Building 11 “The Dark Side of the Moon”

“I feel betraye4d.

Terribly, awfully betrayed.

I used to look up at the sky at night, madness and sleep slipping between one another as they try to find purchase. I looked up, and there was supposed to be a light there, the moon looking down upon this world and commenting in rhythm as it waxed and waned, seeking out our company when it is full and denying it when a melancholy mood falls over it.

But I hav3e been looking up at the night sky for ages now, night after night waiting for something to be there. But it isn't there, not in a way that could be considered comforting, or normal. Every day things get colder and colder. Every day the moon is further away in the night sky. Growing up, I'd put my hand up to compare it to the moon.

The moon would be sometimes as large as my thumbnail.

Now it hardly registers as my pinky nail, and that is only on the nights when I can see it.

It's a betrayal. All of this. How else can I look at it. I am not even eighteen, and yet I am asked to understand the why and the hows of all of this as we drift further and further out into space.

Cast off, like we were nothing at all.

Every night the moon gets farther away.

Every night it gets dimmer.

I am walking. Sometimes I'm jogging. But right now I am walking, and when I look up, the moon is as bright as I have ever seen it. It sits large and imposing, and when I look away I focus on the ground beneath me so I won't fall through.

I am so tired. You wouldn't think that you would be tired this much when you have all the time in the world to sleep, but that is the thing. Without a morning, without a meaningful way to measure out your day, all that there is is the endless night, and that is simply not enough. There are no more good mornings, no more welcomed cups of coffee as the sun rises. Instead, there is simply this insomnia that is making me see things that aren't there. Seeing things not as they are, but how I want them to be, before coming back to the ground with the rest of the walking dead.

I am walking but I have no where to go really.

The world is ending.

Didn't you hear?

I look back up.

The moon is small again. It is different. It is the dark side of the moon, lit up for the first time in anyone's recollection.

It is there, but it isn't looking down. The far side of the moon, the one always cast in the dark and hidden from us, is now here, brighter than anything you could imagine. And there is no face looking down, the side I see being nothing but craters upon craters, scars and holes where the moon had perhaps saved us from the intrusions of deep space.

And I know.

I know this is wrong. My mind must not be seeing things the way they are supposed to be.

But how is it supposed to be?

I am so tired.

I was told that the world would trust me, that if I trusted in them and they trusted in me that we would get through anything. But not this. There is nothing about this that is worth surviving. There are dark things moving through the streets, and I know I shouldn't be outside but if I spend one more minute inside, caught up in eternal night, I will scream.

And there are things in the night, and they are hungry...no...no they are not.

They want to change. To convert. They whisper to me when I venture further from the street lamps, telling me that this is the only way, that either I am transformed or I will die. But I don't want to die. I want to live.

Die. It is to die. All of this. It is all dying. That is all we are doing.

I am walking and I am dying.

It is only a matter of time.

Everyone else I know is already gone, and my birthday isn't for another three months.

I am writing and walking, and they are whispering to me from the dark, their eyes glowing in a mocking sort of way, like the stars that aren't in the sky are reserved for them and no one else.

And this may not reach you.

It maybe won't reach anyone.

Because this is all that there is.

A moon that has betrayed seventeen years of knowledge just for us to be cast off into space as a rogue planet.

A moon, and whispers in the dark...

I feel betrayed. Terribly, awfully betrayed.

I just wanted to make it to eighteen.

A sleep like this.

Was it worth the fight.

Was it even worth the wait.”

I've started a new file, and I suppose it is about time that I did. The file is titled “The Dark,” and pieces such as this one and a few others, both from my own investigations, as well as those recorded by Michael, will be included. I hate to give him credit, but he accidentally managed to record something.

As far as I am concerned, reports in this file are all those which have to do with entropy, conversion, and perhaps a few overlaps with the files I attribute to “The Gray”. I am not sure yet whether or not these things are all part of the same occurrence, but for now I am going to keep them separated.

The above is an example of what we call “liminal” pieces, ones that belong either to spaces or times that are yet to be witnessed, or ones that seem simply separate from our own. Maybe this is all too strange, but the WSHS have understood for a while that there are pieces that seem to slip through dimensions and time, and that there is seemingly no real pattern to it.

Maybe these are dead worlds or dead spaces, or maybe these are simply elaborate hoaxes. Or maybe it is nothing and I am simply spinning my wheels.

I am not getting enough sleep. I am sleeping, but I am simply not getting enough of it.

I am sorry for accusing you before of not telling me about dreams and stuff like that. It isn't fair for me to lay down all my issues onto you, simply because you are willing to listen. I am still dealing with all the things I wasn't told when I was little, and all the things I wasn't told when I was older.

But now that I am, I am sure that in some way not telling felt like a mercy to them, like an act of charity or good will.

But lies rarely come off like that, and what is hidden tends to grow in the dark of ignorance.

I want to write more, but I really can't/won't. Like the girl in the above piece, I am simply at the end of my supply, and the only option left is to sleep.