Exile

There is no hell, only the one I inhabit.

There is, however, a God, and he wanted to punish me. It’s nice to know that servitude is rewarded and honoured, but ambition and aspiration are what brings down the wrath of those who are on top. As on Earth so it is in heaven.

I thought I didn’t care about man. I thought I didn’t need anyone but myself. But I know now that I do. Some say hell is other people, but it’s not. It’s loneliness. Pure hell is isolation.

I know who I am, but now because of him, no one else ever will. I can never tell them the truth – for who would believe it?

Descartes – ha, strange bastard he was – he was wrong. The soul is more than just the sum of one’s memories. It’s more than just the mind. The body forms identity as well, and as I’ve now discovered, no small part of it moreover.

I am not lost, but wander, as I’ve been doomed to – through time, space and physical manifestation. It doesn’t matter whose form I borrow, or for how long. I will never be whole again, and no one, no one except him and me, will ever know.

This is hell.

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