Visions

We lay in the grass. A cool spring night, there are no clouds in the sky, only stars and the moon. We wrestle the thoughts in our head, staring at the void of meaningless beauty. Who am I? Where am I? Why am I “we”? What’s the point? Why do we struggle? Why am I still here?.... I sit up and look forward, my nose feeling a strange chill, I see my feet ahead me and legs attached to them. I hate it. I hate what I see. Why am I still here.

Before I can put together my next thought, a body falls before me. Mutilated, naked, and bloody, missing it’s head, hands, and feet. Just a body. This is perplexing, for bodies do not usually fall from the sky that I am aware of. I cannot help but feel this is my fault. I’m so sorry, I’ve hurt this person, this body was a person but now it is nothing more than a bag of worthless meat. How does being a person change that fact? How am I different than the body? Truthfully, without bias, what is the main difference? I am living and it is not. Yes this is true but why do I have more worth than this thing? I have potential, whereas the body will stay dead, and has nothing more to give than food to the maggots. Those maggots will most likely very much enjoy this body, I am happy for them, I for one do not enjoy this body, nor do I enjoy the carcass in front of me.

Before I can begin properly mourning the corpse, another body drops from the sky…. Then another… and another, and another, and another, until hundreds of bodies fall and pound the ground until they pile and cover the soft grass field completely. As this happens I hide my face, the dark of my palms shielding me from the mass grave ahead. They continue to fall, tears stream down my face but I am not crying, I am sad but I am not sad, I am so sorry.

...

I’m sorry.

...

The last few bodies pile on and the air becomes silent again. I slowly take my hands from my face. My hands are stained red with blood, I can only assume that they were not tears coming from my eyes. The blood still streaming down my face, I stand up wearily and observe the slaughter in front of me. All of these burned, cut, bruised, mangled bodies. No heads. No hands. No feet.

I can’t help but step forward.

I come upon a body that is significantly more distorted and mangled than the others. I squint at it. Trying to remember. Trying to recollect……

Suddenly a sharp pain strikes my head, I clench my jaw and shut my eyes, doubling over from the pain, my heart feels as if it’s stopping, I grip my chest feeling for a heart beat and feel nothing, it hurts, my head fucking hurts!

… I remember… I vomit onto the ground, expelling what little I have in my sour stomach.

Disgusted at what I have done. At the massacre we have orchestrated. Disgusted that they are happy to see it, disgusted that this is me and they are me and I hate them and they hate me. I start to cry. Ugly, stupid, animalistic crying, as if language is foreign to me. Because at this point, I know it’s not real, and I can’t tell what is real until it’s too late. I open my eyes to see the field empty, there were no bodies, my hands bloody from scratching at my scars.

I lay down onto the soft grass once again. As the whispers chuckle at my expense, I wipe the tears from my eyes and the blood from my hands.

There are no clouds in the sky.

Only stars and the moon.