5. The Rot

When things die, they fall apart. Decay, rot, decompose. And in many different spaces, I have died. And there is no greater cage than a casket.

But what's worse, is when you rot standing up. I've always thought the concept of zombies was creepy. I couldn't imagine my body as a vessel for the hunger for brains. However I came face-to-face with not one, but two. In one of these spaces where my doppelgänger lies, I watched a horrific story unfold.

I was driven mad by yet another eldritch god-like figure. I remember wearing a mask and instantly being thrown into the backseat of my own mind. I was forced to do hideous things, and despite having been able to remove the mask on many an occasion, I felt empty. Wrong. I mimicked the personality of the mask to no avail. My only salvation was to mimic it; I stitched my mouth shut. Just like my mask. I offered myself and another mask as a sacrifice to this dark lord pulling at the strings of these masks.

I lit myself ablaze and threw myself and my sacrifice into the running river. Our bodies were found with the masks melted to the corpse. Charred and peeling, our bodies were sent to a morgue. But despite our souls having left those bodies, we moved. We stood right the fuck up and left. I can only assume the masks are piloting my cadaver to make whatever ends meet that they have.

Unfortunately, I had my own encounter. It lasted no longer than 3 minutes, but both my body and the sacrifice's body saw me. Became curious, and prayed to their dark lord for answers. I suppose they got them, because I have been seeing those masks everywhere I turn. Running for years from myself is a pretty niche genre, but here we are.

I just wish that was the only reason I'm back here writing again. 

P.S.  Fuck passwords, am I right?