Beat of an Insidious Heart

They don't want to remember me.
I can feel the heavy rotten air around me move as I slowly stretch my ancient dusted body. Did I fall asleep again? What even is sleep for me anymore? Wake and dream have long since fused into one, and I am aware of all things around me at any time. My eyes may be closed but...do I still have eyes? Maybe they withered away with time. It does not really matter, I suppose. I can see it all with perfect clarity anyway. The broken, maimed, and molten stone peaks of old black stone. How they grasp at the dry air like the fingers of a desperate man. Thirteen they are. Oh, what a weighted number! Doombringer, sign of the cursed day. Ah to be frightened again by such superstition. Thinking about that tiny, fragile human being of old, it almost makes me laugh. If I still can do so that is. I do not need to see to know that my presence has diminished. That I am nothing but the remnants of a... was I a man or a woman? I seem to have forgotten. Does it even matter at this point? I am in no position to even care, this heap of shadow and will, caught in black cloak.
Rising from my seat atop a blackened stone my body almost feels like it wants to ache. All this time and it still remembers. Because that is all it is. That I am. A memory. A shape from the past. Something so many would love to forget. This time I cannot help it. A chuckle makes its way from my presence. Oh, what a low, blood rippling sound! Not that I really hear it. How could I without ears? I feel it like a bird would feel the movement of the air around him. Air that is what I have become. Air and the memory of flesh. But that is what they fear most isn't it? The memory. The thought. Knowledge.
Letting my gaze move around I cannot help but marvel at what lies around me. I doubt there is a place more desolate than this. Then again time has moved since I last saw the world. Man is quite a destructive animal. Quite stupid as well. Perhaps someone has created a place that equals this ocean of half molten green. No material, just green. Putrid, acidic, so abominable to behold. No stone. No matter. Just green that gathers around the desperate fingers, hugs them, chocks them, flows down cracks and crevices. No. No man could create something like this. Well, they could. But They don't want them to know that they can. One revelation leads to another. Such is the way of man and its endless curiosity. Question would follow question, one after another. And one day they might even question how their current world came to be.
Another presence fills the air and for a moment I find myself wondering what is happening. But then memory returns. They need feeding again. They drain it. The presence that is me. I can feel the energy rise from within the black cloak, the ancient material billowing like it was caught in a great storm. Long does it continue. No that I would know, really. Time has no meaning down here. For what do they need it this time, I wonder? They are draining more than usual. Maybe another of their foolish wars? Or one of those heaps of vanity, they call monument. Or even--- I can feel the smile on my face. An emotion. Cruel satisfaction splitting the air inside my cloak. No. No ordinary action. They are Calming someone! The fools are forced to do so again! Oh, humanity! How I love your endless curiosity! How They must curse it at every step! Yes! Go on! Calm the fool! Erase the unfortunate soul that dared to question! That dared to peek behind the veil.
It is what you fear most is it not? That someone will know. Know what it is that made you whatever pathetic form you are today. Know what exactly your world is built upon. Your technology. Your freedom. Your peace and war. Your everything. But they can't! No no no no! They can't know! It would destroy them. Crush their spirits and the vision you have worked so hard to create. And so, you cull them. Everyone that nears the truth by even the smallest, tiniest amount is a threat. The sensation has stopped. At some point, I seem to have raised my arms toward the dark storm that is the sky. A tormented ocean of black clouds, swirling, cascading, breaking, and reforming. Always torn apart by bolts of abominable lightning. But no thunder. No sound is made in that faraway place. No sun shines here. No moon to caress one's face with pale rays of light. Only the green shine from below to show this land in its utterly desolate glory.
And above...Oh above the clouds...there far above...yes, I can sense You. There you and your...what was the word? Friends? Companions? Does it really matter what meaningless term I assign you pathetic lot? Yes, I sense You. Arrogance and hunger and fear, oh what a wonderful mix. You still fear me yet have wrapped yourself into the comforting memory of my defeat. You think me eternally caught down here. Imprisoned and chained, a mere pawn in whatever plan you have concocted in that heap of flesh, bone, and fluid you call head. Go on. Dream that dream of yours. But deep down You know, don't You?
Know that I let you dream. That I let you play that little game of yours. That I could leave here at any time. You know it. And it gnaws at your souls. At the very core of your mind. The eternal question weighing you down since our last meeting. Why? Why do I not emerge into your world? Why do I not come to you and bring down that house of cards you build with such care? Ah, my friend. I need no eyes to see you torture your brain for an answer. And it gives me so much joy...is it that what I feel? It doesn't matter really. What matters is that the answer is in plain sight, nay it already stabbed you in the eyes you fool!
I could end you. Destroy the hollow lie you so arrogantly declare paradise. But why would I? My mere existence has turned your life hellish. Never a moment of true rest for you or your companions. Every second of your existence you spend worrying about that day. I can sense your presence here, how you watch over this abyss with your third eye. How you carefully try to sense the ancient beat of my corroded heart. If it has stopped or still moves and both possibilities are nightmares to you can never escape. And you lie. Ceaselessly. It is impulse by now. A second nature. You lie to your people, your friends and students and worst of all yourself. Your entire world is based on lies and the pain it gives you every day is endlessly more amusing than crushing you in battle could ever be. No, I do not wish to crush your little facade. Not now at least. There may come a time when to amusement you provide me wanes.
Oh, what am I saying? There will be a day when I break from here. Probably. Maybe. Who knows really? Gods willing, I will leave you be even. Merely an observer as your illusionary world crumbles around you. That could be fun. For now, I will remain and feast upon the sorrow of your own creation. But who knows? It may be in strange aeons or just a few days, but I will return. Wait...Why does that sound so familiar? Oh of course! A faint memory returns. Right, you used to say it all the time back, then didn't you? The Hero always returns at the right moment...