The second day of the week. It is here. I am looking out and about along the lines that lead to somewhere. Leading lines they are, but they do not lead. They only follow the trails that have been set out before my eyes.

I take a step and walk into the mist. There needs to be a little more than something beyond this thick miasmatic wall of fire and delusion.

I walk through this smoke and ash and look for a form of rebirth, but there is no quarter. There is no reprieve. There is no sign of life. There is only desolation and the burning of the flesh and the gnashing of the teeth and the wailing of the horrors.

There are many other ways around,. but usually the best way out is through. I need to step further into what it is that I am trying to navigate in order to get to the other side. This advancing wall of mystery cannot sustain itself forever, but so long as it keeps on going, then it shall grow in width and the thickness of its produce shall surely become impenetrable at some point.

Eventually it may become impermeable, but so long as I can pass through now and get to the other side and try and find something, despite how improbable it may seem, then I know that there is hope, there is something to work and strive toward.

A great wall of smoke and ash and fog and fire reaches around and grabs at things that it should not be able to grab. Far too much success it has in this endeavour, and it must be gotten through to see what it has done to the other side.

There is hope that it will stop sooner, but only time will tell. Only time will tell.

There is still no time for inaction. There is curiosity, there is desire, there is a need to find out what its going on. There is no way to see on the other side, as it all reaches far too high, but there  is still a need to get through. The only way is through. That is the only way that anyone is going to be able to find out if there is anything else that can be done in this instance. But there is no knowing without action in this case, and all that deliberation has done is waste time. There is still a strong need to proceed forward and get on with things.

There is need and the time of talking has reached an end. I have stepped through. I walk among the flames and smell things that I wish I had never experienced. I can only see heat and ash and smoke and the charring. There must be something in here still, but all seems hopeless in a way that I cannot possible describe.

And yet, somewhere in there, there is still something that is worth trying to save.

The time it took to write five-hundred words: 05:02:20

What am I saying here?

A bit inconsistent.

Written at work.