User:A Helpful Little Gnome/Hamster
| You contiune reading the letter, realizing the extent of it, and how absurd it probably sounds to you. As you turn each page, paper fragments fall into the open, telling the experiences of some survivor amidst the apocalypse. |
| Page 2
Perhaps my name. You can’t have it. Names are so external, and people assign to them greater importance of description on which the individual is the subject, than the actual subject themselves. What great superstitions you have on your probable companions (yes, I know of them). That on their names, you somehow know clear, in that of what their purpose must be, what their position must be, what their personality and nature must be. The power you must have over them to not have a name yourself. No superstition may allay conscious effort on your description; you have that all to yourself. You and that voice in your head. You know the one. It is not quite your own… Indeed. Appearances run they way they want. Not a care for below the surface, not until they slip beneath, and take the form for themselves. |
| Paper Fragment
I just couldn’t stand the experiments. They tell me they’re going to die anyways, and that disgorging their bodies now will save others later, when we have a cure, but I can’t quite get past the smell. |
