"Polar"

Of wistfulness and weather.

After getting away from the sight that I saw, I soon found myself walking through yet another deserted street; the paving stones a grey colour, one which almost matched the fog that surrounded me. I could scarcely see that pavement beneath my feet, and the black road covered in tarmac? Hah, wouldn't that be lovely.

With my vision so obscured, I could only place one foot before the other and continue to advance. The fog danced at my senses and put my teeth on edge; I felt as though the peace that had filled my heart had been chased out by phantoms and naught else.

Ah, wistfulness. Isn't it just such a wonderful feeling?

That aside, I began to feel the cold set in around my bones as I continued to walk through the fog. As I continued to walk, I felt something hit my face; I could not see it for the life of me, given the fog. However, as I walked, I saw the pavement filling with powdery white.

I found an alcove to type this. My body feels cold, but my heart feels warm. I will wait until the fog clears a little before moving on, I think.

"Peerless"

I followed A into their new world, and found myself enclosed within the City once more; the church still behind me. However, the City had lost the feeling of euphoria it had given me - perhaps A's words shook me more deeply then I had realised.


But that is nothing, compared to what else I saw.


I found myself looking down an alleyway; at it's end, I could see down a street, of the modern sort; tarmac and pavement, stone and cement. Looking down it, I saw A from behind, with their hands raised before them; I think I could see something in their hand. Before them, I saw a being that looked as if it had been pulled from a dream.


A man as tall as the tallest man you know; a man clothed in darkness in the imitation of business attire; arms branched as a tree would be. A deathly pale 'cross it's face; a face that looked unlike any other. If there had been eyes, mouth, a nose, ears... they were there no longer. Gone, as if blown into the wind, leaving a face as literally blank as my face was figuratively when I gazed upon it.


A stood between me and that being, but I felt my heart waver upon seeing it. Then I saw A raise their hands up, and saw what was held in between them.


Crack.


As if by magic, a hole appeared in the head of the being; it slumped, it's arms seeming to begin to burn with a purple flame. The being roared and stumbled, took two steps forward. The fire raced across it, reducing the being to ash as it stood. It suddenly charged at A, as if attacking - but no. The fire burned across the entirety of it, reducing the being to naught.


The roaring ceased, and stunned silence filled the air. And then, a giggle, quickly silenced as if suppressed. And then, A spoke, turning around, as if speaking to the city itself.


"Behold, my watchers. Behold my dreams, come unto reality. Behold the slain beast and the slayer themselves. If this is all a fable, then this would be it's end. It was the end of the monster, but not the end of the hero. This is a story in which the hero lives; the hero endures. You have born witness to the journey, and you shall now see the destination - watch, as I wield the future as a musician wields his instrument. Watch, as I shall take what I have done here, and take up the anvil. Watch, as I take command of the empty fate which I have been given. The new world is closer now then it ever has been. This is it. This is my victory."


Their face had remained straight for this, but as they said that last word, a smile ran across their face. And then, the giggling returned, followed by hysterical laughter.


I didn't want to stay. My body twitched at the thought of being close to that person again. So I turned back into the church, and I ran. I went through door after door, putting as many as I could between myself and what had occurred. I didn't understand it, and I don't want to understand it.

"Passing"

My heart is racing, but the beast has past.


After my last post, I felt opened that door, and found another. I drove myself to walk through each door that came in my way; unlike every other time when I have wandered this maze of bricks and mortar, I felt as if there was something driving me. That I was approaching my goal, although I knew not where my goal was. Each door confronted me with a new land that I had not traversed.


The first door led me to a beautiful fountain; water soared high into the sky, before tumbling back into the pool, only to be subjected to the fountain's function. Even the grey backdrop to this did not remove it from my mind; I only saw it for a brief moment, before I remained on my course and went through the next door.


There, I saw a supermarket - that's what my head tells me it was. Empty rows of unstacked shelves, followed by yet more. This felt almost poignant. Did this impart some distant memory into my mind? I don't know, but I kept walking; a door with the words "Staff Only" written upon it was the one I pushed open, to find myself back onto the city streets once more. I kept walking; these were the environments I felt at home with. The concrete city-scape which had enclosed me when A was near, protected me and pulled me away from them.


Walking through another door brought me into a church, or what seemed like one; no, a temple. A majestically large place, with figures cut from stone stood on pedestals. They looked down at me, hoods over their faces; their hands stood out firm, as if giving a speech. There were no seats and no people to want to sit in them; I walked up to the altar, and ran a hand across it. Unfamiliar symbols were cut into it, as if worshipping some unknown god, forgotten in times long since past for me. I looked up; the roof looked so very far away. A colossal dome, stretching up to the sky. There were paintings, but I could not truly comprehend them, really; I can't really explain this.


Remembering the temple, I can almost feel as if I am forgetting things I thought that I'd never forget there. The stained glass windows were a true majesty of design, yet I cannot even remember the faces on them. It's a shame.


Nevertheless, I soon found myself pulled to exit through a side-door, but I found myself forced to stop, for I found A beyond it.


Not A in any way I had seen them before, though. But the face still struck terror into my heart; even when they looked sad, they had been able to hurt me before. I kept my distance, but noted the person before me.


Their hood was down, their face revealed. Their blackened attire, which I had not seen them without, remained as it always had; immaculate and preserved. Not one inch of skin exposed. I looked around the room; they were sat on the chair, facing a door that I had not been through. As if this place was merely an extension of the temple, windows of stained glass (although not as beautiful as those outside) remained fitted, A's face outlined against one of them.


And such a face; I've not clearly seen it before. Prematurely aged, to be sure; I could see scars, both old and new, cut into it. Their nose, long and hooked, completed their face's outline. Although I could see it perfectly, I could still not be sure as to whether I was looking at a male or female face. Hah, a typical story. Clean but messy hair adorned their head, going down to their shoulders; I don't know what the style is, but I could see that it was not groomed; brown hair that had gone to grey in recent times, to be sure. At a table between them and I, I saw two things; a knife and a handgun. I'm an expert in neither field, but I'm sure that either would be sufficient to end my life.


I'm not sure what compelled me to memorise that; perhaps what they said next.


"The time that is coming," they said, in a tone that I did not recognise from that mouth. A tone that seemed... contemplative. "It is one time in which the time inside this place and the time outside it come together. On both inside and out, it shall be the winter solstice. I can imagine this time a year ago; a time of hope and of happiness. And of longing, at least for me. I was hoping then, like I had never hoped before.


"I wanted the nightmare to end. For it all to cease and to be done and forgotten. I wanted my past to leave me; to fade. I wanted a hero to rise up and defeat the monster... I saw the golden dream that others held and held it myself. In my silence, I prayed as hard as anyone else did.


"It was not enough. The dream was just that: in the morning, my nightmare haunted my waking hours, the dream extinguished. The world had lied to me; the world had led me astray; the world was wrong. I had followed hope, and hope brought me to crushing despair. I abandoned the companion that I had acquired; I severed the loose ends from my past; I moved on. I had to move on, lest I collapse into the ruins that surrounded me.


"I lost my way. I wandered in the darkness, hunting for a light. A guide, to show me the way. And for all my searching, I found nothing. I kept going so that I did not stop. Every step brought me no closer to my goal, but I knew that my goal was an impossibility. But stopping would have meant that everything I had done, every sin that I had committed, was worth naught. I told myself that the dream wasn't over yet, that if I didn't stop, the flame of hope would rekindle into a neverending blaze that would consume the past.


"In my head, there were words begging to be let go; I couldn't tell anyone. A thousand words, a thousand confessions. If I kept them close, I could control them; if I let go, I would be carried by them to a place that I might not want to go. I wanted to be myself again. I wanted to command my own fate; to go where I wanted.


"I met people who were trapped in the nightmare with me. We bonded and shared our feelings; each face, I couldn't forget. They were pulled into the darkness of the night, all of them. They all went, you could say. They were there, and then they were gone. Perhaps, in another life, I would have wept for them. I merely stared into the darkness and burned with anger. I was being forced to dance in another's palm, made to play the part of a puppet. But it's not the same now.


"I don't know what changed. Perhaps something else took me in; something else took my strings and is still playing my strings as expertly as any puppeteer. But something snapped. I shook myself from my fear and from my despair; I rose up, and climbed higher then I ever had.


"The dream wasn't done, not yet." A grim smile crossed A's face, as something appeared in their eyes. Tears? "I still felt that call to action, echoing across time. Anger may have worked then, but now I knew that I could not wait for a hero. Now, I was strong enough; waiting would solve nothing. The thousand words could wait, as could the thousand confessions. A hero would not come, so I would become the hero that everyone awaited. The mantle was thrust towards me, so I wore it with pride."


I stood in the room's corner, awkwardly. Were they trying to convey more half-truths? Or was this someone who had not talked from their heart for too long, who were now just looking for an excuse to dump them on the nearest passer-by? Nevertheless, they did not seem to want to stop.


"I had purpose and I had drive. Even if it meant forsaking my fellow man, I had a calling; the greatest calling of all, perhaps. And so, I did what I did. And finally, it has all come... to this."


A's hand grasped the gun on the table firmly; hand around the grip, finger on the trigger. They shifted their grip, examining it with a form of wistfulness that I'd not seen in those eyes before. "Before, I felt afraid of the future. Now... I still am, I think." A relaxed grin crossed the lips. "But this time, it's something that I have constructed. I have done all I can. I control myself now; my fate goes where I command it. I progress ever-further into the future. I cannot stop the beast I have let loose, but it's a beast I've wanted to ride."


A turned to me, placing the gun into a holster on their hip, and picking the knife up and hiding it on their person. The eyes pierced my soul; I felt some solidarity with this person, monstrous though they were. "It's almost time, you know," they said, pointing towards the unopened door. "Beyond that door is the new world. A world of harmony and order; of freedom and passion. It's a world that I've always wanted to see, and it's the world we'll soon be in. The whole world will become like that one, one day." They stood up, and walked towards it. They placed a hand on the ornate handle, and pushed it, just slightly.


"Come with me. Come to the new world. The door will always be open."


Pushing it open, they walked through, to a faraway world, perhaps.


Some of me wants to look at A in a new light. It's far drowned out by the rest of me, who realises that this person who has known fear just loves to inflict it on me. How could I feel anything but contempt for such a beast?


I'll follow them to this 'new world', and view it for the sham it is.

"Peace"

The puzzle was simple enough, with some trial and error. The task was to form a check with the Queen by moving my Knight, in such a way that the Knight would check the King if it were to move. Clever, really.


Upon completing the piece, the side of the board popped out, revealing the key. No note, thankfully. I took the time to sleep, of course; once that was done, I unlocked the door, and placed the key into my pocket; I had four now. I walked back into the outside, and found myself on a rooftop, looking up at skyscrapers; they reached up to that dismal sky, as if trying to escape it. I looked up, and found myself returning to that... zone.


Perfect calm had returned to my heart once more. This place... I don't want to be anywhere else when I'm here. This place gives me a purpose of it's own.


But now that I am here... I feel something, like it is tugging at my mind. As if there was something that preyed on mind; I opened my eyes, and saw a door on that rooftop. A door that led nowhere.


This city is giving me drive. This city is giving me purpose. I will take that purpose, and I shall go. To the land beyond the door.

"Phobia"

I was shaken from my blissful reverie (ah, how good it feels to remember those moments of bliss! As if my soul itself had come into harmony with my body; I felt myself expanding into the world around me, as free as a bird. My mind was no barrier to my happiness, merely a tool through which my soul could find happiness) by a now all-too familiar voice.


"Hey, you!" It called, cloaked in mirthful laughter. I opened my eyes, but remained sat on the floor, my legs crossed. The light shone into A's darkened hood to reveal two grey eyes, cloaked in an aged face. Their attire looked no worse for wear then it had before, but there seemed to be some dancing glee in their eyes now, as if some victory had been achieved. "What're you doing, just sitting 'round?"


"Go away," I said. I didn't need to talk to them any more; I'd found my happiness.


"No way," they laughed. "I just wanted a little chat with you."


"I don't want to talk to you. We both know it'll only end in bruises."


A simple shrug of the shoulders from my tormentor. "Now, now, my dear," they said, moving towards me. I jumped to my feet, my boots firmly smacking the ground beneath my feet. "I am not so cruel as to harm my dear sister." Their face became obscured from view, thanks to my changed position. Nevertheless, I think they could see the shock that briefly ran across my face. "What, you don't remember?"


"No..."


"Well, well, well," they said, giggling. "How's this for a family reunion? Why, I can only wonder as to why you didn't look like you recognised me!"


This had to be a lie. A trap. Something to trick me; this was a thing that could not be. But I really could not remember anything of my past. If I believed A, I could find the truth; whether they were truthful or false. But if it were true... what would that make me? A monster, like they were? But... no. It didn't matter.


"I don't have a family," I responded.


"Incorrect. You lost them, but now you have found them anew; you have found them in me. I am all the family you could ever aspire to; all the family that you deserve."


Something in me rang true. But something else felt revolted; I deserved better then... someone like that. Someone who took my trust and turned it into a weapon against me. They could not be my family. But...


I ran. I couldn't stop myself running. Just... away; down streets, just going away from that hooded figure who knew so much about me. I didn't turn, I could only listen to the laughter that escaped from them. The laughter that still rings in my ears now.


I went through door after door, and soon found myself in another locked room. I recall running through a corridor built into a skyscraper which flew high over the city (although I have no idea as to how I scaled such a height in so little time); a glass wall to my right, I looked over to see myself so very high above the city, the rooftops little more then paving stones at this height, with the occasional skyscraper soaring above the landscape. In the far distance, I could see only fog; above me, an empty sky. A truly empty sky - no sun, no clouds, only this dismal grey feeling. The concrete jungle of the city below was almost reassuring in comparison, compared to the overhanging feeling of melancholy. I would like to call the pathetic fallacy out, but I felt no such melancholy; panic rose within me, but only panic. No wistfulness, no longing for the past.


Perhaps my past is now a closed door, much like the one that lies before me. I want to think at it more, but in the meantime, I am confronted with another of those puzzles. The sky-high corridor ended in another door; when I entered, I found myself in another of the puzzle rooms. Two doors, one locked, one leading the way I came. There is no safe... at least in the conventional sense. On the desk, however, was a chess set, along with a note, saying #004.


The desk was backed against a wall, with the white side facing my direction, with a bench for me to sit on. The board appears to be electronic, and also magnetic; I cannot lift the pieces from the board, only drag them. When I move a piece, there is a harsh buzzing noise, and the piece returns to it's original location.


I have no knowledge of chess notation, but I am familiar with the concept of a chess puzzle. In one move, I have to place the black king into check (or at least set up a favourable move on the next turn, if the puzzle is a two-move matter). Given that I cannot show it to you, I will persevere and solve it on my own.


At least this puzzle distracts me from what's in my head.

"Paradise"

Okay, so it's been about half an hour from my last post. Sorry about the wait.


Sitting in the #010 room, I tried to remain calm; I breathed in deeply, and exhaled equally as much. I could not resist the fear beating up in my chest; I could not hide from what I felt. This is a blog, is it not? Why should I deny what I felt?


In any case, my ears perked up at an unfamiliar noise; the sound of a key clicking in the lock, from the door I'd entered through. I cautiously stood up; my legs shaking, I placed a hand on the door's handle. And then, I pushed. Every hair on my body stood on end at that moment.


But there was nothing there; no sign of the person who'd unlocked the door. I looked around for them, but saw nobody; I saw only the cool glass of the city's exterior once again. The urban jungle had returned; skyscrapers soared so far into the sky. Even here, I'd had no such awe as I did there. It was a triumph of architecture; I closed my eyes, and opened my ears. I could feel it. I could feel the city's pulse. I could feel home.


It is only now that I've been trapped here (for so very long) that I find nostalgia in what I had before. I think that I've been here for such a time that my memories of the time before are fading; I cannot remember the face of my father, or even that I had one. But I must have, because everyone does. But was he there?


The rhythm of the constructs offered no answers to me, but I could feel it. If you've not been in a city, you wouldn't know it; there's a great feeling of satisfaction for me. The people around you feel no love for you; they feel no hate for you. You are anonymous; you're nothing to them, just as they are nothing to you. You walk with the crowd. The crowd of unconnected people, all of which are united by their mere presence with one another.


I can't describe it; it just feels right to be here. I don't want to be here; I want to go home. Nothing's convinced me more of this then the last ten minutes.


I think the right word for this is "bliss". That's what this is. This is bliss.

"Presentiment"

My thanks to the commenter who suggested "stop imagining"; inputting the word "stop" into the machine resulted in the familiar light beep and the sound of the door opening. A semantic puzzle indeed; it's almost funny, in hindsight. A very simple puzzle, once you look at it in the right manner. I'll keep an eye out for these sorts of things in future.


Upon the opening of the key-bearing cage, I found a sheet of paper; the key was wrapped inside it. Before I inserted it into the door, I looked at the paper; on it was written the following words, in this formatting. It was torn from a lined A4 sheet of paper, as if the writer had been in a great hurry.


"LET ME IN"


Scritch scritch. Heavy breathing; almost feral. The sound of the thing beyond the locked door returned; I hesitated. As if narrated by some cosmic being, a voice rung in my head, as if someone had set the bells ringing. The voice said: Let me in... 


I hesitated then, and did not stop. I don't know what to do; I have a key to a locked door, but beyond it lies something that wants to enter. The other door was locked the last time I tried. There's no other ways out.


Imagine a room with no escape...

"Purgatory"

I woke up to find myself back in the room. This time, I walked around the room.


Much like the ones before it, there are two doors in this room; the one through which I entered (which was now closed) and the one with the key, through which I was to leave. The safe was the same as the others, of course; it would be the same, too. I stopped, and paused. I reached into my pocket, and removed the two keys I already had.


This wasn't some video game; the keys didn't break when I used them. I inserted the first into the lock, turn; no result. The second, the same. I sighed, and put them both back into my pocket. I then realised that there was no table in this room, which was a new change-up to the structure, I guess. I then stopped, and wondered about the door through which I entered. Surely, that one would still be open? I tried it, and found that it was locked. Looking through the slit on the side of the door nearest the handle, I saw nothing; no light. Perhaps it was dark outside?


Some mental note caused me to look around the room, to wonder where the light was; I saw a light-bulb in the ceiling, emitting a constant stream of light. I looked up at it, and wondered where the power was coming from. Then again, logically speaking, electricity would work, as this very device does...


And it was when I looked down from the light that I saw the puzzle-holding note, underneath my pillow. I walked over it, and my heart dived into my neck. Something was scratching at the locked door. Scritch, scritch, scritch. And then, a hesitant knock. Knock. Knock. And then it stopped. I remained frozen in place for several moments, before my goosebumps settled. I silently removed the paper from the bed, examining it.


Imagine that you are trapped in a room without doors, without windows, without any possibly ways to escape. How do you get out? -#010, T=3D


When I finished reading, I suddenly heard a voice from the other side of the locked door, as the scritching returned. "Let me in. Please, let me in." The voice was totally alien to me, and it was all I could do to swallow my racing heart and quell the goosebumps rising on my neck.

I've typed this as quietly as I can. I think it's gone now. Then again, I thought that before. I'm totally lost on this puzzle, by the way. Hm.

"Point"

Upon inputting "heap" into the machine, I was once again greeted by the loud beep and the opening of the box. Relieved by my rest, I almost-tearfully bid the bed goodbye (I hope I see one again shortly - they are such wonderful things!), I placed the key into the lock, and turned it. Upon stepping out of the room, I found myself in an alleyway, with another door a short distance away.


However, perched on a outcropping of rock, I bore witness to a being who's presence felt far too familiar for my liking. A single word from their mouth gave me reason to recall their identity.


"Hello, my dear Paragon," they said, with a smile that almost seemed sincere, and far too much like the jaws of a shark.


"A." No comma on that sentence, there's a full blown damn period on it. I knew who it was, and instantly felt as if I wanted to turn around and run.


"Aw, why so hostile?" The smile remained, although they thankfully closed their lips. "I only wanted to give you some friendly advice, and a charming comment from... well, let's call them observers."


"Shut up. I don't want your advice," although I had some mild curiosity. Mostly as to why A hadn't already thrown me against a wall and began punching me.


The seemingly sexless figure dropped from their outcropping, and walked next to me, before placing a casual arm around my neck, and leaning against me, with a leg raised off the ground. To use an uncharitable metaphor (and why should I use a charitable one?), it was much like a flamingo with arms. "Honestly, it's in your best interests."


"... fine." I couldn't run now; I should've made a break for it already. "Go on; tell me what you want to tell me."


"Listen to this, could you?" From some unseen pocket, they produced what looked like a mobile phone of some sort. Upon seeing my quizzical expression, they laughed (a fouler-smelling breath I've never smelled!) and shook it. "This, my dear, is a dictating machine. If you don't know what that is, tough. Now, this is a comment that I heard someone make regarding the little task I gave you to solve: you know, the first one? Tell me what you think when you hear it..."


After pressing a button on the so-called dictating machine, there was a few moments of silence, before a deep, masculine voice came out of it. "A caesar cipher and a riddle that answers easily as SOS, I'm honestly a little disappointed..."


There was a beat, and then A's voice spoke. "I'm afraid that the answer is useless unless the right person has it in their possession."


Another few moments of silence, before the deep voice came once more. "I'm more interested in seeing him figure it out on his own." And then the machine clicked, stopped and was returned to it's pocket.


My immediate reaction: "... who was that?" Who on Earth would be so callously malicious?


"A human being, my dear Paragon," A said; they detached themselves from me, and begin walking down the alleyway, their feet skidding over the cobblestones. The worn brickwork piled up far over their head, soaring into the sky, at least from where I was standing. "A human being, just like any other. A being who could help, but does not lift a finger out of some dark spite that lingers in their heart." They turned to me, a grim smile over their face. No longer smug, as if now confessing before preacher. "These are dark days indeed, when you do not need any mythical monsters, for it is so simple to create the most monstrous of beasts from the common human, isn't it?" A grim chuckle. "That's the way things are, though."


They turned back, and walked up to me, and placed a kind hand on my shoulder. "I would say that I'm sorry..." I had been looking down, turning their words over in my head. Why? I had another thing to turn in my head, as I felt a sudden pain in my gut, as A's kneecap promptly imprinted itself in there. I instantly felt winded, and stumbled backwards. "But I'm not. I'm just the bearer of bad news. You can't trust anyone, you know; why, you'd be so much better off alone..."


I didn't see them go. I was too busy fighting back the pain.


When I could stand again, I stumbled over to the second door, pushed it open. I suddenly felt as if my head had been given a large dose of clarity; parity reigned in my mind, purifying my pain and turning it into a sort of patient anticipation. Waiting for an occurrence. Beyond the door, I looked around; I was atop a building, looking around at a city around me. Skyscrapers soared over my head; roads run beyond the building, weaving between pillars of concrete and glass. I took a step; the support in my leg did not give way, and I walked forwards. If I was to observe the artwork that was the architectural planning that had gone into the city in which I found myself (which looked, somehow, newer then the streets and rooms I had been traversing thus far), I would have gone to the edge.


But another thing caught my interest; a statue, composed of myself and of A.


I'm not even kidding. It looked as if it could have been the scene of not even five minutes ago, with A's arm wrapped around my neck, as if we were the best of friends. The material was of darkened stone; I am, I admit, not a student of geology, and thus the type somewhat passed me by. It was a work of art, though; the creases of the clothings looked as if it had been a photograph of the reality.


I looked around; there was another statue some distance behind, which I had missed, due to the other statue having been in the way. I walked from the first to the other, only to be greeted by a most curious site. It was another statue of myself.


The stony-faced being was lying on the floor, as if they'd fallen into a deep sleep; the eyes stared forward into oblivion (or they would, if they were anything but stone); grasped loosely in one hand, a revolver. And in the side of the being's head, a head torn asunder and within it, a skull shattered..


Upon looking at it and realising it for what it was, the parity and clarity that had infected my mind dissipated as the night before the sun; the pain clenched my stomach as it had done before. My vision blurred and worsened, and I awkwardly stumbled back to the door from which I'd entered the rooftop plaza from; I angrily pushed against it, and found myself back in one of the "safe rooms". If there is a riddle to be found, I have not found it yet; I've no plans to find it at present, either.

"Premise"

After my last comment, I keyed in the answer I had derived into the box: "SOS". If one looks at the sentence structure that emerges from adding the punctuation into the question, the first letter of each bracketed sequence of letters is just that; it seemed to fit the question, too. The box gave out a loud beep as I put the last character into it; there was the sound of a tumbler moving within it, as the door of the box opened.


Or, should I say, the door of the safe. And within the safe was one thing: a single key. I removed the key, and looked around the room; I noted the keyhole on the door closest to the safe, and inserted the key. A single turn, and I heard the lock open. I opened the door and saw a room similar to the one I was in; another safe, another door. On the table was a slab of pork, with the steam rising from it; newly cooked, apparently. The smell instantly pulled me towards it; I was struck by a sudden thought, and turned back into the room I had left, and gathered up my few belongings, before entering the new room and closing the door behind me.


With that, I looked around the room; practically identical to the previous one, apart from the food and a bed. Ah, how good it is to see a proper bed...


I laid my few things upon it, before devouring the food with the ravenous hunger I find myself filled with. And with that done, I turned to the sheet of paper. This time, instead of a sheet of paper as blank as the walls, there were words written upon it in the same scrawl as the first note I had; the note I found upon arriving here.


I am whole. Remove one thing from me, and I am less; another, and another. And yet, no matter how much you remove from me, I remain what I am. What am I? - #002


So this is the second puzzle, is it? I think I can solve this on my own; there's no fancy codes or anything of that sort. But I think that I will sleep now, so that I can approach it free of the ills of tiredness. This bed is so... comfortable. Ah...

"Puzzles"

After my last post, I continued to do what I had done; wander. The ground is too hard to allow me to rest comfortably, regardless of what I do to attempt to cushion myself. I kept walking; kept waiting for salvation.


And I found it; no, I found something. A door, slightly ajar. I staggered over to it; but before I could do so, my leg gave way, and I found myself sprawled on the floor. The laptop is damaged, but not broken. My digestive system did not take quite so kindly to the sudden jolt, and I soon found myself... forcefully evacuating my stomach, you could say. It seems that my time in this place has largely been a conga line of injuries and traumas. Ugh.


After dragging myself (and the laptop) to the door, I climbed inside; the sweet aroma of food danced through my nostrils. I didn't even know what it was, but I was ravenous all the same. The room I was in contained a plate of food (which I wolfed down without even comprehending what it was), and some support to bind to my leg to allow it to heal. After doing so (quite inexpertly), I turned my attention to the last item on the desk before me, and the rest of the room around me.


On the desk was a single sheet of A4 paper, along with a single, black biro pen. The room is mostly bare, apart from the table, the chair I was sitting on and a safe next to a door on the far side of the room. The door is looked, with it's keyhole exposed. The safe is not too large; the door of it is largely composed of an alphabet and numberpad. I'd call it a "keyboard", but it's not arranged in a QWERTY fashion. It's laid out in alphabetical order, and arranged like so.


A B C D E F G H I
J K L M N O P Q R
S T U V W X Y Z 1
2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 0


That looks about right, I think. As I examined it, I heard a noise coming from... somewhere. I think, in hindsight, that it may have come from the safe itself.


"Greetings, Paragon," the voice said; A. "You are suffering, my child; so I shall help you, as I have helped you." A dry chuckle. "But giving everything to those who do nothing is the way of despair, even for beings as patient and caring as I. If you succeed, you shall live. If you fail..." Another chuckle, this one far more sinister. "Well, let us not dwell on that."


There was a brief pause. "The aim of the game is quite simple; the consequences, too, are simple, as earlier outlined. You will have-" and there was a sudden burst of static here - "to solve this little puzzle of mine; you may seek outside assistance through the blog. The puzzle is as follows. You may wish to write this down."


There was another pause as I grabbed the pen and placed it over the paper, writing down what they said. "Riddle me this. (6-2-26-18-2-1-18 6-18-1-17-6 14 16-5-12 19-2-5 21-18-25-3) (2-9-18-5-25-12 10-2-5-5-22-18-17 19-2-5 7-21-18-22-5 6-14-19-18-7-12 2-19 16-2-8-5-6-18) (6-2 10-21-14-7 6-2-5-7 2-19 26-18-6-6-14-20-18 10-2-8-25-17 7-21-18-12 6-18-1-17)? The challenge begins now."


 Naturally, they read the numbers/hyphens/brackets out; but blow me if I'm going to actually type them all out. And, first things first, I am totally stumped. Hm... they said that I could access outside help via the blog, which is this... could I get some help through the comments, I wonder?

"Personal"

Sometimes, I forget who I am.


I mean, who I really am. I'm Paragon, yes; but there is a person behind the name, a real, living, breathing person who was fired from her job and fell hard on her luck. That's me.


But... I'm beginning to lose myself. There is a reason why I did not share my name initially, but that has been lost to yesterday, just as my name itself has. I could not share it now, even if I wanted to. The question of "who am I" suddenly has graver impact on me then it would have before.


I am who I am, though. If I am Paragon, then it matters not who I was before. Right?


No, no, no... that isn't right. I want to be the person I was. I want to be happy. I don't want to be here, in Paragon's shoes. Paragon is starving, Paragon is parched, Paragon is going to die. If time existed for Paragon, Paragon would be counting the seconds. For Paragon, the sun has not moved an inch in the sky since she first saw it. It rests steadily overhead, as if staring at Paragon's desperate attempts to struggle against what is coming to her; how foolish of her, haha. Poor Paragon.


Such a shame that I am in Paragon's shoes, isn't it? I was happy, at least in hindsight. I did not feel emptiness clawing at my innards after every step; I did not have a pain that erupted (as a volcano would) after each step.


But that's what I am now. I'm Paragon. I can't run away from who I am; I've lost who I was, so I must merely focus on who I am now. The question is: what can I do to escape the situation? I don't know, so I'm posting here. Maybe that'll do something.


I feel... confined. I can walk as far as my lame leg will take me, to the furthest horizon; I feel that I've walked more now then I ever have before. But I'm still caught in this cage. There may be no bars on this cage's walls, but it is a cage all the same. Whether it is a cage of my own weakness, or a wilderness of such large proportions that I am caught in the ravine of a canyon, and have yet to scale it's cliffs: I do not know, and perhaps shall never know.


My body feels the rhythmic pain of fatigue; unrelenting and constant. The ground here is as soft and comforting as the roughest gravel, so I cannot rest. And even if I could rest, that would merely eat at what time my body has remaining. And that time is, if nothing else, growing shorter by the second, and I can do naught to lengthen it.


My breath is coming in gasps and pants; my nose occasionally spits a little blood, and my leg does nothing but ache, with the occasional jolt of pain, like lightning breaking the roughness of the sea. The rest of my body grumbles and growls, demanding sustenance. And yet, there is nothing to eat here, unless my digestion system has acquired a taste for concrete recently. But no matter how much it hurts to do this, I cannot stop. Not here, and not now.


Because there is a little something called hope.


Futile, unjustified, beyond reach. But there is hope all the same. Hope for an escape. Hope that I must reach; hope that, around this corner, I will find what I'm looking for. It is because of hope that I must not stop. If my hope flickers and fades, I am dead. I must endure, then. I will keep going. For if this is a cage without bars, I will keep going until I fall out. Why?


Because I remember something. Something before Paragon. Someone told me that they loved me, and I told them this thing back. I want them to hear it again.


And they will. By God, they will.

"Punishment"

There is nothing under these bleak skies; there are bricks, and there is tarmac, and there is glass, but that is nothing.

I have wandered since I awoke in the room; I found nothing. No support for my leg (which is growing ever-harder to walk on), no food to eat, nothing to drink. My throat is as dry as the Arctic, and my stomach growls as if a feral beast.

But I can't stop; I can't give in. I just have to keep walking and looking; I have to find something.

Speaking of finding, I believe that there may be something following me. When I turn around, I always see something out of my eye's corner. Nothing solid, nothing tangible; just a shape, dancing and weaving away from me.

Much like sanity, as of late.

"Plain"

I have found a bed. This is important.


From here on, I shall be marking my sleep-cycles in the progress of this blog, so that I do not forget them. I have undergone several since I began typing, but have already lost count. Thus, I shall call this Sleep Cycle 1.


From last time, I staggered down the street; after several steps, my right leg began to give way under me. That was the side on which I hit the floor, so colour me unsurprised as to why it began to give way. In any case, I reached the end of that street, and leaned against a wall for support, breathing heavily.


I am not the apex of human fitness. After the days (?) I've been having, I think I could be forgiven for my imperfections. Just maybe.


In any case, I closed my eyes and breathed deeply; I opened them once more, and noticed that I had been fortunate enough to have leaned on a door for support. Thanking my fortune, I placed a hand on the handle, and it gave way easily. I found myself in a room much like I first found myself in, but with some key differences.


For one, a bed. This is important. Beds are important; never forget that. A human who knows where their bed is has their head together.


Secondly, there was a second doorframe in the room; I walked through the door (which gently swung shut behind me), placed the laptop onto the bed, and walked through the second doorway. I found myself in a bathroom, which had been built by someone who had no concept of what a "bath" was. There was no bathtub; there was a shower cubicle and a sink, but no taps or showerheads. And I do not mean to say that there were holes where there should have been those things, they had just been built to lack them.


There was still a mirror in there, above the sink. I do not normally indulge in the vanities of appearances (it takes a special kind of plain-ness to be as plain as I, and I have just that amount), but I did feel a need to. After my meeting with the tarmac outside, I think there's a very good chance that my nose may never fully heal. The rest of my face is grazed, also, but that will heal in time.


And now, may I sound a little mad? A little madder then normal, in any case.


As I looked in the mirror, I felt my head split in two, as if the river of my conciousness had arrived at a tributary. I still felt my life continue as part of the river, but I could also feel (and remember) the path of the memory-tributary which grew there.


In this path, I stared into the mirror; my eyes grew wide, as my vision began to become red and distorted. As if I'd remembered a downright hilarious joke, my mouth suddenly opened in a manic grin; I saw a human figure in the doorway behind me (reflected in the mirror), but I could make out no features, for I moved at that moment. I had, from somewhere, procured a gun; I held it up to the side of my head (covering the doorway), and pulled the trigger. My distorted vision continued, as my body hit the floor once more, and the familiar red of blood covered my eyes once more.


At the same time, I continued to stare at the wrecked face in the mirror, still perfectly fit and alive, and seeing in full colour.


I do not claim to understand this. What can I do but disregard it? I laid down on the bed in the other room, moving the laptop to the floor, and I slept.


I awoke for Sleep Cycle 2. My nose began bleeding while I was sleeping for some reason, and I awoke to a rather red pillow. At least it wasn't my clothes that I was sleeping on. I have not left the room since I found it; I shall try the door now, and see what else I can find in this city. I will have to find support for my leg, and pray that I do not get an infection on the facial cuts.

"Perfection"

Since my arrival in this chaotic space, I found my senses dulling themselves; my hearing was failing, I was losing my ability to see. I was losing my ability to balance; I did not hunger, thirst or feel tired. But I can now safely say that those feelings are gone. I feel hunger, thirst, tiredness... and pain. I can't forget the pain.

From my last post, I closed the laptop, picked it up and pursued the ghostly figure who I had seen from the corner of my eye. It did not take me long to find the first dead end I had encountered since I had entered the maze. The place had been a straight line; white walls and white floors, all moving forwards. Twisting around corners, yes, but never splitting into two.

I shrugged; likely, I'd missed a turning at some point or another. Nothing to be done about it. I turned around, and walked, face-first, into a wall. I stumbled for a moment, as if I'd suddenly taken a stiff drink of my favourite vodka. I shook my head, and looked around. Instead of the path being how it was (which is to say, a straight line from the last corner to where I was now), it had changed. The path to my behind no longer existed, but a path to my new left did.

I sighed, and shook my head. I walked down the new path that awaited me, until I came upon a flight of stairs. This place had elevation, at least; I went down them at a brisk pace, until I found myself in front of a door. Nothing special about this door, really; I attempted to push it open, and was surprised to find that it didn't budge a single inch when I did so. It was practically impassable; perhaps I'd taken another wrong turning?

Oh, no, no, no. It was a pull-door. My mistake.

I pulled it open, and stepped into the street; the temperature around me instantly went through the floor on it's way down. I felt as if I'd been teleported to the Antarctica, and that an iceberg was working it's way up my spine. As if attempting to defrost the iceberg, I took a step back; this time, with a caution that turned out to be unjustified. The door was there, but closed; I put a hand on the door. I pushed against a door that did not give away.

I looked down the door's side; it had become locked. I had not heard it lock, but I had been rather concerned with the matter of half the Arctic trying to work it's way down my trousers. I sighed, and looked around in the street; fog surrounded me, limiting my vision. I shivered, and attempted to find a place to get back into the mild climate that appeared to be the inside here, since the outside stood a considerably high chance of meeting the Abominable Snowman.

As I walked across the street (and that is what it was; I walked off a pavement, across two lines painted with yellow paint, and onto the road), I found a shape coming into focus; a tall building, perhaps an apartment block. But as it did so, I could see a dark marking; upon it, black paint sloshed into a circle. The same shade of paint used, for a single letter within the circle, it's points touching the circle. A.

A in a circle, huh? Is that not what an anarchy symbol is? I pondered on this for a moment, before stopping. I could hear something behind me.

I called: "Who's there?" I turned around, staring into the fog.

A reply: "Me." A corny reply, to be sure. What had a distinct lack of corn was the sudden rapidness that the footsteps gained; I turned my head to observe, just as I felt a distinct sense of pain, as I was tackled to the cold floor.

It is curious, is it not, that I'd be able to give such a recollection of a scene which, to be honest, went by far too quickly for me to really remember it. I am as surprised as you, let me assure you.

From the floor, I felt a foot rest on top of my head, as my attacker got to their feet. The foot lifted, and then it fell. Ouch.

I startled, then spoke: "who are you?"

The foot did not rest on my head again, as the voice spoke: "why, I am myself, and none other, as I said. Weren't you-" I felt a foot-stomp on my back. "Listening~?"

"I was... but that doesn't answer my question." Despite my aforementioned coldness, the temperature had stabilised again, While I was in a rather bad position to judge (what with being quite literally under someone's feet), I did not feel the icy chill that I once had; the mildness of the buildings had come over me. I could feel something warm on my face, but ignored it.

The figure sighed; I heard them crouching down, but couldn't see anything but their shadow. "Let me answer that question, then. I am the shadow that creeps from your feet; I am the little voice that says do it." A giggle from the figure, and then a return to a seriousness as chilly as the atmosphere had been. "The aspiration to greatness; the desire to be that person; the urge to consume all that there is because you can." And then I felt a fist hit the back of my head, driving my noise into the tarmac once more. Ouch. "I am human nature incarnate! The apex of what it means to be human!"

I felt the hand that had smashed my face down grab my hair, and drag my head backwards, until I was looking into a face. A face that looked older then it should be; greying hair, wrinkling features, on a face that could not exceed twenty-five. But in their eyes, I could see a spark of vitality and youth; but the spark was outweighed by the roaring fire of malice. "Some call me an Aspect; some categorise me; others still call me an Elemental. But some, some call me a Fear. I like that~!"

"My name is A, and I am the Fear of Humanity."

As they were largely the ravings of someone who was clearly a lunatic, I paid little heed to them; I was more concerned by the slightly-tasty liquid coming into my mouth. The warm liquid that had come across my face; unsurprisingly, I was bleeding. Well, it's unsurprising for me in one sense, but surprising in another; this was the first time I'd really felt alive since I entered this place. But that was an aside; I think the contorted face above me was concerned more for itself then for me.

"What? Has my beauty scared you shitless, little human~?"

I tried to gargle a reply, but was unable to; a spurt of blood come out. The figure looked at me with some combination of disgust and mortification. They released my head; I gratefully took the urge to lean forward, and, uh. Shall we say, "vomit"? That's a bit graphic, but it works. So, yes: I took the urge to lean forward and noisily vomit onto the floor.

I didn't hear or see them leave, and didn't particularly care to. I think I crawled away from the pile of my own... releases and over to where I had dropped the laptop, and fell asleep there, in the middle of the street.

I awoke only moments ago; I typed this post up as soon as I could. The apartment blocks with the anarchy symbol have vanished, as have the... releases. My body aches with pain; my nose is no longer running with blood, although I cannot imagine that my face is clean, based on what I can feel. None of the buildings on this street have an open door; I am going to try and stand now, and then find somewhere to sleep. If I find a single soft spot, I shall be very happy for it. I shall try the building I left yesterday first, but I hold little hopes that it has unlocked itself.

Something to eat, too, would not go amiss.

"Patience"

I have not been able to sleep since my last entry to this blog. The damnable dripping sets my nerves on edge; sleep is quite impossible. And it has followed me. For I have left the room.


There were no doors; no exits; no entrances. The room was a closed circle in the shape of a rectangle; I had walked it's perimeter too many times to count in my boredom. And yet, after restlessly trying to ignore the nerve-shattering sound of water, I turned in my makeshift bed; I saw the doorway as clear as day. From the white wall, a black corridor. I jumped to my feet, and found myself hit by chilliness.


After converting my makeshift bed into clothes once more, I took the laptop computer and peeked my head out of the door; the corridor went far to the left, and only a half-metre to the right. I noted that I'd left my boots to one side, and went over to put them back on.


Upon trying to leave the room once again, I turned to the left; only to found myself facing the wall. I turned around, and instead saw the path to the 'right' (which was now straight ahead of me). I thought nothing of it, and walked along it. The path bent and it curved; I was faced with many crossroads, and merely took whichever path I thought looked promising. Surprisingly, I ran into not one dead end.


But... I tired of it. My body did not tire; as if built not from sinews and muscles and blood and bone, but from axles and gears and oil and metal. One step after another; I began to feel the world freeze around me. Everything was the same; nothing was new. Every corridor the same as the last; I could walk for an eternity and get nowhere. I could feel rushing despair take my soul by it's neck; I cared not. For that period of time, everything became stale; I walked because I had walked.


And then I saw someone.


I had reached another T-junction, or was about to. As I neared it, I saw a person walk down it in the other direction. As monochrome as the rest of the place, they marched straight past me, not even looking in my direction.


And then I paused and sat down to write this. These corridor are like a warren; it should not be too hard to find that person again, if they are as lost as I am. Or incredibly difficult. Either way, it is a break-up from the monotony of walking.

"Pondering"

I have slept twice since my last post to the blog, and not a single word from the other contributor to the web-page, the ever-elusive A, or from any other onlookers. Given that measuring time accurately seems to be quite impossible in this place, my sole measure of time is sleep cycles. Thus, I will set my clock by them.

But it on the matter of clocks that I wished to speak, for there has been a noise within my room for the past three-hundred countings of "one-elephant-two-elephant-three-elephant"; it was likely going on prior to this. It started after my second sleep cycle, but I was attempting to navigate this webspace, so I was not paying a particularly high amount of attention.

If you were to stand in a cave with sufficiently good acoustics, the sound would be akin to a droplet of water landing into a lake. The dripping of the water is in the room with me, it seems. It seems to occur once every two seconds, with an occasional moment when it will be silent for three. It is hard to concentrate with such a sound in my life.

The sound drowns out all else; the steady rhythm of fingers-on-keyboard is occasionally overcome by the dripping water. But it is not a loud sound; rather, silence falls for the sound to rise.

The water makes me think. I have not eaten or drank since I found myself in this place. Although I am quite done with growing, a girl still needs to eat at some point or another; metabolic processes require it. I am thus curious as to why there is no rumbling in my stomach and no croak in my throat. I remain as fit and healthy as I did since my first awakening. But, again, I cannot hold a stable command over the time in this place; two sleep-cycles may be only a few hours, if I had the possession of a clock.

Apart from the noise, there is nothing new in this place. The floor is now not as cold as it once was; it is almost a reasonable temperature. Given that there is nothing in this room besides myself and this computer, I have taken to using my clothes as a make-shift bed on the floor, as despite it's reasonable temperature, the floor is as hard as ever. The parts of my body that I cannot soften now have rather unpleasant bruising, which is worrying if I am to spend an extended period of time in this place.

I can only wonder as to my reason for being in this space, composed of order and nothing but.

"Paragon"

Yesterday, I got fired from my job. Or, rather, "made redundant"; the company, in grateful accordance with the Austrian economic model, thinks that there can be no gain without pain, and is thus tightening it's belts. And instead of laying off someone who's earning six or seven digits, they fire someone barely making four. No pain for them, just gain for them. So I went home, sat on my bed, sighed and went to sleep.

And woke up here. I haven't moved a single inch since I woke up. I found two items besides me; a torn piece of paper and a laptop computer. The laptop computer looks like it has been modified somewhat; there's no identifying features on it. The brand logo on the lid has been painted over; the ports have been removed. If there was a charger here, I could not put it in; same if I had a USB memory stick. It is, in short, a keyboard and touchpad attached to a screen. The vast majority of the system seems to be closed off to me, due to "administrator restrictions". The clock on the screen is in clear error; the four digits change at random intervals, as confirmed by "one-elephant-two-elephant" counting to sixty; in that time, it changed thrice. When I did so again, it changed twice. There is an irregular beat to it.

This is the only website that loads; not even the Google homepage works. On the paper, the following words were written, in this colouring: Paragon. -Account Password-. If you seek relief, release. Not quite sure what that means, but I think I should post here.

But that's aside from the point, in my eyes. You may wonder, mysterious Internet denizen, as to why I'm not freaking out, or assuming things at the moment. For one, panic is irrational, no point in panicking. Secondly, I'm either mad or something is "going on". I would think that I'd drank my sorrows away and passed out in this room, but there's three problems with that.

Firstly, no hangover. I'm terrible for hangovers.

Secondly, I don't own this laptop. Never seen it before in my life; given the paper, I'm thinking this is a gift from someone else.

Thirdly, I'd have quite a bit of trouble getting into this room from the outside, on the basis that there aren't any doors in this room. And I do mean that it's just a room; about two metres by two-and-a-half, at my reckoning. The walls are painted in ghostly white, as is the ceiling; the floor is painted jet black. The room is bare; there are no chairs, no tables. Just the hard floor, upon which I am sat now, typing this.

The walls are all solid; I have paced it several times, resting my hand upon the walls as I did so. I cannot reach the ceiling, even if I take a running start at the wall and try to push myself up with my foot. Thus, this room seems to be a closed circle of sorts; I cannot exit, and anything on the outside cannot come in.

I drum my fingers upon the wall as I type this; boredom has begun to set in. I may do some more thinking as to the nature of this place, but from what I can observe, this may be the strangest place on the planet Earth.