entering subconsciousness

Knock knock. I tapped on the door, waiting for a response in this hazy, murk-shrouded environment I found myself in, having an oil lamp as my most-trusted light source. Behind the cold entrance, a grotesque sound emerged from something that seemed alive, yet felt unnatural; an unpronounceable groan made by whatever was inside, lasting three long seconds, with a pharynx that seemed injured. I opened the door, trembling.

Beware the shadow that lurks, murmured a voice from behind, though no one was there. The entrance was now shut; the ambience, however, had changed - the feeling was different. It was a vast room, with a massive statue at its center, a statue that seemed to scream, “Do not look at me!” A pitiful gesture - the effigy covered its eyes with both hands, lights shining upon it as if attempting to turn its despair into a spectacle. There were also three other doors as well: one to the west, one to the east and another to the north, as if the entire room were a compass; the floor was drenched in water, and the source of the earlier horrendous sound could not be found. I decided to enter the left door.

Behold the machineries of the mind, a text penned on a sheet of paper lying on the ground. A dim pendant light swayed above, though no wind stirred, casting the room in an inconsistent, uneasy glow - a chamber filled with engines stretching across the left side and reaching toward the front of the room, their repetitive sounds and tireless efforts demonstrating their mechanical devotion to keep the system running, their rhythm echoing like a heartbeat - perhaps it was alive? Beside them, IBM 5162 XT model "286" computers regulated the engines operation; I resolved to look the screen of one of them, which has the instructions to the core of the entire machinery: the green text described how to perform without getting caught, a complex guide about acting and how a normal human should work, as if it viewed people as mere specimens - strange, I thought. By pressing Enter, more instructions appeared, and one caught my attention: "Humans are masters of the art of crafting, their finest creation being the persona. Do not let it be seen, nor understood, or else the code may fracture the whole system". I stared at it for three minutes, not noticing that the water in the floor had risen slightly; my head began spinning, and my senses spiraled into all directions at once. I threw up to regain my sanity and left the room, heading now toward the east door.

And remember: thou shalt not enter without a mask, a text composed of tiny shards on the floor. Next to it, a stand held two visages: one resembling "The Phantom of the Opera" and another that was suitable for a clown, which was the one I picked. The space was relatively small, with an entrance a little behind the stand. I stepped carefully around the splinters and passed through the doorway, only to find myself in a room entirely made of looking-glasses. Each one mirrored me, yet not in the same way; as though they revealed different versions of myself, different "I"s within each reflection. This place was unlike the previous one, for it was completely illuminated, as if it desired that I see everything - that nothing should be left unseen. Still, there was something my mind could neither grasp nor process: each image bore a different mask; why, then, was there a need to wear this one? Suddenly, everything spiraled - again. "Not again", "Not this time", "Why should I even be here?" The tsunami of emotions and the heavy turbulence cracked my chest and stung my heart open; perhaps it was too much, far beyond than what could be expected. "Just one more chamber", "Only one door left" was what passed through my mind - until I accidentally collided with a pane: to see the replica so close, with its deformed semblance... Oh, what a sight. What a moment to exist. Clenching my fist, the hand gripping the oil lamp smashed the glass so vividly, so full of feeling, that not only the mirror shattered, but the tiny lamp as well. But only one strike was not enough, so I kept hitting until it was a fragment of what once had form; when the act was done, my hand - now quivering - was covered in pure scarlet, and crimson drops pattered onto the floor, a floor drowned in water and blood. I left the place cautiously, my only trusted light source now gone; then a sight revealed itself: the statue from before had sunk to its knees, still covering the eyes, the gaze veiled with greater urgency. I decided to enter the north door.

So please, be silent - said a voice that seemed to echo through the void. Everything was swallowed by darkness, nothing could be observed and no sound followed that last utterance. I stepped forward, warily; for some reason, a chill crept over me - an unshakable sense that I was not meant to be here. "One, Two..." I started counting my steps, careful not to make a sound, when I was about to reach the third, a strong gust brushed past me, rushing straight ahead - as if it were pointing to something, as if it were returning to where it belonged. Suddenly, lights began to shine in north. I decided to look at it, and how wrong I was for that, how childish was I to have the curiosity to observe. "What... is this...?" Words that spilled not merely from my mouth, but from my very soul; I froze, motionless, unable even to blink - I was afraid to blink. Perhaps, if I did, something terrible would surely occur; a disaster, and maybe there would be no other chance to blink again. My body would not stop shaking, my senses refused to trust me once more, my iris inflamed in anguish, my conscience begging my reason to forget, while the cortex was desperate to shut. I tried moving my hand, but failed; I tried moving my arms, but failed again. My legs, too, betrayed me - nothing would respond. I pleaded for mercy from my own flesh, praying it would grant me a fragment of control. The desperation of my faith was answered: I collapsed, the weight of my being sinking into the ground. A cry broke from my throat - raw, involuntary - as I fell to my knees, covering my eyes, as though hiding could spare me from what I had seen.

– End of session! End of session! End of session!