“It is worth it… living is worth it. “
As its stomach crunches, its brain, as if sap, starts oozing down its back. Foul instrument given to it, fine treasure it keeps in its head. A strange phenomenon, it is, a creature made out of machines, guts, and apparent wit. It grows wings, roots, and gills… yet lives nowhere near the air, the earth nor the sea.
It is colorless and brilliant. Humans made it, yet, it is anything but humane. Headless birds feed from its brain sap. They glow and then die. Such are ideas. Fragments of its liquid grey matter grow flowers on the ground. It walks endlessly. Ill-tempered and unforgiving, emanating Pink. It must be true, the color that makes heads go round.
It shines on, even if it has lost a leg. Nothing that cannot be replaced with wood. Born with no arms, it is proud of its uniqueness. Brain leaking out, it knows nothing can beat its labyrinthine mind. It needs no reason to go on, it has more than enough with itself. A pink-emanating, winged, rooted, gilled, glowing, ill-tempered, brain-leaking creature. The greatest and strangest phenomenon of all.
It reeks of sulfur and mould, it is older than language, and it has been dumbing down humanity since prehistoric times. Like an outbreak it scatters, giving us tiny versions of itself we can keep or kill. It dies a little everyday… some days…
When I asked what it felt like dying, all it said was “It is worth it… living is worth it.“
The New PostSecret Book
3 years ago