CONTENT WARNING ...................................................................................................... 727 Years Ago - Takon, Japan - December 23. The needle-like teeth puncture my skin and ear-piecing screams escape my lungs in response. The pain is unbearable. Like a fire set to my very soul. And then... it ends. It just /ends/. The feeling was uncannily familiar, though I was sure I had never felt it before. It wasn't long. It never lasted more than a minute or so. All in the same... It was by far the worst thing I had ever felt. Three weeks now, that feeling plagued my dreams. And three weeks now, I've written a daily entry in this journal, as the doctor had suggested the first night I came to him. It really does nothing for my mental health, unless you count it helping me to relive it in consciousness as well as sleep. But... It helped me piece a few things together. Every night, the dream shifts the smallest bit, five times. And then it cycles. The first night, I felt only pain. Even when I woke myself. No matter how hard I pinched... Pain. The second night, the needle like teeth were visible. Teeth and pain. The third night wasn't much different from the second. The teeth were much more visible, however, and so was the skin the teeth punctured. Teeth, pain and skin. The pain didn't reduce the more I had the dream like the doctor told me it would- It just intensified. It lingered longer, and the bitter post-feeling of dread was impossible to avoid. The fifth night it continued to get worse. This time, the image of a woman flashed. A beautiful, inhuman woman clothed in silk. Besides that, it was the same content as in dream four. Teeth, pain, skin and delusions. The dreams repeated the next week. Each in the same pattern they had began in the first five days. That was until last night, of course. Last night was a living death. The pain lasted hours into the night, and the screaming was so long... so loud... I was glad to live so far from others'fortunate ears. The woman's detail was so vivid, it felt as if I could reach out and touch her. The dream went by for the first time, as usual. I didn't scream as much as I used to. That was when the second round arrived. I didn't expect that, but I survived. The third round. That... surprised me. The pain was much more strong than the second and the first. Of course I screamed this time. The fourth round. Pain. Pain. Pain. Would it stop? The fifth round. The tears were welling in my eyes. I could feel them. My scream was like a child. Drawn out and hoarse. The sixth round? End me. End me now. The seventh round? Have mercy on my soul. ...And that was when I woke up. I vowed never again to sleep, in fear I wouldn't be able to wake up in that vicious cycle of deja vu. Hours have gone by, and I'm still at this desk. My hand must have hovered over this paper for a while. As long as nobody else grabs hold of this, I suppose its fine that I'm dumping my heart and soul into parchment with an inkwell. I don't know what to do. If I were to visit the doctor now and tell him all of this, he'd have me locked away. I've already been accused of witchery more than once because of my abnormal white hair and skin. This would just be another piece of evidence. I wouldn't give anyone the pleasure. Maybe a trip to the market would lift my spirits. ...................................................................................................... 727 Years Ago - Takon, Japan - December 24. Running. That's normal, right? Not in this case. I'm running from people who want me hung. They must have been planning this for a while. This is what I get for being born? That hurts. So do the pitchforks they impale me with. It hurts. It hurts so, so b~ ...................................................................................................... 727 Years Ago - Takon, Japan - December 24. I brought the journal to the market. Happy, Dr. Wei? I'm sure you are. Why am I writing this down? I don't know. I just feel like... I have to. Its odd. There are many odd things in the marketplace today. People stared. Odd people. They assembled things. Odd things. They had conversations. Odd conversations. I made my way to the backstreets. They had amazing food stands, most of the time, in the shadiest of places. Sadly, I didn't find much. Only a bucket I was sure somebody filled with bile. So, I walked the long way home. ...................................................................................................... 727 Years Ago - Takon, Japan - December 24. I was greeted with a skull. No, not one skull. My whole house was covered in skulls. I hurried to my cabinets. Several disgusting things in jars filled the place where I used to store jams. Avoiding skin contact with... well... anything... I made my way up the stairs, nearly tripping on books that littered the steps. They weren't my books. These were spell books. I didn't pick anything up. I couldn't.
The unholiness was terrifying. Who did this? I'm sure I didn't. And I'm also sure I wish I had a warning before I caught the image upstairs. ...................................................................................................... 727 Years Ago - Takon, Japan - December 24. I am hidden. I am hidden well enough to bleed out until death finally hits me, at least. I don't know how I retain enough strength to write. But I do. It feels... important, somehow. Like this is what I need to do to move on. The worst part is, none of this is my fault. I've been stabbed just about everywhere with those wretched pitchforks... All because of a reputation that wasn't mine to choose. Reputations are powerful. I hope that lesson is one everybody learns, because it is true. Don't be this. Don't do that. Don't look like this. Don't act like that. Don't. Well, I guess this time it's 'don't live'. ...................................................................................................... 727 Years Ago - Takon, Japan - December 24. They lifted their pitchforks as they caught sight of me, yelling in triumph. All I could do was stand there as they began throwing them. And then, like any sane person, I ran, journal in my hands. I'm still writing in it now, chased by a mob. Dang it, Dr. Wei. I don't think. I just run. Its all I can do. I turn corners, shocked I haven't been run over or impaled. And then my stomach sinks. They're still there, chasing me as I run. I hear their cries. "KILL THE WITCH!" I'm not a witch. "WHAT A FREAK!" I'm not a freak. "GOD WILL SMILE UPON /THIS/ DEATH." My death will not be smiled upon by God. I try to convince myself none of the things they yell are true, but I know they are. Except for the witch thing, that's a superstition. My legs grow tired. I throw all of my focus into not tripping. And that's when my left leg begins to burn. Pain. Pain Pain. Red. Red. Red. I limp my way down an alley, but they follow. Every throw hits me. My back is punctured first. The first of thousands. My bl00d paints this page as the pitchforks and daggers fall from the sky. All towards me. They stop. They stop when my screaming is no longer audible. They decided I wasn't good enough for hanging. I'm thinking. Reputations. Yes, it was about reputations, wasn't it? My writing grows weaker, my sentences shorter. I'm a failure. My breathing slows and shallows. An outcast. I struggle to keep my vision clear as she enters the alley. I'm useless. She bends down, her reptilian eyes pouring into mine. I can't see. I haven't been seeing since the pitchforks stabbed the places I see from. No. I was pretending to see things. A resort to make myself feel comfortable, even now. I don't have eyes. But her... shes in my mind. I /can/ see her. Only her. I'm delusional. She holds up my hand, her teeth sinking into my flesh. The pain. The pain. The pain. Amplified by a million. How am I still writing? How am I thinking? Am I even doing both? The shrieks begin to escape my lips as the pain continues. It's so strong. When will it stop? My soul is on fire. The ink-like poison of her fangs spills into my blood, coloring it black. Help, anyone, help! I want to yell out the words. Scream them. But my lips won't obey my commands. And neither will my brain. Its shutting down. I'm dead.
