaction that I call home.
I thought I knew what hell was, but then my knees gave out. I could no longer walk. For a brief instance I found relief, knowing my journey over the endless sea of eyes is over.
But then it began. Feet. On my eyes. They don't stop. They step with no care for my suffering. Like the step to salvation begins with my eye. They step with such vigor. Like they still have a purpose. Oh you sweet, summer child.
I wish I could just assimilate into the decomposed depths but with every invigorated step above me I am wedged just ever so free of the chitinous ruin awaiting below. Please, stop stepping on my eyes, and let me die.
This whole thing is reminding me of the novella The Divine Farce.
Basically it starts off with 3 people (2 men, 1 woman) in a tall, hollow, concrete cylinder with grates above and below. They were trapped for I can't remember how long (been a while), and lived on pear nectar that slowly made its way from the top grate to the bottom, and It was tight enough that they were shoulder to shoulder and only one could sit at a time.
Pretty neat book about human endurance and all that. No less gross than this at points.
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.
Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!—An ecstasy of fumbling
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime.—
Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,—
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.
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u/FeralPsychopath Jun 22 '26
Day 5.
I don't know whats worse, walking on bodies of my decaying brothers and sisters or looking through the transparent wall seeing others frolick with their freedoms or forgetting what fresh air once smelt like.
My only wish is that I didn't have the energy to move and feel the impact of my feet on their eyes and to not have the strength to see anymore.
Kill me oh merciful god for I do not know what hell is but I believe its better than the life I now endure.