At last, I reached my destination. It is not the first time I have reached the human subconcious, but navigating their thoughts was far from straightforward. The right word, when well placed, can bring you exactly where you need to go, but one wrong move can completely unravel the path you have made, and replace it with a complicated web of emotions and thoughts too tangled to unravel in a single voyage.
At the entrance of the subconcious, I came across two doors where my previous expeditions on other humans had only revealed one. The one I was expecting appeared as a simple, wooden construction that was ill fitted to its frame, and, as usual, the lock was absent, and the manifestation guarding it appeared half asleep. I knew this door contained the more... unfortunate reaches of human curiosity, often referred to as "intrusive" thoughts, categorized by their largely self-destructive nature. I have learned that opening that door is largely unproductive and could jeopardize the voyage.
The door I was far more interested in was the larger and far more sturdy, metal door, rusted with age but still tightly sealed, and though the manifestation guarding it appeared far more attentive than the other, it made no move to stop me as I carefully worked on opening the lock that sealed it shut.
After successfully removing the lock, I carefully opened the door and took a look inside. Sealed within were memories of an absent parent, whose absenses were more often than not broken with slurred speech, hate-filled eyes, and bruises that lingered longer than the one who made them. Also present were the pains and worries caused by their words, that still festered and ate away at the mind. Sitting beside these older memories were far fresher ones, such as the final moments of a friend spent holding in their vitals and assuring them that they will be fine, scenes of violence suffused with the sounds of gunfire and the smells of smoke and blood, and of possessions left on the front lawn by a partner that had not waited fot their return.
Rolling up my sleeves, I got to work, for there was a lot to do, and the reward of seeing another patient safely off could not come soon enough.
Linkdotzip t1_j8xnhbk wrote
Reply to [WP] An Alien interrogator delves into a human mind to find out it’s secrets, and finds a large rusty locked door. The subconscious guards the door but doesn’t stop the interrogator from opening it. by The-Cannibal-Hermit
At last, I reached my destination. It is not the first time I have reached the human subconcious, but navigating their thoughts was far from straightforward. The right word, when well placed, can bring you exactly where you need to go, but one wrong move can completely unravel the path you have made, and replace it with a complicated web of emotions and thoughts too tangled to unravel in a single voyage.
At the entrance of the subconcious, I came across two doors where my previous expeditions on other humans had only revealed one. The one I was expecting appeared as a simple, wooden construction that was ill fitted to its frame, and, as usual, the lock was absent, and the manifestation guarding it appeared half asleep. I knew this door contained the more... unfortunate reaches of human curiosity, often referred to as "intrusive" thoughts, categorized by their largely self-destructive nature. I have learned that opening that door is largely unproductive and could jeopardize the voyage.
The door I was far more interested in was the larger and far more sturdy, metal door, rusted with age but still tightly sealed, and though the manifestation guarding it appeared far more attentive than the other, it made no move to stop me as I carefully worked on opening the lock that sealed it shut.
After successfully removing the lock, I carefully opened the door and took a look inside. Sealed within were memories of an absent parent, whose absenses were more often than not broken with slurred speech, hate-filled eyes, and bruises that lingered longer than the one who made them. Also present were the pains and worries caused by their words, that still festered and ate away at the mind. Sitting beside these older memories were far fresher ones, such as the final moments of a friend spent holding in their vitals and assuring them that they will be fine, scenes of violence suffused with the sounds of gunfire and the smells of smoke and blood, and of possessions left on the front lawn by a partner that had not waited fot their return.
Rolling up my sleeves, I got to work, for there was a lot to do, and the reward of seeing another patient safely off could not come soon enough.