synkar - phi & chi

(narrator: unknown reader) “– run mongrel, move your physical belongings out of my sight! – howls a derelict, broken-down, vile indigent as he scrawls and slowly sloths his way through a small crowd, bouncing off of random people and throwing them forward, running in whichever direction he sees more fit as he creeps through a faction of leaves and finds himself in front of an old and broken down, almost comically silver-shaded church-like structure. the church-like structure seems to have purple-colored windows and a dark, almost pitch black line covering the entire interior of it, which is visible through a small hole punched into the front wall. – purple, i sense purple! – ghoulishly laughs the white-haired indigent as he hops his way towards the church, hopping from one leg to another, somehow managing to move his left leg in front of his right, slipping a couple of times on his way there as he sometimes points the tip of his shoe around the ground and turns around a couple of times with his shoe buried in the ground. the indigent then creeps his way into a group of children, guided by a feminine figure, one whose face seems to be hidden by a piece of cloth over her face. he slides through a branch of leaves and walks into the children. there seem to be eight kids in the row, three of which seem to be male and five of which are female. the broken down indigent falls on top of a rock right next to the last child, which seems to be a female. she turns around and looks at the man, getting a perspective and a quick visual scan of his face. she glances at the man and sees a long, pointy and sharp nose, one that falls all the way down to his half-open and widened, almost eccentric and fully disgusted, cynically empowered and ferocious, slim mouth. his face seems to also be really craggy and sculpted, and seems to properly outline and give attention to the many scars and destroyed areas of his face. his mouth fully open and wide, pleading and wanly, however highly sadistic and questionable, almost as if he doesn’t recognize the child in front of him and is etched towards another atmosphere, one so far away that his self-awareness seems to be minimal to none. the child, before reacting or giving a proper response to the fallen man in front of her, sees that the man is also wearing a white cast wrapped around his hand, one that seems to be covered in mud and dirt, and one that mostly seems to be cut off, only hanging by a slim rope that is tied around one of the man’s fingers. she also sees that the man has white hair, one that seems to be quite long, extending all the way down to the man’s neck by diameter on all sides of his head. she glances at the man again, this time looking straight into his eyes. she widens her mouth and lets out a roguish, sardonic and almost un-expressionless, insensitive smile, one that seems so harsh and ignorant that it makes the man smile back, but not as a symbol of love or empathy towards the child, but pure and unattained hatred. the child then suddenly steps away and moves forward towards the leading womanly figure of the pack. – woman, who is this fool, sitting down so vivaciously on this rock? – asks the child, looking up to the woman at the front of the pack. the woman seems to have an un-expressionless, almost gazed eyesight as she reaches her long and sturdy arms towards one of her daughters and quickly pulls her forward with a sadistic look on her half-covered face, the bottom part barely visible as it seems to be covered by all the strings from the piece of clothing attached to her forehead. her eyelashes seem to be bruised and painted on, and her nails broken down and covered by a yellow nail polish, but one that seems to be so tangible and miserably done that it makes the rest of her ugly and tangled up face even more disgusting and makes it so that whenever somebody looks at her half-done nails they get a complete glimpse of every single gruesome and obnoxious attribute inside of the woman’s brain. – that is what we call a fool, daughter number 2, we do not associate with those vile creatures. do not disrespect or leave the group once again, this is the first and last time that this happens. now get into the row, we are going to church! – proclaims the woman as she walks up and leaves the area, clawing her way through the ground as her steps echo into her daughters ears, violently stepping on the plants and dirt in front of her. – woman, why do you call us all by numbers? – asks the daughter again, this time fully intrigued but with her head down, patiently awaiting an answer as she smiles back at the man once again, this time slightly inching her head forward. – because, just like that poor delinquent, you are not worthy of respect you filthy animals! – jeers the woman as she hits her daughter, this time furious and burning with resentment as she yells at her daughter, shouting and mumbling her words, her wig slowly falling off word by word as she drags her daughter at the front of the group. – and also because i have not taught you a simple lesson my dear children; – the mother elaborates, turning around and facing her children, the first one in the raw being the second daughter – you do not name what you one day may want to kill – smiles the cloth-covered mother, only her mouth being visible as she inches her face towards her daughter. the mother then turns forward and simply continues to walk, being followed by her nine kids, all behind her in a row. the man takes a quick second to process a random thought, and, instead of stepping away from the rock, which now seems to be hurling into his skin and piercing the first layer of it, he simply looks up and starts laughing. he lets out a devilish laugh, gratuitously placing his hands in the air as he hurls around the rock, looking up at the sky. he points his head upwards and then swiftly covers up both of his eyes as his mouth points upward and lets out a scatter of saliva. the saliva catches onto a tree and falls right back down, spewing all over the man. this blinds his vision, and in an un-orchestrated and coincidental fall of events, he ends up smashing his head over the boulder. he furiously ejects his head off of the boulder, now full of blood and saliva and forcefully brutalities his arms away from the rock as he falls to the ground and lands on a pile of dog vomit. he sits in place for a couple of seconds and waits until his eyes’ reach away from the disgusting substance below him and into his subconscious where he seems to reach a conclusion in a matter of seconds. – an untimely reacti… unneeded here. amor fati – he thinks to himself, messing up the own voice in his head as he stands up and slowly faces his head behind him, keeping his body in the same direction as before. the indigent seems to notice a figure, a black and long, ominous and disturbingly sinister figure. he keeps his head still and only faces his eyes towards the figure more as they spot a long, misshaped and simply shudder-some, unpleasant face. he moves his eyes a little further and notices the textures of the hag behind him. he almost instantly recognizes and observes the woman’s long and dark, half-burnt cape followed by the protracted and chiseled, highly detailed nails that ever so slightly seem touching the tip of his burnt down shirt. after the detailed inspection the indigent realizes that the hag acknowledges the fact that he himself realizes her presence next to him and instantly forces his eyes at the other side of his head, slightly poking one of the nerves connecting his eyelids to his brain, causing him to panic and move his head into the tree that the hag seems to be balancing on, breaking the silence of the atmosphere around the churches’ garden. however, the indigent doesn’t stop there as he forces his head deeper into the tree log, forcefully hitting himself into it, attempting to create a non-scripted physical reaction from his brain. however, that attempt completely fails, and what follows it are a series of horrible and futile, laughable acts and performances that lead him to fall back into the pile of vomit. the feeble man most likely did not see the old hag behind him, however if he did he undoubtedly would’ve seen her with a smile on her face. the worst part of the entire act is that the man most likely does not realize how embarrassingly horrible it was. he stands back up, this time facing behind the woman and simply walks out; messing up a lot of his steps as he almost deteriorates both mentally and physically in front of the dark-haired monster behind him. he walks away from the tree, his eyes wide open as he attempts not to think of the woman behind him. he attempts to sing songs and riddles, however the more the fictional character in his head makes actions and points out a series of details, the easier it is for his brain to turn the fictional storyline in his head to the simple thought of the witch he saw a couple of seconds ago sitting down on a chair with her long sharp nails clawing the tip of her knees. he also, maybe inaccurately or fictionally imagines the hag smiling the more he thinks of her, which is most likely one of the main reasons he seems to be trying so hard not do so. however, as the brain usually does, the more he thinks about not thinking of her the more he does think of her, which ends in his mind almost spelling her name out within his conscious: – ar…ye…l… the man snaps back to reality, barely forcing himself to think of the church as he images the woman right behind him. the more he thinks of the church’s interior the more he subconsciously envisions the hag backing off of him, yet the more he imagines the hag backing off the more she doesn’t, so he fully envisions the church as he walks towards it. – pace yourself together, there’s a way long to… – the white-haired indigent thinks to himself as he looks down, envisioning what he thinks should be impossible. – from when do i have claws instead of hands…? – he thinks to himself, however, before managing to get another word out he simply… snaps. his body sterilizes and snaps back into place and his head simply shifts and moves back into place. his brain simply empties itself out, and like nothing ever happened he continues to walk forward, his feet moving into weird positions as he spirals his way towards the church even further. the man walks up to the church and hits his leg onto what seems like a desk. he looks up and suddenly realizes that he is standing in front of a counter. the counter seems to have a rough outline and seems to be covered in many weird utensils and tools. he looks down even further and realizes that a hand is poking through one of the many rugged holes that seem to be punched through the desk and roughly poking the top of the counter with brute force. the simple vision of the ugly and burnt down hand is enough to make the eeriest person feel disgusted, so much so that even the white-haired indigent in front of the counter seems slightly uncomfortable around the fact that the hand seems to be moving in indirect and imprecise locations, so much so that it seems like an unconscious robot is poking around the area attempting to find a location to stick the steel utensil the hand seems to be holding inside of. the man then slowly shifts his vision from the hand and back onto the desk, and notices a dark flower, with a grey, steel outline. he also notices a single key onto the desk and then comes to the realization that it is slightly confusing that he never even saw or even stored the information into his brain that anything resembling a counter was even near the church, yet for the entirety of his walk forward and away from the entity that he is so benevolently trying not to mention; he never saw anything near a counter around the church. he finally manages to look up. the indigent’s eyes pair with an exact spitting image and duplicate of his own eyes. wide and light, blue and deeply provoking eyes that seem to be stargazing into the distance, ones that have a constant thousand mile yard stare. he focuses on the image in front of him and visualizes a black and hairy, snub-nosed woman. one can almost explain the woman’s face as simply being weak, furrow even. he looks deeper into the creature in front of him and notices an old and grey-haired woman sitting on a chair, eating a piece of old and moldy bread. the woman seems to have one side of her hair attached to a hairy arm that seems to be hanging on her dirty clothes, the other side of her hair being almost non-existent and completely shaved off, however there still seems to have enough of it to be socially acceptable for a convenience store manager. the woman seems to be paying direct attention to the man in front of her and yet she still seems to be eating her loaf of bread. a couple of seconds pass as the man and the old hag simply exchange looks, the woman not even taking the smallest of breaks as she continues to poorly chew on her bread, almost letting it melt in her soggy mouth as she looks at the man. the silence is broken by the hand as it seems to hit a metal bar on the desk, making a loud ringing noise as it bounces off and creates an echo. the man attempts to say a word to the woman however, before he even manages to get a syllable out, his arm gets nudged and pushed. the man quickly turns around and notices a broken down, unbalanced and unwary young woman. he notices the sheer resemblance between her way of walking and his and manages to find a connection between both of them. he attempts to speak with the woman but as he moves closer he realizes that the color scheme of the atmosphere has changed. he quickly turns around and notices that the woman at the counter has changed. she no longer has even a strand of hair and is completely bald; she no longer has even an inch of blood around her blue-colored disgusting hands. she no longer has even a drop of youth; her face seems to be covered in lines and scratches, filled with disgusting outlines and thick marks of nature. the marks of the prison of death and the signs and symbols of being close to it seem to override her bread-eating mouth as it seems to now simply be filled with a distasteful and simply vile liquid-shaped foam. he swiftly turns around and attempts to move but realizes that his steps are very slow. the young, unbalanced and broken-down woman turns around and walks towards him with her big and wide-gapped feet. she manages to crawl towards him. he looks at her face and… it is no longer there. in place stands the disgusting face of the old hag at the counter. he attempts to move but he is simply locked. he attempts to speak however… his mouth is simply shut. not a word seems to be spoken between the two, as the woman crawls over to the man. she reaches one of his pockets and grabs them as swiftly as possible. she lets go of the grabbed item in her hand and looks at it, attempting to clean it with her sharp and disgusting claws but only smudging it more in the process. she looks at the smudged item and it seems as though she realizes that it is a steel fork. she takes the item and looks at it, now bleeding as her mouth seems to be covered with more and more white foam the longer she stares at the fork. she hands the fork back to the man and simply walks always, slipping on the rocks in front of her as she stands next to the stand and morphs her head with the other hag, both of their heads and bodies simply disappearing together with the grey texture and atmosphere of the man’s surrounding. the woman then reappears and takes her original stance, sitting back down at the chair and looking into nothing particular, her eyes almost slipping away from her conscious, staring into absolutely nothing. however, instead of that being a good thing, it seems as though the white-haired indigent with burnt down clothes thinks differently. – it can’t be! – creeks the indigent, whirling his head into the opposite direction in a swift motion, his eyes staring into the distance. – oh but it absolutely is, psi. – returns a creeky and old voice, shuttering and communicating the exact source of the location of the voice to the white-haired man. he looks deeper into the distance and notices a grey silhouette of an old man, slowly scrawling his way through the moss around the area and making his way towards the indigent. the poor white-haired man attempts to take a step back, but his mind thinks differently as it decides to break his chain of motion and stare back at the old man. the old man gets closer to the indigent, a better picture of the man entering his mind the more details the indigent receives. the old man seems to be wearing a grey cloak, one filled with many roughly-sewed pieces of cloth, stitched together onto the suit’s inner material. the indigent stares deeper into the old man, his eyes glaring into his robes as the old man walks forward, a piece of metal hinging from underneath his knee as he walks forward with it, stepping onto the ground. the old man starts walking vertically, his neck enlarged and thrown forward as a wide grin appears on the old man’s scarred face: – psi! – shouts the old man, thrilled to see the white-haired indigent. psi takes a few steps back and then sits motionless, thinking of a way to outsmart the old man. he sits in place for a few seconds, and realizes that walking backwards would not benefit him. psi’s nostrils tingle as he swipes his dirty fingers around his face, dirtying his mouth and chin in the process. psi walks forward and takes a leap of fate, slowly plunging into the man with open arms. within no time at all, in fact, way quicker than psi seems to even realize it; the man is standing right before psi, gouging his eyes into his face. psi sits motionless, like a prey being attacked by a tiger as the man ravishes along psi’s face. – psi, i would rather we not waste time! – growls the man, walking backwards and pulling a knife out of the back of his neck, blood spilling out of his body as he walks towards psi, his neck fully entangled and softened, but crunched underneath the weight of the man’s very movements. the old man’s eyes glisten as he runs the knife down psi, savagely laughing at psi’s very existence while simultaneously making it worse. the old man then suddenly realizes something and takes a couple of steps backwards: – psi, i would rather we not waste time! – the man laughs again, this time grabbing a clean, folded napkin from underneath his cloth. psi manages to break the illusion of comfortability as he re-visualizes the old man, witnessing his scars and dimples and his red, blood-stained eyes as he approaches psi, the atmosphere becoming greyer and greyer as he hinges and pulls his hand into his leg as so to not fall off. psi has never been one to judge character by appearance, as he has not had the chance to; however the reason he finds the man intrusive and simply dismantling of psi’s mental peace and disturbing him fully is not his appearance, but his character. the old man seems to have the telepathic ability to not only read and access all of psi’s thoughts and present ideas, but to also change them, ridiculing them useless. according to psi’s mind, the old man is not a malicious figure or an incendiary, but rather a disturbance in rationality, an anomaly if you will. the old man walks up to psi and swipes the napkin over his face, revealing a red layer of skin underneath his white skin, only slowly visible due to bizarre, dragon-like scales surrounding psi’s skin. a red matter appears and surrounds psi, shortly after leaving him and blowing itself through the wind as it disappears behind him. the old man looks down at psi and noticed that his fingers are replaced with rugged and pointy claws, one that read down all the way below his belt. he looks up at psi and says not a word before containing to wipe the napkin over psi’s face, the old man’s face now slightly more agitated and uneasy. he moves the napkin over psi’s throat as psi’s notorious, yet restrained, innocent but yet brutal and evil-intended stare continues to follow the man around as he wipes psi’s face with the napkin. the more the man wipes, the redder psi’s face becomes. the old man attempts to reach around psi’s nose, but suddenly stops himself. the old man steps on the ground with his broken leg, the metal stick sharpened into it balancing the empty hollow, flat surface of the area where his foot is supposed to be. he looks slightly to the left and notices an immaculate, eerie, almost witch-like presence behind him. he turns around and shifts his view towards five women sitting on a counter, their hair wrapped around their head and their eyes sharp as planes, staring straight into the wilderness, hoping to catch a dislocated fly so they can have the right to judge it. the old man suddenly shifts his view to the last woman. he takes a glimpse of her hand first, long, sharp and pointy nails, followed by thick blue veins going all the way up to her dislocated throat. he looks up at her and notices a completely different figure then what he originally anticipated. a black, long, ominous and overly-sharp face, one that is staring, and assumingly been staring at him for the majority of his perilous and over-the-top napkin operation with psi. the old man attempts to take a step forward, but is subconsciously guided back into his place, now attempting to rigorously make motional coordinance as he stumbles upon himself. he then furiously, with very inattentive and slow motions, guides his way back into his standing position and stares back at the woman’s hands, which seem to be getting pointer and greyer by the second. he instantly connects this to psi. the woman’s eyes glow and soften as she realizes his connection. she hangs one of her cloak’s sleeves on the chair she’s sitting on as she points herself forward and stares at the old man. the old man stares back in melancholy, furious to take action yet restrained and unconfident in his motives. a mockingbird lands on the table, singing a soft yet slightly obnoxious, sensitive and atmosphere-crushing melody, cutting the ambience around the table in half as psi stares at the black-haired woman. the woman looks down at psi and notices a steel fork in his left pocket. she looks at the old man, the mockingbird’s aura becoming more and more obnoxious the longer she stares. she turns towards the bird and rips it apart using her claws, eating the flesh out of the bird’s carcass as blood fills the wooden table the five women are sitting on, a part of the blood flow entering a steel olympic cup. the five women begin to stare at the cup as a wave of wind moves towards them, passing over their hairs as they continue to stare at the table. the woman sitting next to the cup takes it and starts to slowly sip from it, her eyes unrestrained, without a single care in the world. the black-haired woman stands up and walks towards the woman sitting furthest from the table, her black cloth following behind her, sticking to her skin and creating a snail-like cover around her scrawny and lanky dirt-covered skin. the black-haired woman stands in front of the woman sitting furthest from the table. the woman sitting furthest from the table seems to have short black hair, tied and pushed outwards, creating a line of hair strings from one side of her head to the other, her left string slightly touching the cloak of the black-haired woman. the black-haired woman tilts her head to the side and looks into her eyes, staring directly into her dead and unfulfilled, sorrowful soul. the woman stares back with an equal ineloquence, her eyes teetering and desperately blinking due to the pressure cast by the black-haired woman. the black-haired woman approaches the woman sitting furthest from the table and slides her claws down the temple of her forehead. the woman sitting furthest from the table then suddenly stands up and starts to ruthlessly smash her head against the table, blood running out of her eyes. she smashes her head against a tea-pot, breaking the glass and scarring her head with it, a single thin line of blood running down to her chin. she looks up and moves her head towards the black-haired woman, viewing her long and sharp nails as she moves her vision towards her palm. she finally looks up at the woman, the black-haired woman staring back at her, her face covered in small gushes of blood, further painting the beauty of the single thin line running down to her chin, now dripping down to her neck. the bruised woman looks at the black-haired woman, an abeyant smile visible around her cheeks. the blood-covered woman finally gives in and starts to triumphantly wreck everything around her, only pausing when she runs out of energy. the women sitting at the table simply stare at her while she struggles, one of the women continuing the sip the mockingbird’s blood. the woman then pauses to catch up on air, blood dripping from her head as she balances her hands on her feet, her nails sharpening and her hair falling off. her body then suddenly starts to shift, a small fluctuation appearing around her stomach. her hip then massively starts to widen, reaching an immersive size as it builds over her and incases her in her own flesh. the enlarged hip takes on a similar appearance to an upside down umbrella, trapping her inside of it. she slowly starts to rotate and twist around, dancing around herself as her claws sharpen and her feet make unpredictable turns around the broken down table. her feet stretch and widen in length, the veins around them thickening and the fingers below them blacken, her nails braking off as she violently spins around, her face spewing out blood, like a cycling blood fountain. a small amount of the blood drips onto psi’s face, instantly pulverizing itself and warping inside of psi, disappearing into his skin as a circle-shaped scar appears at the bottom of his eye. the woman then suddenly stops. the black-haired woman takes one of her hands and looks at them, the nails of her hands growing wider and longer the longer she stares at them. and just like that, in a moment’s notice, the black-haired woman bites into the head of the blood-covered hag, a plant-like mouth emerging from the black-haired woman and cutting off the head of the hag, her arteries and organs spilling out of her neck as her body stands in place, decapitated and motionless. the black-haired woman’s face turns back to normal, the head of the hag emerging out of her plant-like mouth as it warps back into her brain. psi’s face starts twitching as he slowly backs off of the table; however he gets stopped by the old man’s metal foot. the black-haired woman takes the hag’s head and breaks one of the table’s legs, digging it into the dirt. she then grabs her head and slowly slides it over the pole, staring directly at the old man, her nose widening as she accidentally slides her hand off of the pole and scrapes it. – she was a good friend of mine. i knew her for 15 years, she introduced me to love and made me find meaning… atleast for a little while – says the woman sitting next to the woman drinking from the olympic cup. i’m sad shes gone… but not that much – she adds, continuing to stare at her dead corpse, a slight smile emerging from her mouth as she glimpses over the corpse, attempting to hide the smile, however poor of an attempt she seems to be pulling off as her cheeks visibly blossom in front of her dead friend, the width of her smile dragging her eyelids down towards her neck. psi decides to take a step forward, but is stopped as a steel fork drops from his pocket as he attempts to move backwards, creating a loud ringing noise as it falls down. the old man stares at the black-haired woman and then relates it to the fork. – aryela – he thinks to himself, putting his metal foot in front of the dirt as he turns around and starts to slowly walk away. the black-haired woman begins to approach psi as the old man leaves, her claws becoming darker and her neck enlarging as she cascades above psi, psi’s pensive look of horror accelerating her speed. she takes the napkin away from his pocket and turns him around. she then starts to slowly wipe it over his face, his hands holding themselves back as they restrain themselves. his skin’s normal color stars to return as his red skin soils away and disappears, the circle-shaped scar staying on his skin. aryela reaches for his pocket once again, this time slowly sliding off the fork from his pocket, her tall and skinny, devil-like physique towering over psi as he simply stares at her, subconsciously requesting her permission for his very existence. aryela then slowly walks away and sits back at the table, her chair breaking off and letting her drop on the ground, her left and sharp foot leaping into the air as her claws attach themselves to the table as an alternative to falling down. psi takes this as a psychological negation for his very existence and slowly starts to turn around and walk away, almost instantly hitting himself on a brown-smeared pole as he walks by the purple church once again, this time viewing the purple color of the church as only another shade of grey. he looks at the pole and envisions a young man, somewhere around his twenties pictured on the pole. – derek nayakumi, 17 years old, unimportant but lost, if any details are found of the man’s whereabouts or location please contact… esrfekgugvmzsmboz – reads the sign. psi attempts to look at the contact information again as the details seemed to be bizarre, however he gets the same exact blurred line of text again, a text so repulsive that his own mind is unable to process the information that is so righteously there. a sliding noise can be heard in the distance, a hammer following shortly after. this intrigues psi and forces him to turn around and walk towards the sound, his eyes pointed at a nearby construction sight. loud banging noises and machinery run triumphant in the noise category around the area as psi decides to ignore the site and run back to the sign. psi looks at the sign and places his hand on it before looking at the man. the man’s face however, seems to be covered by psi’s long and ever-so rapidly growing nails. his nails covered in dirt and one of his nails bruised and slightly chipped, psi being unable to even tell which one, recognizing his repeated failure of being able to visualize detail’s ever-so clear picture. he takes his hands off of the pole and visualizes the man once again, however instead of the face he saw before; he envisions a slightly more mature face, one of an adult in his twenties. he stares at the picture, uncontrollably looking for a reasonable explanation and comes to the conclusion that his failure at recognizing detail led him derailed, and that the man’s face was always that of a person in his twenties. psi decides to turn around and walk towards the construction site that he had met with earlier. he walks over a pile of grass and steps in what seems like a soft material. he gazes over his foot and moves it upwards, realizing he had stepped on a pile of shit. he places his leg back into the grass and tries to remove it, however he realizes that he had previously stepped on a piece of gum as well. the two seemed to have combined into his foot as he was walking. he triumphantly steps into the ground and continues to walk over the walkway, his left shoe now covered in shit as he attempts to hurl it off with quick and uneasy movements. he walks sideways and accidentally sprains his leg as he makes a right turn towards the street. he walks over to a clock tower as he crosses the street, his leg now painted with the many small breadcrumbs and pieces of wood covering the street before the construction site. he makes one last turn and finds himself on the crosswalk as he stumbles upon himself once again, reminding himself that his situation seems to be similar to that of the disabled woman that attempts to steal his fork. complete silence fills the area, the only sounds psi hears being the loud hammers hitting down onto the wood. he moves closer to the site and examines it. long pieces of metal hinging from underneath the ground, construction workers with dirty yellow hats hitting small pieces of wood and labeling them, sweating and starving as they slowly build a disgusting fortress of famine and melancholy. the building itself properly composed and in structural harmony, however the creators left in grief and sorrow as they continue to smash down on the ground with brute force, the emotional result left disproportionally unattached and undermined, the building only a product of pure silence. a white man in a clean suit walks by psi, a woman in her thirties holding his hand as she lays herself on the side of his arm. the white man says not a word as he hands psi a document: – what are your thoughts on the new building project led by the governor of copenhagen, valdemär? – asks the businessman as he hands psi the document. – i look at this building as a garden of sorts. when the children move outside of the garden to play the garden is rich and full of life. and then, when the weather is corruptive and the children are asleep, the garden feels empty and hollow, filling you with a mirror image of the soul of the garden’s state. that is what i see when i see these men struggling to build something they don’t want to, an empty garden. the businessman looks around for a second, attempting to see some type of caster or television personality pop out and inform him of the comedy taking place in front of him, but all he sees is psi’s face, a face so filled with life and energy yet one so dead inside and exhausted, unrestrained yet fully behaved. the true face of chaos only paints a picture when the mind is filled with chaos as well. – shit-shoes, sweat-filled clothes that seem to stick and hinge onto your body, your mind so futile and irresistibly aware yet fully ignorant of the difference between perspectives. your body language so quiet and peaceful yet whenever i envision your face all i see is recklessness. pure, unrestrained, uninformed, disgusting recklessness, limited and existent only by the capacity of your chaotic brain, powered by your social awareness yet destroyed by your social position. i do not ask of your worthless opinion, mongrel, i ask of a donation, but not one where you give for freely, but one where i force you to give to me – returns the businessman as he savagely throws himself onto psi, taking away his possessions and stripping him of his very clothes and assets. the businessman then leaves, the woman clinging harder onto him as she dives her mouth behind his ear, painting a beautiful aroma behind psi as she walks together with him. psi is left naked in the middle of the street, right before the construction site. he takes a deep breath, calms down and simply continues to walk down the street, as nothing had ever even happened. he passes the construction site and leaves the area, running barefoot onto the same street as before, returning back to the sign that he originally took off from. he arrives at the sign and looks at the man again. veins, white hair, deep and intimidating eyes, his face already marked by nature, one that seems to be completely different then the face shown just minutes before. psi falls backwards and hits his head on the poll, burying his fists onto the pavement as he falls onto the ground. a chain of feminine laughter can be heard in the distance as psi’s head rings off of the poll. darkness emerges from the sky and fills the area as psi continues to sit down on the pavement. he looks at the sky and realizes that it is already night-time. – you know time is no more a valuable constant to you when you do not force yourself to work for it, but let it flow and work for you – thinks psi as he stands up, instantly getting knocked back down by a person, his nails digging into the ground, furious from his instant failure to do as he pleases, naturally of course. he manages to finally stand up as he turns to the sign again, this time showing an old man instead of the picture of the young boy before, the sign still reading 17 years old, however the face showing a completely different picture. psi sits in silence as he examines the probability of the sign being so incorrect and simply impossible. he looks behind the sign however realizes that he is unable to see what is there, since the street lights all seem to be shut off. he walks closer to the area and envisions a cafeteria. he walks towards it and finds a casino as well, built into the main building. he walks over to the cafeteria and enters it; however he manages to spot a young child glaring onto one of the windows, his tongue sucking in the gas around the window and letting steam off around the area, returning it back onto the glass. his hair seems to be un-maintained and poorly cut. psi thinks of the kid as a nuisance and decides not to get closer to the window as a type of safety precaution, visualizing the kid as a monkey jumping from the window and landing onto his face, scaring himself from his own visualization. he decides to walk towards the casino instead, knowing that the kid at the window is staring at him as he turns his back onto the kid, feeling a slight creep factor as he violently busts the door open and shuts the door behind him swiftly to attempt and succumb the feeling of tension in the area and the kid’s creep factor. he walks through the main door and sits down on one of the chairs, however he is instantly met with disapproval as one of the bartenders looks at him. he realizes that he is naked and with no further questions leaves the nicely-decorated casino filled with rich people and finds a small, green trashcan, placing himself next to it and laying down behind it, staring into the darkness. a single street-light slightly sparks right above him and lights that exact area up. he sees this as a good sign and attempts to fall asleep however is quickly reminded of the thought that he is able to scan his surroundings now, so he opens his eyes back up and looks in front of him. an old and grey man, with a metal bar sticking out of one of his legs. broken legs. he instantly realizes who that is and, instead of making quick and rush decisions he simply re-fades his eyes, not closing them fully and slightly leaving them open as they look behind him, a black-haired woman with a pony tail sitting on a bench a couple of centimeters away from him. he finds the connection instantly and realizes that he is in no danger, shutting his eyes again as he manages to find out why neither of the obvious targets are not attacking him. – two targets act like zero when they are also targets of their own – psi observes, closing his eyes completely as he lays down next to a trash-can, naked and broken-down…”