I cried a lot. Right about here, in the month or so when it all came to a head, talking to the people I could see only in my mind's eye, I cried it seemed every day. There was no sane reason for it, mind you. There was a story, though.... It seems that my plasmate, or that immortal half of me who supposedly joined my psyche at that fateful psychic "snap", had been through Hell, and worse — all Hell, in fact, as everyone, and more than that, an infinity of pain all at once. He had returned from all that, back to this world, but to think about all that he had been through brought tears to my eyes — which were, in fact, also his eyes. He was me. It was kinda strange, that there were two people in me now, the me who had been here this whole time, and another being who was totally alien, older than time itself. It was all fiction, of course, but in my madness, newly cracked open, it was easy to believe.
I really don't know why, why the story came about as so. I don't know why I had to cry like I did. The people in my head would hear of what my other half had been through and cry through my eyes, and I would cry with them each time, as they were my eyes that shed all those tears. I was feeling sorry for myself, it would seem, though at the time, I (being one with my other half) believed that I had every reason to cry. Other stories would come, but this was how it started in my madness. Of a hero that was thrown into the garbage disposal of the astral plane, who had returned from the nether world after being forgotten in the horrors of horrors — one who had conquered Pain itself. I don't know why, why this? It was as if the myths of all tragedies that ever were were written as a single comic book of twenty pages or so. As stories go, it was not War and Peace. But enough for a puddle of tears, cried by a madman.
