at the end of the world as we know it, there is a pillar of stone.
it might have not always been there, or, it might have not always been noticeable, albeit many do tell stories of opening up their eyes, rubbing away at the traces of hypnagogia and staring right into the structure, unable to move. the pillar, with its edges jagged and blurry, stared back. the surrounding air struggled to accomodate its atoms for that deep-cut wound of a construct applied in the middle of it, and the longer one had watched, it was getting harder to breathe.
each witness has recollected their memories with the same feverish elation in their eyes. whether mournful, enraged or terrified, they all possessed an unshakeable conviction in their innocence and that the pillar had no reason to punish them with its overbearing presence just at the periphery of their being. it was not their fault, they said. what they remembered was not their fault.
the pillar is not in any way remarkable; one would rather say it was its ordinary terror that sunk deep within the not-cat subconscious. that, and its unstable form: it was impossible to describe the exact shape of it, which left one to circle around its generalisation and simulacra, every single one worse than its precedessor. every image woven by the witnesses was of slightly different strands, each either missed out on or added a detail which had not appeared in a different story again. the only constant were a concur of sudden clarity that, yes, what they saw was indeed a pillar of stone, the knowledge the it could crush their bodies in an instant, and the half-visible shadows standing right at its base.
quail or saburat / english language learner / plural
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