I was an abused young boy. Or maybe a boyish girl. I wasn’t allowed to leave the house, and even though I laid by the pool outside, it was so quiet. I was afraid, sans adrenaline, and it was this strange claustrophobia of being free and not free. Pastor Pete was just next door with his wife and family – they actually possessed the same Incredible family powers. But I couldn’t bring myself to leave because I think, I was paralyzed.
It was tormenting. It must have been a long dream because I was tortured every day, laying by the side of the pool on a sun bathing reclining chair, and this guy, he resembled Wilson Fisk and was supposed to be some sort of sick father figure or something like a groomer, he would come over every day and “prep” me. He would wash my feet tenderly by the pool, but I kept dreaming that he would slice off my toes, maybe even one for each day? It happened so many times I felt numb but that was what I was most afraid of, and this time it wasn’t a numbed fear, it was a very visceral one.
I couldn’t move, but I think his assistant must have felt terrible for me. This man was an oddity in the community and no one knew I was here and if they did, I was unable to interact with them. I just knew this man was evil to his core because I think he had a history of butchering children. But he didn’t kill me because of some particular reason that I couldn’t identify why, and there was this sick feeling or sense that he was also in love with me – no, my body. It was horrifying, but I couldn’t do anything.
The feeling of my toes being butchered was for the most part numb for me. He’d paralyze my feet so I couldn’t run, and so that I wouldn’t scream from pain. His assistant who was just a teenage boy, a very smart one however, would watch over the process with sorrowful eyes. He was the one who told me that I should keep “playing this game”, and he had the voice and role of Sans from Undertale. He kept encouraging me to stay and that this “game” is worth it, but I think he also was the one who told me how to escape. He said I needed to fight the Fisk butcher in an Undertale styled match, and so I did. I did poorly and I remember thinking to myself, did I just expose myself? Am I going to die? Because this “match” turned out to be the real thing I think and it was a representation of my escape of the house/mansion.
Picture frame, stairs, dust. That was all I remembered before I could finally escape that house. I sprinted to Pastor Pete’s house, but in my mind I knew he was at work. I remembered however his wife had the powers of Elastigirl and I needed to ask for her protection because Fisk would snap the necks of anyone who would try to help me, but he wouldn’t be able to snap her neck since she was elastic. This literally unfolded in my mind as I desperately pounded on her door, and
I woke up. 4:47PM on April 3, 2020.
I didn’t remember when I first woke up, but I wanted to fall back into sleep.
Away from what I call reality, I think that’s why I rest.
Why I love art and music, and DDO to transport me away from the game of Life.
Writing in nature even, surrounded by the buzz of people, birds, squirrels, the clattering of skateboards, the eyes that ever so watch me when I shut mine.
All encased within my shell, the ‘Buds that resound melodies.
I’m listening to music that carries a beat but somehow I can’t stop but think about my sister.
Mama talks as usual on the ride to school. And she reminded me why I didn’t want to wake up in the first place.
I wanted to save her so badly. I dreamt that I was the one performing surgery. And despite the lack of memory over the surgical details, this was all that I could gather:
I thought of it like a plastic bag, then I realized a budding sprout was more appropriate. Snip the two pronged stems that support the fresh leaves, and then the supporting stem just above the root. I took it out myself, and while it was the only way, I also felt like I killed myself.
I was her, and not her, the surgeon but not the surgeon, in and out of bodily form.
This is what I dreamt. An ever so fleeting memory, or distant premonition, or imagination brought to life.
I told her today, after writing the above yesterday. She just hrmmed and listened, while I just described it as normally as I could. I mean, it wasn’t that serious. But my brain processes intense emotions into dreams, movies for me to enjoy. This one is the birth of grief, I believe.
I keep this blog sort of out of reach from my family. I’d feel awkward for them to read my innermost thoughts when strangers across the internet have access to them. Let it be. I don’t get how I tick sometimes, but those who may be the most closest to me don’t even know all of me. Just as I hide parts of who I am from others.
In a sense, I’ve never felt a true and deep connection with anyone except God who knows all of what I am. This distance, is not exempt from family relations. It’s rather – sad.
I was showed a new perspective today, I believe. Junie B. Jones. Remember it. Because finding out about my childhood’s love of reading – brought me to know – that somehow, get this, learning about the author’s death in 2013 opened my eyes on what was really important. Her life. Leave the rest behind, because whatever happens there is nothing worse than life robbed from my very comfortable world, the place of minimal fear and hurt that I grew up in, all made possible by her.
She is like my second mother, and father, so to speak. I was reminded of this fact today, and it deeply moved me. So I write, to not forget, because this chaotic mind of mine will lose these very raw emotions and thoughts in the turbulence of night.
Something is moving me forward, pushing me towards a crowd of noise. I don’t remember how I got there, but I’m suddenly trying to escape the old church building we used to attend.
Outside, from a conglomerate mix between the pastor’s back door exit and the youth room’s side door, there is abundant space packed full of people. I think they were high school kids, just like I was in that moment. I seemed to have torn clothing, my thigh exposed, and I had never gripped my sister’s hand so hard before. My sister? I see a chain of my two sisters and my mother, joining hands and squeezing the life out of each other in an attempt to stay together. At this moment, I had a faint moment of lucidity, like a beam of light filtering through a shaft in the terrain or brush. It did not last long, when I heard people screaming all around me. The entire crowd, their faces growing in terror, were howling in fear at something ahead of us. I had never felt so small before, until I looked across the nonexistent playground area, towards the empty parking lot and the boundless, now soulless, meadow.
My eyes stuttered at the immense vast clearing of the parking lot. Was it even a parking lot? I knew the area was the old church building, and this space was where the parking lot was to be. But it was not. It was almost melded in this half watery state of concrete and mush. Perhaps, I thought my brain conjured the area to carry the air of real familiarity, but maintain the natural habitat of what the following horrors were to reside in.
Yes, Shambling Mounds from DDO. Isn’t it weird how much one can dream of a video game? I generally forget my dreams within the next couple of days, but I can’t shake this off for an entire week. I suppose that would classify it as a nightmare.
There were three Shambling Mounds, two giant ones and one gigantic one. The largest was closest to my side of the crowd, and it was like this Attack on Titan scene where it would just swipe a vine wrapped paw and a mob of people would fly into the air. It was also much more gray, more soulless than any of others. There was supposedly blood, because I saw several people dying and mutilated. I don’t know what made this so scary, but I went into shock after my sight slowly and painstakingly revealed this abomination. I cannot begin to describe how terrifying it was being so small and seeing this giant. My heart fell into my stomach, and my neck froze, with sparks jolting down my back. I couldn’t move, and I felt like my hand was about to fall off. The two smaller ones proceeded to move towards the central crowd, which surprisingly, we had our own Shambling Mounds…!? They were actually humans disguised in costumes, and they were easily taken down after a couple tried to fend them off. They were no match, and their heads were taken, I think.
At this, I had a fight or flight response. I lost my family as I fled, and the largest one seem to take notice of me. I felt like I was going to cry from immense fear, when it started gaining towards me. If you know how a Shambling Mound moves after it charges up, it is freakishly fast. I couldn’t breathe and just kept running down that skinny sidewalk, and bolted inside the church front door.
I don’t know why I thought it was a great idea, but I first fled into the chapel. It was mostly empty, but a few people were in there. It was eerily calm, but I kept seeing images of the Shambling Mounds’ figures and shadows up against those beige, slightly tattered window blinds. I ran out of the chapel, and into what was to be the kids’ worship room. But, I did not see the colorful Christian murals against the walls. I did not see the messy table, with crayons and markers strewn about. I did not see that small tall window, with the old emerald stained glass and its rustic gray window handle, to let in that sweet spring breeze.
Instead, I found a tall, handsome man sitting in a chair with the long burnished oak table stretched out before him. To the right, there was a firm gray couch, and the room seemed almost his own. A bookshelf to the left wall, decorative rugs embracing the cool ground, and a long stretch horizontal window with a large tree covering almost half of the view outside in a crescent like form. He seemed to radiate safety, writing something on a piece of paper. It was probably a letter, but to who?
At this point, my hair was disheveled, my eyes wild with fear, and my tattered clothes exposing almost half of me. I would have felt embarrassed if I was not in such an alerted state. I begged him to let me hide under the table, since for some reason, I thought he would keep me safe from those Mounds.
But he gave me a look of knowing, something that I couldn’t quite explain. I want to say he nodded, although he didn’t really speak much. He let me crawl through the space, and he shielded me with his body when I heard the door bust open.
Two burglars? Two assassins? I couldn’t tell who they were, all I could hear were their gnarly voices. I knew it was two people, but for some reason, I was just as afraid as if they were the Mounds. My heart dropped when the man hiding me spoke. He was dealing with these people, and they knew I was hiding somewhere, but he was neither deliberately protecting nor giving me away. I thought I was gonna run out of breath at this because they started searching the area, everywhere but the desk.
There was not a lot of leg room in the depression of the desk, so I had to curl into a ball and press against the lateral face of the desk. I remember barely being able to breathe, almost passing out from the amount of fear I felt when I saw one of the men from the periphery around the corner, barely able to see me. I think he actually did.
This was when the other man slammed his hands and body over the top of the desk, and gave the tall, handsome man a test. Now, what I am about to say is going to make no sense, but I believe this was the gist:
If this square piece of paper that I dangle right over the edge of this desk is snatched by someone, then the person that we seek is not here. But if it remains dangling, then she is under this desk.
This sounds absolutely ridiculous. But this somehow made perfect sense. All I had to do is snatch the piece of paper without showing myself. But I also knew that this was the ultimate trap into revealing my oh-so-hidden location.
The man placed the tissue-like paper over the desk, and my heart pounded so hard I was sure he probably felt it through the desk. But the square piece dangled for another minute, and then he started counting down from 4. I panicked, 3, but in almost a film-like hesitation, 2, I placed my shaky hand up halfway, before retracting slightly, and then finally, softly placed the paper between my thumb and index.
At this, the man gripped my wrist so hard I flinched and sent the paper flying. But it was already too late, he had found me. Yet, they pretended not to notice, and I think they actually smirked, according to my omniscient sight. I noticed the man who was writing the letter was barely shielding me at this point.
The man who gripped my wrist suddenly moved back, called his companion, and decided to leave. I want to say he said a few words to the man writing the letter, but I’m not sure. It sounded like a blurb. It was so arbitrary and terrifying at the same time. I crawled out from underneath, and just like nothing had happened, the tall man in the chair continued to write. I splayed out against the firm but fuzzy leather gray couch. I still feared the Mounds would come for me, and I did see a shadow of the largest approach from the right side of the window. I held my breath, and suddenly, I was granted the courage to run out the front door: there was some sort of golf cart with my family driving it. As if that would outrun the Mounds, because it did.
We were driving in a… weird state. I was somehow in the front of the hood, yet also strapped safely, and I had to spread my feet out, so I could feel the plants and flowers softly brushing through me. It was much like the dream scene in Spirited Away when Chihiro is moving through the tall brush (by camera) before she meets her “pig” parents. We were driving into some flower garden that was near a Six Flags. I do not recognize this place unlike the first area. We drive, and I feel the soft blades of tall, tall grass; grass, flowers, and plants all taller than me and the weird vehicle! My youngest sister would tell me I smelled like something, something bad. But I rebutted with, “I don’t know what you are talking about, but I smell like flowers.” And all of a sudden, stalks of delphiniums overwhelm us, but the aroma is not overpowering. It’s strong, but mild — bold but with a natural subtlety. Petals fly into my face and it is almost peaceful. A calm mood descends upon me, finally free from these strange horrors.
I wake up seeing that same, large shadow on the ground before me, but I’m too afraid, or too late, to look up.
Sigh. The more and more I keep thinking about the TR project, the faster I reach this realization that I so dreadfully don’t want to face.
The fact that I will never comfortably settle for at least a decent period of time as a triple everything completionist. The possibility that Aasimar/Tiefling may be iconics. For some reason, this bothers me so – after all, what did I spend almost a whole year for?
A part of me says this is good enough. But if that’s the case should I stop now? I keep having indecisive thoughts fighting back and forth – “but what about those potential bonuses from ERs?” More and more each day, I struggle to fight back that creeping dread.
That part of me that says good enough, I can understand. Sera has more than 50 lives under her belt. There’s no point suffering through all these lives when I should be playing the one I enjoy the most. After all, time is even more limited for me. The future seems kind of bleak despite how much and how detailed I go into planning these things. But now that Reaper is introduced into the game, it is even more harder to catch up to that “perfect” life. Perhaps this project from the start was a trap.
Either ways, I think comparatively, from the life before as a Favored Soul, Sera will improve by a huge meter. Even more so after I farm for the items I need (Slaver’s most importantly). I absolutely despise farming and juggling gear after I’ve reached a seemingly stable stage, so I hope there is nothing big for a while. I never understood the constant notion that the game needs to keep having updates to make it fun again. Personally, I’m fixated on the idea of playing your decked out main in end content, spruced up to be the best possible toon. Of course, there is no such thing in the latter, but its a fun idea, at least to me.
I say that the project is supposed to be something out of intrinsic motivation to learn each class and build out of my own, but it is hard when there is this other nagging side that wants to play the class she loves best. I was running my bank toon Celesteine, a caster cleric, the other day with a friend, and I felt the aching nostalgia of a divine caster. As well as the frustration of having such poor stats and SP. I can only hope that Sera will be able to garner a lot of Reaper XP along the way back up to cap. I am afraid that I may need to plan multiple lives as a Favored Soul just for that. It bothers me so much to TR without gaining the intended Heroic PLs along with it – now that I will be heroic triple completionist very soon, that is no longer an option. Along with that, who knows when the next class will be released (surely not this year though it seems – seems mostly to be races only). But see, at least classes are much less malleable in release/updates as opposed to races which I would think the devs feel are much more feasible to release in comparison.
In the end, I will have to come to accept the fact that there is no such thing as true ultimate status attainment in this game. That is how the system works. It just sucks having to be so OCD and picky about this sort of thing.