The Island of Oblivion

Where is here…?

This land… is not my land. Surrounded by trees and brush as far as the eye can see. Escape? There is no escape. No end—No beginning to this madness. An island? Yes, definitely an island. Around the border areas is this special vegetation. It’s not really vegetarian at all; more so, as just metal beings erected from the dirt, covering the edges of the land stretching from all corners of the compass preventing any ideas of escape to the promise hills from beyond the waters around us. Escape?… There is no reason for escape. The island is alive. It hears all your thoughts and whispers. You are its prisoner. We are its slaves. Mind-washing the brains of its victims into a bittersweet paradise. Talk about escape is futile. You want to be here. You can’t fight it. The island’s power is too great for any human to comprehend the complexity of its intellect. Your beginning; our beginning—never happened. We always were. We always will be. Here; on the island. Its only inhabitants. Join us, brethren. Our fruitless beings will populate this wasteland through means only the island can create. We were brought forth out from the void. Nameless and ignorant; we survive through sheer willpower and stupidity, preventing Lord Death from visiting out doorposts. The threat is inevitable, but the survival is real.

… Escape? Why? We’re happy here… On the island.

The Island of Oblivion.