It's a windowless room, its walls were covered in thick black ash. The kind that when you touch it it just broke apart and fell off. There was this naked man leaning against the wall, pale, frail and hollow. When I reached there his legs were already gone. I wasn't actually there you see, since he's alone in the room. He knew I was there though, and of course he didn't talk to me, not physically at least. But somehow I could just feel him, as if we were one. He told me he's dying, he had not eaten anything for an unimaginable long time. He was starving, and he had just eaten his legs. He ate his own legs. He ate his own legs. Now he's still dying. He scratched and dug his abdomen open with fingers, and started eating his entrails. He never said a single word or uttered a sound, picking out his contents in such slow motion and bringing them to his mouth to chew on them so disturbingly and gently, as if kissing a lover. He was crying mute as he was doing so, he was shaking and his face was all twisted up. It was not pain he felt I knew. He was just too sad and disappointed that he was doing this to himself. He just kept on crying and shaking and picking out bits of his bloody reds. I just watched it all happen with something clenching on my heart so fucking tightly I swear I was dying.
Then I woke up from this madness in the early morning in my bunk. I have been the only person sleeping there for weeks. It was raining like crazy outside, and the sky was dark gray and made everything seemed monochrome. The sadness was so fucking bone-crushing I was almost suicidal.
It's real and it's not funny.
