FRAGMENT II – THE BONE AND THE STONE
Recovered from the fractured ruins of the Sheer. A voice carved itself into stone to resist evaporation. “I write to carve,” it said — “I write so I don’t dissolve.”
the Guest
🜃 Earth
[File 2.III / Sheer sector / Collapsed wall / Signal continuity: 57%]
Traced across a collapsed wall in the Sheer. Vertical incisions on metal plate fragments; reconstructed via inverse-pressure transfer. Surface continuity recomposed by the Guest.
It is no longer time to remember.
It is time to resist.
[signal desync // packet loss 9%]
The Sheer is dry. It hasn’t rained for months. They say it never does. Here, you only hear the sounds that never echo.
The subject is anonymous. Perhaps a survivor from the Centers, perhaps only a body refusing to evaporate.
The writing is vertical — cut open, desperate, like screams halved into sentences.
I stopped writing to speak.
I write to carve.
I write so I don’t dissolve entirely.
I remember the hraun — the black fields that never grew back,
lava made into promise.
People called it land, but it never forgot it was fire.
He says he tried to sleep, but sleep no longer trusts him. Each time he closes his eyes, something wakes him before it becomes dream. He calls that threshold “the flint” — a rough edge between thought and fall.
I don’t seek memory.
I seek weight.
I want every word to hurt to the touch.
[tactile feedback // pressure spike]
He speaks of the days before the dark. He calls them the lucid years. He says you couldn’t touch anything without leaving a digital trace. Every gesture was data. Every body mapped.
We were archives that thought we were alive.
Now we are lives afraid of becoming archives.
He walks alone. Writes on walls. Eats when he stops to tremble.
[wind feedback // static overlay]
He says he buried someone. Maybe a name, maybe himself. In the Sheer they use stones to cover what they don’t want to remember.
The last thing I touched was warm.
Not a person.
An unspoken word.
The last line reads, scratched shallow:
I carved my body into a sentence: “Don’t forget me. Not even as dust.”
Then silence. Only wind. And the stone — which never answers.
⟟ [language: Icelandic]
hraun — “lava field”; mentioned by the subject as a place where land remembers fire, and words harden into silence.
Note from the Guest:
Some choose the dark as refuge.
Others carry it on their backs.
In the Sheer, every step is a trace trying to remain.
Archive: 2.III / Sheer / Broken Sector / Wall 6A
Seal: 🜃
Recall Code: “I write so I don’t dissolve.”