Snippet #2154876

It reminded him of an old film he had watched.
He was Neo, in the Matrix, and everything was no longer real, made as a simple design to hold him by a higher power. Everyone around him and everyone he had ever loved, cared about, knew of, had a conversation with, were all trapped. He was alone in this world, which was not a world, and no-one would ever know. He would spend the rest of his life committing crimes that would haunt him for the rest of his existence and he would do them all to last a little longer, just so he could do them all again. And he’d do it all just to know the truth. Why live in a lie? Why not? The thoughts just kept racing through his head. It was all so confusing, and yet it was clear as day when he focused on an individual point, eventually turning away to another, watching them evaporating to thin wisps of smoke and dust as he turned his attention away for just a split-second. It became a game, a toy in a sandbox which which he could forget about everything, forget about all of his previous life and his future worries, where all that mattered were the little fragments as they wound little spirals around his head.

Just another day, that’s what it was. Just another day he spent, talking with his friends outside the water cooler, sipping quietly as he took the gossip from the latest interns and the worker relationships, the weather and the finance markets and everything else related. He’d worked so hard to be here, and here he was, and he was happy. He ate, he slept, he worked, he drank, he talked and he went to social outings with friends involving different people in different movies he’d seen that had mildly perked his interests, and all of the other miscellaneous journeys through the floating island that could be considered orderly and uniform for a man of his stature and position. Sometimes he wanted to stab himself just to get some feeling back into his brain.
He’d spent his entire childhood studying in school. He’d worked his ass off in exams and other important schedules, he’d gotten to the best of the best and he’d worked every bone in his body to get there, and while he wasn’t the only one, he felt glad to be there. While they all took drugs, smoked, did none of the work, he had succeeded and made a secure life for himself, and he had a high-placed job in a wealthy and profitable company where he was happy, and he was well-paid for everything he did. He had his own junior administrators to work with, he had a secretary who ordered everything he needed to do, took all of the excess from his hands and left him with the important information he needed. He had a cliché of friends that worked around the same places, kept him up-to-date on all of the recent gossip and he had a group of colleagues who did the same for the workplace. He went out with either regularly and kept up a social image for himself, as well as the occasional advancing in the direction of whatever gender he chose for that night. He had a pad that would have made most lottery winners cry, and he had certificates in all the right places to ensure he wouldn’t be the one to go when budgets ran low.
It all flooded back to him as he awoke to the warm duvet and over-plump pillows, in a sweat and feeling as if he needed to empty his stomach before his stomach emptied him. An eruption of stomach acid poured out over the side of the bed, and he cursed loudly before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, trying to avoid the puddle on the way to grabbing a towel to clean it. Though as soon as he came back with white towel in hand, he found himself unable to hold back a second portion of bile as it emptied over his feet. More curses rang out through the room. His stomach was clenching down on its own accord and stale air was pouring from his mouth mixed with strands of bile. He was close to choking and his muscles seized up completely, rendering him helpless in the middle of the floor. Pain was radiating from all over his body as cramps set in and threatened to rip his limbs from his body, one joint at a time, as the pain lanced through his systems. He was close to passing out now. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything more than sit there and wait for his heart to stop beating. Then it stopped. But he couldn’t tell, he was already unconscious, black fading in from the corners of his vision and blinding him under the darkness, and just before he faded completely, the warm splash of vomit as his cheek was smeared in it.

Now where was he?
He wasn’t in his room anymore. He was somewhere else. Something was calling to him, beckoning him to the light. What light? There was no light. But that was the point; there was no light. Was the light good, or bad? It depended who held the light, when he thought about it. And then a wisp of smoke formed itself in front of him, the dust motes soaring in intricate patterns about his face. It was beautiful, he realised. He never wanted to leave it, and he knew the darkness would always hold it, he didn’t know how though. He didn’t really want to, because then he’d learn where the smoke came from.
He’d cleaned up the mess in the house and called sick. The junior administrators would be taking his full workload and everything was being backtracked to compensate. His friends had offered company and he’d denied it, and his work-friends had phoned him, but he’d unplugged the phone-lines. The doctor said there was nothing wrong, the nurses had checked his house when he’d called for an immediate search, and said they’d found nothing. The fast-food restaurant he’d eaten in last night was also under investigation, but so far everything was negative. His neighbours were checking on him every twenty minutes or so in case anything else happened and for the moment, there was nothing else he could do, and nothing else he considered doing that would be particularly helpful to the situation. So now he was lying on top of the duvet, flicking lazily through the scroll of channels and stopping on the corporal news. Demons, Angels, Monsters… “Mass destruction and chaos running throughout the archipelago this morning as the widespread massacre continues, military forces are calling for external support but mainland teams claim they may not be able to increase forces for several more months now, by which time, it may be too late.” He laughed before the channel changed, and changed again. He’d seen too many widespread rumours set up to believe this was any different, he’d had a hand in most of them. There were always goods to be dealt and whether or not supply was necessary was paramount, and if a little drought or flood broadcast by some of the more gullible media platforms made supply necessary by the general public was none of his concern in the end. All that mattered were the profits, and that he was making them and not his competitors. He shook his head slowly before switching off the television, looking out to the nearby window and the city beyond. How stupid they were, not that they’d ever know, even if they did, not that they’d ever understand the consequences, how easy it was for him to manipulate them to whatever twisted end he desired. Now they all thought demons were terrorising the lands, now they all thought that their pathetic lives were coming to an end under the hand of some almighty beast with six arms and gruesome fangs, and they’d buy all the food and drink and shelter that they could, and he’d buy an even bigger house, and even more cars, until there wasn’t a man on the entire island- no, the entire archipelago that could set one foot in any hotel, any restaurant or any business without having to pay money back to him. And he’d laugh from the top of the chain down at the ants that were the general populace. Oddly he found a laugh rising anyway, laughing down at all of them and laughing even more, knowing they’d never ever know. Their perception always shrouded by darkness. Then he was shrouded by darkness.

The memories faded, and light consumed his features in a flash. It was as if he had been flung unceremoniously through some crevice between the laws of space and time. He wasn't in his bed anymore. But then again the bed had been a memory. How long it had been, he couldn't really tell. His head hurt. Why did his head hurt? A hand reached out and rubbed it lightly, and he realised that his hand was sticky, covered in mud and soil. Just like the rest of him. He cursed and pushed himself up to his feet, and looked around, the movement of his neck causing several cracks to echo out. Apparently he'd been here for some time. Why? He hadn't done anything to anyone. He checked his pockets; no phone, no wallet, nothing to use as any form of communication. The landscape for all directions seemed malnourished and disfigured, and he had nowhere to go, in no direction to go in. Maybe a plane would notice him. Equally so, maybe not. What should he do?

Something told him to start walking forwards. He did.