An evening passed like the wind. Another passes faster than the last, more and more nights get wasted like they’re currencies being exchanged on the daily. But even still, a dollar bill gets changed, reused till it expires in a matter of dust but a cycle of 24 hours doesn’t last, its matter doesn’t change or recycle It just passes. When you don’t pay attention to your existence, your own matter and being, gets recycled. Or more accurately, it withers. We die of old age when we forget our own lives and or others forget our whole purpose. Some say we die when we are forgotten, but what about the soul, where does it get recycled to? Some point to religion and say it goes to a another dimension entirely, but items for our realm never do that. They don’t suddenly disappear, except. Time. Time is the only form of matter that is fully temporary, and yet time is what makes matter get recycled.
When our bodies die, our soul passes with time. Days ago I knew what it looks like to have your soul disconnect from your body and wander time. A pattern screamer. A pattern screamer is what lurks when a soul is forced to continue without any tangible form of matter to cling to. Pattern screamers exist, well, try to exist in the holes of our reality, lapses of cognition of our own existence. For when I was forced to lay my mind around the knowledge of pattern screamers, I withering my own time. I withered my soul by procrastinated on my work, my reason for existence, and caused something.
A soul was likely wandering about, looking for a desperate place to pander into. And it saw a decay of time in front of it. The soul of course took the opportunity when the feeling of existence or lack thereof came to its senses. It came into our reality because of a anomaly in my nature. To be lazy would go against every idea of surviving yet it exists. Laziness wastes time, our soul, and pushes needs away. This anomaly of function in our realm came upon the soul, wrapping around it. Our reality warped around the confines of a soul without matter and threw up nothing. At least it should have been.
A thing doesn’t need a physical being of matter to consist of matter, it just needs to be remembered. And when the soul was warped into our reality, it defied all reality and created a sound. A scream in my kitchen. The sound of a scream emanated a source of fear in me. The want to gain cognition of this occurrence, it formed the soul further. It was a soul until I had thought of it. Now it was a pattern screamer.
Now, I could feel a wind inside my home. Shivers running course through my body made the wind worse. The soul was forming. It was desperate. It Tried so hard to keep my full attention. But I was scared, scared that this disturbance in our reality was occurring to me. Like an animal I was scared, I tried to block the sounds and sight of wind pushing papers around its nonexistent presence away for primal fear. A child closes their eyes and ears when faced by something beyond its understanding. They fear the thought of the predator of unknown origin would turn over them and ignore the prey it set its eyes upon. A child fears so much that the gaze of a unknown predator would disappear if they didn’t pay cognition to it, and they would be right. Not because a predator would ignore a fearful child, but because the thought of pain closing in the child’s mind would be worse than the actual pain of claws wrapping around their precious body and death occurring.
The child wants the predator to be forgotten. I want the anomaly to be forgotten. But alas, it doesn’t work. For when I opened my eyes and ears I could feel a presence, a sixth sense came to me about an entity near me. I didn’t hear it, smell it, touch it, see it, taste it. I just felt it, not as one would feel a drop of temperature, but how one would feel luck going against them when betting. And most of the time. Most of the time, they would be correct.
it was still there but I tried my best to ignore it. Even though it was still existing inside my head within in the form of a thought, it was not powerful enough to create any form of matter, for fear is one of the most powerful forms of thought. We linger on a presence that created fear in us, making it exist for as long as we wither. We spread the knowledge of a danger to others, resonating with them. They too linger on the presence of a danger and add the cognition of danger to their library of entities to fear. There I sat, withering until my mind forgot, but in the back of my mind I knew. I knew that the pattern screamer would exist forever. That is why this digital writing is displayed on whatever device you are reading this on. The knowledge of this entity, and the occurrence of it will cause reality to falter.
More souls will be freed. Why I’m doing this is not something I can occur. For it is not me who is writing. It’s the pattern screamers