The Blackness
It's natural. It's what happens when Fortune has not seen fit to remember you for some time. Suddenly things appear as merely what they are. A world full of inanimate objects. Empty space, filled with existential loneliness. The problem cannot be cured because it isn't the result of a cognitive distortion, but rather too much realism. One looks upon their prize, won after much struggle, and the mind immediately implies an array of potentials. Future adventures. These projections lose their import over time and you find yourself holding in your hands some stupid object. What was the battle won for? Might it just as well have been lost? All of the mythology and mystery: Confusion and Chinese telephone. There is an oily, vanta-black ink that slowly swallows and consumes all. Not unlike the fungi that absorbs the nutrients and strength of a tree, the yeast that suffocates in its own alcohol, the Easter Island tribe that cut down the last tree, zombies spreading a mindless infe...