Baked Scribe Flashback : Blessed

 

I don’t know how to tell who’s real anymore, the normal ones and the others, reflections of what they think humans expect to see in each other. The problem is that even though, on the inside, they are nothing but rot, from the outside they look just like you and me. I don’t even know if you’re real.

Ever since the ships came down, life has been an endless exercise of wishing I could have some kind of insight. I look straight into a person’s eyes and I still have no idea if the soul I’m searching for is even there anymore. This was the gift that the ships brought for me.

I still haven’t met anyone who believes me. I blink and I’ve woken up someplace new, no idea how I got there. Sometimes I catch myself falling asleep and sometimes I wake up screaming. Sometimes I can’t tell one from the other. I hear things, and I don’t know if I’m hearing them or if I really am going crazy.

But I saw those ships.

I know that they were there. All of them, hatching and spreading like a virus. And plotting. I see our end in their beginning here. I see death in the sky, fire on the horizon. I’m going to figure out the answer. I will unlock the key and I will figure out how to tell them from us. When that day comes, woe unto them, and vengeance I will be.

I will be our savior.