IT

It arrives.
It disfigures.
It leaves.

—

It disfigures.

Into hopelessness. A void. The absence of being human. Despair. Emptiness intertwined with excruciating pain. Numbness. Blunting. A plane of reality where joy doesn’t exist, even conceptually or through memory.

An Entity that escapes all words. Consuming. All powerful. 100% certain of the things It tells Its host: “This will last forever, you can’t make it through, why would you even want to? You’ll never be yourself again. Your life is gone. You’re pitiful and worthless. A burden. Useless breath. Disgusting. Horrid. A mistake. An embarrassment. A failure. A joke.”

It mocks. It’s amused by the words, “I want to kill myself”, knowing they don’t even come close to detailing Its torture. It watches, unaffected, as the brain, engulfed in flames, screams for a way to communicate through the body and to the outside world what it’s going through, but can’t.

Because there isn’t a way to; not fully, not really.

The experience and descriptions are elusive, even to Its victims once they’re no longer fully suffocated in Its grasp. When It chooses to leave, It leaves Its host without sound memory of what just occurred. “Maybe it wasn’t as bad as I was making it out to be”. “Why was I so dramatic about it all?”

Cloaked as a reprieve, as an exhale, the soothing aloe after a harsh burn, this shift is but a weapon. A weapon It owns. A weapon It deploys upon Its departure, for an Amnesic hopeful is the perfect host. The weapon- an enticing poison used to fatten the meat rendering it Bare. Vulnerable. Unsuspecting.

For next time.

It is, at Its core, a trap. Of the mind and of the body. Communication between mind and body is severed. It employs Itself as the mediator. As the translator.

The body wholly ceases to exist, yet becomes a tomb. It withers away into irrelevance, yet becomes an immovable, weighted carcass. The mind twists in agonizing repetition, yet evaporates entirely. An exquisitely crafted, personalized prison — the mind — yet a dull, abandoned wasteland.

The mind may ask the body for things near automatic in the Before. “Let’s open our eyes”. “Just sit up a little”.

The body begs the mind for any shred of will to accomplish
anything.
“I can’t move if you won’t let me”.

Each blames the other while It watches. As It intercepts all requests. Skews them. Infects them with Its own dark agenda. It absorbs the host while the host absorbs It. The process a cancer; an uncontrollable growth. Not division of cells but division of self. Into fragments. Vacancy. Loss. The mirror reflecting an unrecognizable shell. A pseudo-human. An eerie regurgitation of It.

Of Nothing.
Of No One.

It is parasitic. An unwavering companion. In consistent company but not welcomed. Not friendly. “Your only friend”, It whispers. The lack of invitation the only bidding It seeks. A tick tunneled in the layers of your skin. A leech in the square of your back you can’t reach.

It leaves, they say. Grows bored of the thing It’s shattered. Maliciously curious to see what Its belonging does next.

It leaves. Unbothered. Untouched. Unimpressed.

It “leaves”

knowing Its power is not diminished in the slightest

by an absence It can revoke

at any time.

Related posts:

According to my nine-year-old cousins, I am still a teenager on the account that my age contains the word teen. To them, I’m not an adult until next year when I turn twenty. Something is satisfying…

Kita lenyap bagai kilauan kilat di musim hujan, lalu berjatuhan bagai serbuan peluru gerimis yang tak bisa lagi terbendung. Puan datang tak terduga, melangkah bagai serberkas cahaya. Puan menghilang…

So DataTypes are everywhere in coding and depending on the framework you are working on. Lets let’s focus on the ones that are universal to software development. Can be used to show some text in any…