Hospital “I Had a Vision”

“I have seen visions of them...visions...

What the hell is wrong with me?

I have seen visions of suns...three suns, rising and moving in turn. Right now we sit at the yellow. It looks like a normal, everyday thing, but that isn't right. The shadows of the night are darker, and the shadows of the day are retreated, diminished in ways you could scarcely notice. These are things that happen in increments, things that it has taken time to build and falter and shift.

And it is not a state that was ever meant to last.

It looks normal, but it isn't, but by the time anyone notices what is wrong, it is going to be too late...no...too late suggests that there was ever anything to be done about it, that there was a path that could have been taken that wasn't, and that there were mistakes that were made that made all of this a reality. But that isn't what has been happening at all. What makes it hard to stomach, what scares me and should scare you, is that this is all natural.

It is normal.

THERE IS A VISION

I have had a vision.

I have seen a red sun in a sky of scarlet. The light is gives off is not heat really. It is not that at all, and in reality the sun only has diminished, and faded. It is gasping, desperately trying to draw air even though it can't. Every pulse of it, every thrashing, shuddering thrust of light hurts it more and more as the dark around it pulls tighter and tighter against it. It wants to expand outward, to fight back and render our world as a cinder as it tries to burn the dark away.

It is normal for it to do this.

The only thing abnormal is the amount of time it will take. How much it is restrained.

Or no...maybe it isn't. Time shifts and moves about in confusing and awful ways. I am so scared by what I see, so horrified when I see things where other things should be, when I look upon the street I know so well and feel confused by it. It should all be right, but it isn't. Things are shifting about without any bearing on time, and thus the natural manner is maintained.

The world is dimming, and it is merely time that is shifting. And who was I to ever question that.

THERE IS A VISION

The vision has an end.

Its only at the end that things get strange, when the sun turns black in the sky, the light it gives off a velvety necrosis that lingers on every breath of anything left alive.

I am going to see the death gasp. Every breath of the new sun is a death gasp, as it gets darker and darker, and even though getting darker should mean that it is getting weaker, the opposite is true. This is the return to reality. The sun is an impression.

A poor example of a cosmic artist trying to render out a picture of the universe, wanting to use all the colors that exist to bring it together, to render something pleasing to the eyes, but it is all just so fucking wrong. Every last bit of it, every scrap of color from yellow to red and anything else. Gods I want there to be color in the end, I want the truth to be that there is color and that there is light.

But color isn't real. Color only exists upon observation.

The reality is that there is no color.

There is only the dark.

A void where the sun thought it should be.

A place that was never meant for light.

Just the black, empty entropy of particle necrosis.

THERE IS A VISION

THERE WAS A VISION

VISION IS A LIE
THERE IS A LIE

I saw a vision.

I am so sorry. I want to cry, but nothing is left.”

It's Eric again. He is in the hospital on suicide watch after he was found trying to remove his fingernails with a file. He says that he isn't trying to be self destructive, that there is simply something that needs to come out. I talked with him for a while, and he later admitted that he wished he was special. That he thought there was something underneath, but it ended up being nothing.

What sort of sick game is he playing at?

I have been trying to figure out what the hell his angle is, and I can't seem to grasp it. I talk to him, and I know he knows something, but there is always so much restraint behind it, that he is hoarding information, even the kind that could maybe help someone better understand or help him.

He said that he wished he could be better than the others. I asked him who he was talking about, but he just got silent. I pressed him, but he simply wouldn't budge on it. He said that things are progressing faster than he thought they would, and that he needed to be ready. I have told all this to his therapist, who now has been assigned to him by court order.

I feel sick inside when I think about him. That level of derangement is simply outside my scope of study. There is something very wrong with him, delusions of grand conspiracies and encroaching darkness lingering upon the corners of his every sentence. His dreams seem to be plagued by these visions of light and dark, and whatever has caused it is simply outside my worldview.

Maybe he was telling the truth before, when he spoke about interacting with a glow. The Glow. If he had, then his state would seem to be in keeping with those other victims, people left with bizarre, often frenetic mannerisms and ticks. He keeps the shades of his hospital room closed at all hours, and has built up a wall of pillows to fight against any incursions of light.

The Artist...I need to stop with the titles. We are people, not positions on a board.
I asked her what she wanted to be called, if anything, instead.

She said her name is Max. Anyway, Max is back at work and doing well. She has actually been talking with me lately, and we have been looking over the files, looking for any mentions of anything that could suggest what thing draws us all together.

Her hands were bandaged, and Max said she had hurt herself in a grease fire.