-- Patient Log: 7B -- Entry 4
Subconscious Manifestation Transcript
The dream was the same. I'm gardening again. The soil is rich and black, but it’s not soil. It’s thick, like crude oil, and it clings to my fingers. It whispers. Not with a voice, but with ideas. It tells me about the beauty of decay, the perfection of entropy. It says my skin is a cage.
The flowers have eyes this time. They don't blink. They just watch me as I work, their petals iridescent with oily light. They hum a tune that makes my teeth ache. A happy tune. A hungry tune.
I planted a seed. It felt warm in my palm. When I pushed it into the black soil, I didn't feel dirt. I felt flesh give way. My own. I woke up with a black smudge on my stomach. It doesn't wash off. It’s growing. The whispers are louder now, even when I'm awake. They say I’m finally blooming.