ABSTRACT
Become nothing when nothing turn into a ghost grey box violent school become nothing ghost invisibility takes over better than before nothing happened for years the woman called mother’s berserk routines.
“For Christ’s sake get out of my SIGHT!”
The man called father’s alcohol derision:“You? YOU? Melodrama … melodramatic bag of wind …”
Terror strikes when and where it likes shame strikes with derision you believe. No mind to settle crusher 22jerks twitches lapses ghost slows jerks empty scent of nothing no feelings distant sit watch sheet of apathy so thick to petrify all things living. Petrifaction nature’s antidote inters you underground camouflaged unlit place no crusher no matter how frenzied reaches treasure (do you hear this?) Buried hiding place no one can find without a map frequently mislaid in tatters missing its owner eventually loses interest no longer worth the trouble. An automaton forgettable pest difficult to deal with disappears melts hobbles towards a senseless end. A few proto “body-person” automata take a midlife interest in cartography or psychology find something anything before the end what was the point of it all? One outcome probably the worst of all for automata unwilling to face the truth give up on their abusers stay with them hate them comply with them serve them try to love them change them—do you hear this?—Destroyed by them insanity last option to keep mortal remains delusional ideas intact no treasure no map no unlit hiding place oozing cadavers demanding special handling these are the true lost souls. Scum that drains away. Is it for this degree of ruination that “the last shall come first” was thought up before it was forgotten?