Cosimo Monologue

Outdoors was inky, damp and seemed to be fuming over something. The sleep deprived drag seeped though cracks and corridors, into offices and hospice beds, and it reached him. Every instance of this place was corroded in anxiety and hatred. It was laced with the images of bodies sprawled over good intentions. Cosimo was dying. His heart and lungs were failing, his body was crippling up like arthritic hands, and as grotesque as it was, there was relief painted on his lips. His eyes had grayed and so had his skin, he was shaken to his core. They watched his slip into nothingness. His breaths came in shallow, like echoes in a well. Seeing him passing, they realized that there was nothing of greater value than the last moments with a dying soul.
This was only the eight month. Who had once been a human looking boy was now a corpse, with a mind of white sound and static. Behind his eyes there was no thought and there hadn't been for weeks. Two realities, in one an experiment had left him this way, in the other an accident.

Every spiral has an outset. Inside his mind there were bleached walls and blazoned doors. There were sets of men in white with chlorine eyes watching him and writing on papers. Quickly he found that hope was painful in this place where in others it was all some had. During the first months inside these walls the morning hours began to seem like midnight. Each day held more death than the last, and it began to consume him. Who he had been seemed to shed him like a cocoon, leaving him shriveled on the floor.

Before he had never stopped to question whether shadow had a voice or a face, in an abyss even stone can begin to have these qualities. At times the screaming silence of his own emptiness roared up and caught him breathless. He knew that soon once recognizable faces, even how he remembered his own, would begin to smooth over and blur
So much had changed since then. There was no longer curiosity because he now understood why it was often left undiscussed. In a way, this place was born of reason, the logic of a certain few. In order to overcome a greater obstacle a sacrifice was necessary, a necessary evil if you will. His death would provide a few continued moment of breath. These people were ordained in silver instruments and oversized houses, and for all their wealth were unable to see that the disease they were so afraid of was a child of their own minds. Their City was heavy with the tears of its own poor, Cosimo was not the only sacrifice. There were other empty faces, belonging to people with few to remember them. There was a chain of power and those at the bottom were lifeless, unprotected, and easily