The Thing Outside

  On the weekends I open my window. Hold. That is a lie, or at best, a half-truth. Why bother with this recording if I am going to lie? Allow me to start again.

  On the weekends I open my blinds. Not fully, but enough that the light of the sun can reach me. Enough that I can glimpse the {outside} world. It distracts me from my work, and that is reason enough to never do it at all. But I am nothing but work. You could spell out my name using only the letters W O R K. And so I found a compromise. On the weekends I open my blinds. 

  I once believed that the sun was a prism, charged to glowing by streams of magic that only the elders could conjure. Then that prism was hung in the sky by a thin cord, imperceptible to the human eye. I believed that because it was taught to me. But those who taught me are long dead. I have since found access to knowledge, both ancient and new. Crusty tomes caked with dust and machines still hardwired into shared networks. Both opened my eyes, delighting and horrifying me in equal measure. They have shattered some of my beliefs, but have solidified others into something harder than stone. Monuments that tower over all else internally, guidestones by which my cardinal directions are forever set. 

  To the best of my knowledge, there are no others still putting the old tomes onto the shared networks. Perhaps that is why I am driven to work around the clock. If I die before entering the tomes onto the networks, then the tomes die here, with me. In this wretched building, with its wretched smells. All can seem wretched, if I am not careful with my thinking. This is partly why I open my blinds on the weekends. 

  I have seen something. Something {outside}, on the days when I open my blinds. It frightened me, at first. A lifeform. My first belief was that it was an enemy, dispatched to kill me. A few people are still on the shared networks. I have been careful, but my activities haven’t remained unnoticed. For those who hate the old knowledge, my untimely demise would be welcomed. I do not put it past my {enemy} to disguise the tool of my destruction as a thing with such an innocent appearance and demeanor. But I must admit, the lifeform fascinates me.

  The lifeform seems a thing of instinct and ignorance. It has hungers and thirsts, and spends most of its time seeking methods to satiate them. At nearly every turn, it comes close to dying. It steps within inches of the all-consuming bog, and I tense, ready to watch the lifeform pulled below where it will suffocate and die. The lifeform does nothing to mask its scent. Beasts and creatures skulk and prowl, waiting for such time that they will make the lifeform their next meal. I mark their locations, spotting them with ease, yet the thing goes about its business, unaware. I will undoubtedly see it torn to shreds soon, should it not die accidentally before then.

  The lifeform has raised in me dangerous thought. I could open the door and allow it inside. I could nurture it. Fulfill its need for emotional connection, and in turn, it could fulfill mine. I could evolve it. The tomes have taught me many things. Too many things. Some of the techniques are terrible, forbidden, even, but not all. I could expand its mind, quicken its reflexes, and strengthen its skeleton. I could teach it that the sun is a prism, charged to glowing by streams of magic that only the elders could conjure. And that the prism was hung in the sky by a thin cord, imperceptible to the human eye.

  But no. The weekend is over, and I must close my blinds. There is still work to be done. This recording is in place so if my original fears about the lifeform are correct, a record of my death will be preserved. As I began this recording with a lie, I shall end it with pure truth. I long to leave the blinds open all the time. 

  It is the very reason I have decided to never open them again.