I’ve stopped trying to measure this place. Is it a planet? A
prison? A simulation stuck on a loop? None of it matters,
because the logic of this world shifts every time I turn my back.
I found a forest today—if you can call it that. The trees are just
jagged silhouettes, and the air smells like ozone and stagnant water.
I didn’t walk through it. I just sat down at the edge, dropped
my bag, and stared into the dark.
What is the point of going further? If I walk for another
thousand miles, will I find a wall, or just another version of the
same grey horizon? The map I’m trying to build in my head is just
a collection of dead ends. For the first time, I don’t want to look
for the exit. I’m tired of the chase. Maybe the only way to beat
this place is to stop moving through it. I’ll stay here for a while,
let the silence drown me, and see if the world finally decides to
show its true face—or if there was never anything behind the mask
to begin with.
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