The Evil Wizard's Diary
I am a statue in the cave of my youth.
People who have never experienced a subterranean environment believe that caverns are silent places, where the weight of nothing presses in like a vice until a mind fractures under the pressure.
This assumption is incorrect. Like a blind man in an empty room, every movement, every rolling of a pebble, every drop of water is amplified, until the torrent of noises crushes all else, smothers all thought, like a great chasm swallowing a galleon in the very depths of the ocean.
This is where I have been for the last six months: trapped in this fissure of rock and earth and ghosts.
An eldritch light is no comfort in the dank dark places of the earth. Oh, it seems like a good idea at first, but after a few months and years and decades, the shadows become shapes and the shapes become people and the people become real. The blank slate of pure unadulterated darkness is infinitely preferable to the chaotic tangled mass of a vindictive imagination.
The experience of light is made worse by the addition of one human skull, the previous owner of which perished long ago during one of my earlier escapades. I have no wish to stare into the lidless sockets, the frail light creating the illusion of movement on the bone.
Another preconceived notion of immortality is that the annals of time are crystal clear, and that at a moments notice I may jump backwards into the eons and recall any memory with stunning clarity. This too is also incorrect.
I cannot for the life of me recall this gentleman's name. I use the term "gentleman" loosely, because he was a brigand or a woodcutter or both, from what I do remember. I killed him at some point, or at least I think I killed him. I really don't know any more. It was so long ago that the memory has faded, like so many others.
Some things stay vivid in my mind. Certain people or places or activities are brilliant beams of light zipping around my skull, but others are gone, and gone forever. Well, not really forever, no, since at a moment's notice I could conjure up a spell to instantly recall whatever I wished. But what would be the point? Does the lion recall what he had for dinner five years ago? One could probably guess that it was some sort of grazing animal, but what would be the point? Do the details really matter?
Not that I am a lion and humans are sheep, more like I am a lion and humans are ants. I do not derive sustenance from them, my very existence at this point is completely parallel to the collective cares and worries of humanity as a whole.
I will concede that, from time to time, I take pleasure in stepping on an ant or two. And what human would not kill a spider trying to bite him, regardless of the fact that the spider is incapable of truly harming the human? And as so, I sometimes feel the need to clean out the spiderwebs from my proverbial closets.
There are an abundance of ghosts in my closet.
...
People who have never experienced a subterranean environment believe that caverns are silent places, where the weight of nothing presses in like a vice until a mind fractures under the pressure.
This assumption is incorrect. Like a blind man in an empty room, every movement, every rolling of a pebble, every drop of water is amplified, until the torrent of noises crushes all else, smothers all thought, like a great chasm swallowing a galleon in the very depths of the ocean.
This is where I have been for the last six months: trapped in this fissure of rock and earth and ghosts.
An eldritch light is no comfort in the dank dark places of the earth. Oh, it seems like a good idea at first, but after a few months and years and decades, the shadows become shapes and the shapes become people and the people become real. The blank slate of pure unadulterated darkness is infinitely preferable to the chaotic tangled mass of a vindictive imagination.
The experience of light is made worse by the addition of one human skull, the previous owner of which perished long ago during one of my earlier escapades. I have no wish to stare into the lidless sockets, the frail light creating the illusion of movement on the bone.
Another preconceived notion of immortality is that the annals of time are crystal clear, and that at a moments notice I may jump backwards into the eons and recall any memory with stunning clarity. This too is also incorrect.
I cannot for the life of me recall this gentleman's name. I use the term "gentleman" loosely, because he was a brigand or a woodcutter or both, from what I do remember. I killed him at some point, or at least I think I killed him. I really don't know any more. It was so long ago that the memory has faded, like so many others.
Some things stay vivid in my mind. Certain people or places or activities are brilliant beams of light zipping around my skull, but others are gone, and gone forever. Well, not really forever, no, since at a moment's notice I could conjure up a spell to instantly recall whatever I wished. But what would be the point? Does the lion recall what he had for dinner five years ago? One could probably guess that it was some sort of grazing animal, but what would be the point? Do the details really matter?
Not that I am a lion and humans are sheep, more like I am a lion and humans are ants. I do not derive sustenance from them, my very existence at this point is completely parallel to the collective cares and worries of humanity as a whole.
I will concede that, from time to time, I take pleasure in stepping on an ant or two. And what human would not kill a spider trying to bite him, regardless of the fact that the spider is incapable of truly harming the human? And as so, I sometimes feel the need to clean out the spiderwebs from my proverbial closets.
There are an abundance of ghosts in my closet.
...