to the monsters that would have you

[Laruku Tears]

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The voice was something to hold on to. Like Rachias's, it kept him grounded because it was something real. His body still ached and his head still burned, but he felt coherent. And he remembered. I don't believe in anything, he said. It had been Gabriel that had stood over him hours ago. Not an angel. Not a demon. Not anything. Another man. A mortal. There was nothing to believe in but reality, but reality was too subjective to be sure. There was no truth. That was what he had always known, wasn't it? A nihilist evermore, an existentialist occasionally. Nada es nada por nada. For the moment, he could not recall Hemingway's name, but perhaps tomorrow, he would.



Why chaos?

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