Written in quick handwriting:
When everyone I have ever loved is finally gone, when everything I have ever wanted is finally done with
when all of my nightmares are for a time obscured as by a shining brainless beacon or a blinding eclipse of the many terrible shapes of this world, when I am calm and joyful and finally entirely alone locked inside this great bunker then in a great new darkness I will finally execute my special plan.
One needs to have a plan someone said to me who was turned away into the shadows and who I had believed was sleeping or dead left behind in city 45. Imagine he said all the flesh that is eaten, the teeth tearing into it the tongue tasting its savor and the hunger for that taste. Now take away that flesh he said take away the teeth and the tongue the taste and the hunger, take away everything as it is
I listened to these words and yet I did not wonder, if this creature whom I had thought sleeping or dead would ever approach his vision, even in his deepest dreams or his most lasting death. Because I had heard of such plans such visions along the dark roads I had once traveled. I knew what had to be done but what was demanded in a way of a plan needed to go beyond tongue and teeth and hunger and flesh, beyond the bones and the very dust of bones and the wind that would come to blow the dust away. So I began to envision a darkness that was long before the dark of night and a strangely shining light that owed nothing to the light of day.
That day may seem like other days, once more we feel the tiny legged trepidations, once more we are mangled by a great grinding fear of the combine. But that day will have no others after, no more worlds like this will follow because I have a plan, a very special plan, no more worlds like this, no more days like that.
There are but four ways to die a sardonic spirit might have said to me though his oddly shaped mouth, there is dying that occurs relatively suddenly. there is dying that occurs relatively gradually, there is dying that occurs relatively painlessly, there is the death that is full of pain. Thus by various means they are combined the sudden and the gradual, the painless and the painful, to yield but four ways to die and there are no others. Even after the Vortigan stopped speaking, I listened for it to speak again, after hours and day and months have passed I listened for some further words.
Yet all I heard were the faintest echoes reminding me, there are no others, there are no others was it then that I began to conceive for this place a special plan?
There are no means for escaping this world it penetrates even into my sleep and is this substance i'm caught in my own dreaming, where there is no space and a hell forever where there is no time.
Even after escaping the cities I cant do nothing that I not told to do, there is no hope for escape from this dream that was never mine. The very words I speak are only its very word and I talk like a traitor under its incessant torture .
A picture is sketched onto the next page with the with the numbers 163.5:
There are many who have designs upon this world and dream of wild and vast reformations such as those deep within this bunker, I have heard them talking in their sleep of elegant mutations and cunning annihilation
I have heard them whispering in the corners of crooked houses. In the alleys and narrow back streets of this crooked creaking universe which they with their new designs were made straight and sound
but each of these new and ill conceived designs is deranged in its heart. For they see this world as if it were alone and original and not as only one of count with others whose nightmares all precede like a hideous garden grown from a single seed.
I have heard these dreamers talking in their sleep and I stand waiting for them as at the top of a darkened flight of stairs, they know nothing of me only my name, and none of the secrets of my special plan while I know every crooked creaking step of theirs
It was the voice of someone who was waiting in the shadows, who was looking at the moon and waiting for me to turn the corner and enter a narrow stream down below. To stand with him in the dull glaze of moonlight
then he said to me his yellowish skin shining in the darkness. He whispered to me that my plan was misconceived
that my special plan for this world was a terrible mistake because, he said, there is nothing to do and there is no where to go, there is nothing to be and there is no one to know. Your plan is a mistake,he repeated
this world is a mistake, I replied as he diapered into the darkness the only sound of water passing by my feet.
Garry's Mod
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