Beyond the logic, beyond the scale

"Oh f*ck... Ahh... AAAAAH!"

A young man was hugging the wall while slowly and painfully making his way through the hall. His turtleneck was covered in vomit, as well as his face and even jeans.

"Where.. AAAAH! ERH!

His body was constantly trying to eject the source of irritation but to no avail. There was nothing in his stomach already, the only thing that was coming out of his mouth was a vile mixture of saliva, bile and blood.

"D- KHE! Door.."

His eyes were shutting down, burning and itching so hard that he would probably rip them out of the sockets if he had strength to do it. And if the vomiting would let him go for half a minute, of course.

The vision began to fade away into a thick burning fog of blur. The throat was swelled and scratched to shreds by the non-stop vomiting, the nose was burning and filled with gull that went in the "wrong pipe". Breathing was already a herculean task, especially due to the fact that the body began to hyperventilate as a response to an emergency. That resulted in a decrease in the amount of oxygen that it was receiving, ironically.

One of the funniest jokes of nature is a fact that sometimes our biological mechanisms are a big threat to our survival: If you've lost a lot of energy in a cold environment your body will put you to sleep to conserve it (you will never wake up, of course); if you barely made your way on the shore after nearly drowning your body will try to fixate the foreign body that is in your lungs (water) with its secretion (mucus, essentially more water) to neutralize the threat (drowning you for good).

*thump*

"Aaaahh... Aaaahh..."

Young man had lost too much strength, he lost his ability to move forward, even with the help of a wall. Vomit that was coming in waves turned into a constant gut wrenching spasm of abdominal muscles, diaphragm and who knows what else. Dizziness and nausea that were bearable enough to navigate the space around while he was on his feet, but after falling they tuned into something so horrible, disorienting and mind-blanking that even the sense of gravity began to fade away: the "up" and "down" that were so well defined and reliable few minutes ago began to spin around like annoying insects in a summer heat. There was no vision, no certainty, no comfort. Fruitless attempt to reach the door for a breath of fresh air ended with a fetal position on a floor, covered in vomit and mucus. The consciousness began to fade away into a dream like state, maybe to escape the miserable situation that it was in.

But there was no escape in this dream, for it being a nightmare even more confusing than the reality itself. No sense of space, no sense of time, no distinct sense of self. Only pain and discomfort, unpleasant and perplexing, insulting even. It felt as if he was a child punished for a mischief he didn't do. Senseless, cruel, undeserved. There was barely anything left of him to punish: just a disorganized pile of emotions and feelings with occasional thoughts that were appearing and fading in this mess as fireflies in a summer night. And in this flickering of thoughts was an elusive reoccurring pattern...

Was it... Amusement? How can it be in this hell of a dream? In this blind and pictureless nightmare in which the leftovers of a dying mind were feeling as if they were a piece of meandering meat in synesthetic agony, where all senses and feeling intertwined to feel a displeasure of their own shape. They twisted, they turned to finally find a position in which they would feel a trace of comfort, a trace of sensual approval. But to no avail. Guided by the hatred of their own and the despair this twisting flesh wound rip itself in half, releasing even more pain and terrors never felt before for a hope of finally reaching a moment of relief. But to no avail.

The flesh would twist and turn again as if it was an eel on a flat iron, making sure that the fading remnants of a mind feel every moment of this self-induced torture, every movement of every piece of "meat". It almost felt like it was trying to destroy itself in search of a sweet release of death. The pile of flesh was loosing its integrity, splitting more and more, twisting vigorously, subjecting itself to an increasingly more brutal torture, confusing beyond the sense of space, confusing beyond the sense of time.

But while this "dream flesh" woven from everything that left of mind was crumbling in a synesthetic malice, a dispersed cloud of fireflies was forming somewhere in this blind and spaceless void. If someone were to witness this scene, they would say that the cloud of wisps was escaping the vile swamp of filth. And each of them was filled with jest and indifference, each and every shade of these colors. As if the only way they can be is by defying and neglecting everything that is on their playful gait through existence. There were no words that could describe these little lights or anything in such depths of ones mind, to be fair. There are some concepts that can give a hint about their identity. The way, the core, the nature...They are the biggest secret that never was to be discovered, and never will. They are even though they don't. Beyond the logic, beyond the scale, they are nowhere and they are going into the nothing, parading frivolously and out of spite.

"... "

The flat line. The sacrament of death, the great equalizer. It happened. Some may cry, some may be indifferent. Some are paranoid about it and some are keeping the thought of it out of mind and out of heart. It's hard to say something objective about it, besides that "it happens". It's hard to pinpoint how and when exactly. Those who died don't breathe, but no matter how long you can keep your breath for you cannot peep through the "crack" to see death. It may release you even after a flat line, it may not be interested in you for years, even if you are considered "brain dead". The only thing that is true for all human beings won't say "Hi" to any of them, won't show it's face to be observed and learned. What a mockery.

It is somewhere beyond the logic, beyond the scale. Maybe those wisps have seen it? In their chaotic dance through nowhere maybe they bumped in it to see what happens next? They are more free than everything we think of "freedom" after all. And nowhere they are: drifting away, no longer merged with the young man, excited for a journey. And the same instant they were ready to commence they froze. Incarnations of freedom, so free that we would fail to grasp were caught. Large violet hands stretched out around and beyond, creating something similar to a jar or cradle around these spiteful flames. A violet eye cracked open somewhere to witness this scene.

[I'll see a lot of new]

A quirk in space occurred in a place with no space to begin with and hands went somewhere, carrying the wisps with them