Having survived the trepid wasteland of my previous encounters I am beginning to sense a change in myself. I have noticed that my skin has started to peel and my nails are starting to loosen. Maybe I am just dehydrated. I take a swig of water and eat a granola bar. I fear I will run out of these soon.
Though I hoped this new adventure would prove more enlightening than the first, I quickly realized this was not to be. This one tries to inform me that these robots visited ancient tribes in the past. The tingling in my fingers has returned now accompanied by an immense throbbing in my temples. More water is needed.
The attractive female from the before has returned, now mounting some kind of motor scooter. I feel this is designed to entice me so far away from my senses that hopefully I will ignore everything around me. Any respect I feel for my fellow man I feel is designed to be lost here, dragging me down further into the pit of lust and away from reason, a fate I cannot see myself returning from.
But now I see the loud hero from before has a mother, and I believe she is the fabled harpy from legends of old. Her unrelenting cackles and frantic movements have exacerbated the throbbing in my head now amplified by pulsating noise. The noise! I reach for what nourishment I can. It has no flavor. What is happening to me? I want to feed, but all I want to do is bounce on the nearest person, like this devil witch who has sickened me, and…bite.
What was torturing about my previous journey is worsened to new heights here. Now there are more people around, doing nothing but screaming and talking nonsense. Their heads are surrounded by a thick haze, which I cannot escape. There are mouths flapping endlessly like a high-speed shutter. All I can hear is clack…clack…clack. I take another swig of water. I did not plan to need this much. I have to start rationing.
The worse was yet to come, I imagined. Robots with racist undertones have caused me to roll into a ball to retain any sense of warmth or stability. And worse yet, the metallic crashing is back, like a child banging too many pots.
More incomprehensible than the first I have to press my hands into my ears with the force of a thousand winds. It’s not working. I am doomed to die at the hands of this ear-bleeding noise. But I remember in a holy revelation: my knife. I cut the pillows from my chair and duct tape them to my ears. Thank God for mild release. But this was only momentary.
Soon a massive robot comes and begins to devour sound. The utter stupidity of this action has caused the blood in my ears to overflow. I had no choice but to remove the pillows. The blood seeped and my hands, now peeling at an alarming rate, are covered in red. I am losing focus as well as parts of myself. The amount of sand has now made me crave more water.
I am down two out of three bottles. My food has lost all flavors. I am covered in my own fluids as I begin to lose more skin and two teeth. This journey will be the death of me…I hope.
