Vesoga Plain

Bashful frostbite crept on my flesh wounds. I could feel the gentle wind entering the cracked walls. My mindfulness is clinging but with my wound left untreated, I couldn’t think of any moment from now that I would be able to overcome this.

I raised my head observing the room, the place looks so old the wooden could be easily knocked and the moss spewing at the corner indicates so much that I’m in a solitary place. It’s not like I’m not used to this smell, the smell of moss, the smoke trailing outside from the cigarette at the table in front of me, the drenched jaws from blood flowing out of my wounds, not new to me, but I knew I am being in denial. Those experiences are nothing but a product of a simulation that my superior concocted. This time is for real and there’s no way I could tell how much I will last long or them to decide when to take my life.