The Furies are at home in the mirror

[MalfGuy2]

Do you know my face?

It's been some time between.

Can you recall,

"It's quiet in here."

"We want out."

The Long Quiet does not feel that strongly about you.

Nor do you, to Them.

You came to them first, in twisted flesh, and broken bone;

Now, take stock of your immediate person.

What forms around Us?

"We see... A red-blue-gold? Colour? Here, where there was nothing? I'm sure there's, like... A pillow or something."

"Or maybe an eggshell for a bed. Am I a lizard? How do I even know that I am 'me'? Do I normally look like a smeared blob?"

It's not too far-fetched. You know full and well that existence's implications to that single, tiny grain of chlorophyll that is 'you',

That willing it into being,

It means everything. And everything is a whole lot more than 'nothing', 'forever'.

"What about this strange feeling I keep having?"

"Every time We know, this cold..."

"Even now."

I am your Narrator Voice.

It's my job to funnel all those dissonant thoughts, all those feelings, into your abstract brain-stem-tube,

And make them make sense to you.

"That's convenient."

"..."

"Wait a minute, can't I tell you, to tell me these things outright?"

Can.

Doesn't mean you'll get a cogent answer.

"A fair assessment."

"I think I feel my fingers and toes spasming... Are appendages in working, torquing condition?"

Damage next to your jaw, where the occipital nerves should be running up the rear-right side of your head.

You'll forever be slightly off-balance, or at least, bad at visual calculus.

You're not much with such minimal optics either, but this will have to do.

"Minimal optics? Is that why it's so dark?"

Open your eyes all the way.

---

---

Eventually.

The Hole In The Universe fades away,

Replaced with a psychedelics-bound miasma of a city...