My world, by Chris Ness.
The world I write in is very clear to me. It is, for most, a drab world. Things are only as colorful as the viewer allows them to be. It is a flat world, with cracked earth. The physical world can be transposed for familiarity, but it is only metaphorical.
Many of the people there suffer. They sit in holes, pounded by the rain that cascades from the clouds of their past. They writhe in the mud, pain wracking their very frames, crying out "Someone, please! Anyone!" But their cries go ignored. They are hollow beings. They only know their past, and refuse to see their future, no matter how bright it may be. They are forever trapped in their pain. Others sit and cry quietly, on the curbs of their streets. They are passed by friends who often try to lend a hand, but are refused. They want nothing but perfection, and are saddened by the lack of it. These kinds of people live in a dark world. One with few lights that break the clouds. The grey monotony smothers them, and the clouds above trample their spirits. When one is saved, the clouds part and a ray of light shines upon them. Their world transforms to one of bliss. The ground is no longer a grey desert, but a lush oasis. They are now better people. They no longer linger in the dark past, dwelling in 'should-haves' and the like. Their thoughts, and eyes are on the future. There are more than three dimensions here. Time is traveled through thoughts and dreams. You can pass among the levels, the world of the happy and the world of the sad co-exist in the same physical place, but they rarely, if ever, interact. It is as if one world cannot see the other.
To pass from the grey world to the other world, it usually takes a friend, or an Angel of God. They must restore you according to your needs. If you are friendless, they will be your friend; if you are scared, they will be your strength. These blessed souls are the ones who work tirelessly to save as many as possible. Trust is necessary to escape this world. If you do not trust the one who comes, then you shall never leave.
Passing to the grey world, however, is another story. It is usually marked as depression. Your eyes fade, the once present inner light now gone. You become stiff and cold to the world around you. You are a zombie on the outside, displaying nothing. But on the inside, your soul is pounded, soaked with a salty tear rain. It lays in the mud, broken.
Once you pass from the grey world to the other world, your spirit awakens. If you pass from the other world to the grey world, your spirit is slowly beaten into submission, and hidden. Once you pass from the grey world to the other world and back, however, you spirit is shattered. You have relapsed. Hope is
gone. Chances are your friends have given up on you, and resigned themselves to watching you slip down the hole of oblivion. Described as a spiral, it is nigh unbreakable. Once you return to the grey world you once escaped, you can never fully return to the other world, no matter how hard you try. You need the misery, and ache without it.
When I write about friends looking down to help, it's not a matter of them standing and you laying down. You are in a hole, the pit of your despair, and they stand on the rim, outlined by lightning, as the rain turns the dust into mud. Mud too slippery to dig into. You struggle, trying to free yourself, too proud to ask for help. They are saddened by you, but their tears are indistinguishable from the rain that runs down their faces. They tower over you, seemingly as enemies, but in truth, it is their lack of pain you hate. There are times that you wish you could just pull them down with you, cover them in the same lies that you have buried yourself with.
Rivers are your life. The current is time, and rapids are trials. To drown is to neglect that which makes you human. You forget to breathe, to love, to live.
Death is not death in the physical sense, but the emotional/spiritual sense. It is always the soul that is dying. Once that dies, you are part of the hollow world. "smiles plastered on sickeningly" is the key term. It is a false land, but also a true land. They aren't really happy, of course, but they feel no pain. Their souls are dead, and the remnant shells live on, to carry out their 'duties'.
I can place everyone I know in this world. All those whom I care enough about to study closely, so that I can pick up aspects that help in placement. And I can track where you have been in the past. Every thing you do is recorded to place you where you fit best. When you tell me about your past, I listen, when I hear about your new boyfriend, I listen. Every adjective carefully examined in the blink of an eye, and added to the "Definition of You".
Remember, I know you well. Better than you think. And I care about you. If I care enough to give you a home here, I will always be one of those standing by to help you, whether as an angel, or a friend.


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