My neck broken. And I laid there. Unable to feel any of my limbs, any inch of my skin anywhere on my body.
Her claws sunk into my flesh, peeling me apart, ripping my insides open, the blood, the cartilage, the fat and muscle, the blood, everywhere.
I started to fade as it happened, but I could see what was happening to me.
I figured I deserved this.
It was the end of her. It was the end of me.
What happened after that was...
Well...
// A letter, half torn, partially burnt, missing bits, from someone to nowhere.
These are the archives. This is every bit of me, every bit of S-----a, every bit of P------e, every bit of Mailwash. They're all kept in here, left to rot over time.
My duties include cleaning the facility, driving pests out, maintaining a stable air temperature and moisture, and adding missing chunks to it whenever I can.
Though, as it remains, I haven't fulfilled any of those duties.
Actually, I don't really know why I'm here.
It feels like forever ago. I know it's me in these files, and I know that I can feel some of the pain that Mint felt back then, but I don't know why it all happened.
Why did P------e kill me? Why did I kill Mailwash?
Where did S-----a go?
A lot of it is blotted out. Inked out, torn out, burnt, irreparable.
Names in here I recognize, a lot I can't, some I've never heard of before, it's endless.
I've tried to read through most of it, but I still can't piece it together here.
Whoever wanted these files in order didn't want them to be in their original forms, I guess.
I'm writing to you right now because there is no one else.
I have been the only person inside of this tomb for what feels like decades.
Everyone else is gone, and I no longer feel the ability to age, to feel the passage of time. I am up every morning to maintain the archive, and when I go to sleep the only thing I can think of is the archive.
I'm writing to you because maybe someone else will find this place.
I have no other ideas and I worry that I won't be around very much longer.
I want to destroy the archives.
I want to destroy everyone's memories here.
I want it all to be gone and all of the pain, all of the joys and suffering, all of it, to be displaced into the air and recycled into something new and more deserving.
What all of these people did to each other was horrible.
The events that transpired don't deserve to see the light of day.
This hopelessness they felt is now the permanent state of the world, thanks to them.
The Nap was only the beginning of it all.
The world could have rebuilt and the life on it could have thrived and become something newer and stronger... But the second Nap guaranteed that would never happen.
When the second Nap happened, every single person was locked into their own personal void, made to face the events of their own life as if it were another person's perspective.
And when I look through the archives, confusing as it is, I can begin to make sense of what I'm supposed to be seeing here.
I suspect that Mint was me.
I don't really know what my name was, but I am finding myself sympathizing with Mint the most of all in the stories I've read.
It's why I fashioned a mint leaf to cover the eye I am also missing, it's why I dyed my hair green. It's why I look forward to reading her stories the most.
...