I awoke some time ago on a shore of black glass at the edge of a sea that was not water. I have seen this place before in dreams too dark to recall, a land of strange creatures that had vanished long before history or had never been before and would never be. I am dressed in street clothes and under the shade of a gray tree with no leaves, only tumorous outgrowths of bark from its branches. My breath smelled of vomit though I had not eaten since before I had awoken.
It is difficult to move here. My sensations feel thinned, even my vision seems, not weaker, but taxed by the light of a false sun that hovered above me. I felt like it has been days but the sun never moves. I am not hungry.
I made my way past ruins and the bones of some great king of beasts to find this tree. This copse was at the throat of a great valley of these trees so vast I thought it might be the end of the world. But I do not even know if this is part of the world, to be honest.
I find myself now shouting random words to break the interminable silence. There is no sound here that is not mine. There is neither warmth nor cold.
I wondered aloud what was this place? what is it for? how did I get here? I tried to tear some bark off my tree but could not get a grip on it. I tried punching and kicking it off and succeeded in nothing; the bark ablated to my blows and I found no purchase. I tried to climb it and failed for the same reasons. I felt tired and could not doze.
Perhaps this was purgatory. I felt a warm dread clasp my stomach and thought of my many sins. I found it amusing that the concept of sin is a relative constant. People may believe in many gods or none, in worlds beyond or the sacred now, in magic undiscovered or the elegance of a world formed by chance and principles; whatever their creed, everyone knows sin.
I don’t want to write this anymore. I want to feel better. I don’t like being here. I need real light and real wind, not this deadland. I’m sorry.