There was no joy, no anger, no feeling. There was nothing. There was no feeling, there was no pride, there was no angst, there was nothing. The man didn’t feel anything. Madness gripped him out of nowhere, a spectre of debauchery haunted his thoughts every second. He wondered how much longer this would go on. It had been more than two decades now. But the last five years had felt the same too. Which year was this?
There was no sleep. There was no feeling. There was nothing. His mind was made up. This was never going to end. Somehow, accepting it felt like a plume of dew on his hair, nothing more. It was gone as quickly as it had come. The dew had turned into a halo of red, advancing upon him with a neutral expression. It was nothing. There was no feeling. What time was it?
There were responsibilities. Things had to be done. There was no sorrow for his fate. It had arrived early, and it existed for his sake. This was the hand he had been dealt with. This was the way he had to play. Play not because he had to or wanted to win. Play because there was nothing else to do. There was no feeling. Therefore, he might as well think and play reality like an open world game. Where was the coffee?
His sense organs were telling his mind to change position. They screamed for no reason. There was no feeling. All that was there, was a body infused with consciousness. A consciousness that was prone to warp reality into fragments of dispersed phenomena which only made sense to him and a handful of others who existed purely in his mind. There was no feeling. There was nothing.