The Nicest Badass From Another Universe

Entry I — The Heat Within Tonight, well same as all nights lately. I feel as though my brain is boiling inside its fragile cage. It started as a fever, a low heat, a faint burn at the edges of my thoughts, but soon every idea began to melt, and created this nameless broth. Memories lose their shape, words twist, and I can almost hear the sound of my nerves collapsing. A  hiss, like flesh pressed too long against the flame. There’s a numbness that follows. A stillness, a silence that should be relief but isn’t. It’s not peace, but the absence of feeling, as if a flame burning away the part of me that once cared. My vision swims in haze, my skull throbs, and I wonder if I am becoming less human each passing hour.  Sometimes I imagine I can see the smoke curling out of my own mind, as if I’m watching myself fade into nothing.  And sometimes - this is the hardest part - I realize I don’t even know if I want to fight it.

From the dream I saw on October 9, 2009… PART I: It started like most dreams do… a haze… a shifting space where time didn’t quite exist, or didn’t move in any way I recognized. And suddenly… I was on the set of Merlin. But it didn’t feel like a set. It didn’t feel like fiction. I wasn’t sure if I was watching a show… or living inside another era entirely. Somehow, the story and the world had folded into each other. The line between them blurred, until they became one. And it felt real - not in a logical way, but in the way a place does when your heart reacts before your mind can explain why. Like I’d stepped into a version of the world I was never meant to find… but somehow had. A world suspended between stone and silence… and something I can only call familiar. Stone corridors, candlelight, velvet shadows… Everything around me breathed like history - but the kind that still knew my name. It didn’t feel made-up. It felt like a memory I didn’t know I had. I wasn’t a visitor. I wasn’t w...

There was this girl… her name? Doesn’t matter. Could’ve been yours. Could’ve been mine. She talked too much. Always had. Always did. Always would. Not in that “I love to hear myself speak” way. It was more like… If she didn’t let it out, it would eat her alive. All of it. T he stories, the memories, the pain she never asked for but somehow inherited. Words pour out too fast, too deep, too much. She tells you about her first heartbreak before you’ve even finished your drink. She brings up her childhood trauma mid-laugh. And by the time you blink, she’s already saying, “Sorry, that was weird, wasn’t it?” But she can’t stop. She doesn’t know how. Because somewhere deep inside her, where the hurt still sleeps in the fetal position. She believes if she stays silent long enough… you’ll disappear. She had this brain that moved too fast. Tangents everywhere. She’d lose her point halfway through and circle back like she was chasing a thread she dropped in the middle of the sentence....

After all these years, they had grown to despise each other… Yet, in a world not quite real, they met once more… Rage burned between them, their hands aching to wrap around each other’s throats… But in the span of a single heartbeat, the world froze… And he let go… Let himself fall into her lap, his body trembling as he clung to her… His arms wrapped around her tightly , desperately holding on, like she was the last thing keeping him afloat… And he wept… “Damn it…”