The Hermit thought himself dead a million times before within a million. He sees again, chemically, where spirits of all universes gather around his table, saying, “Hermit! You are chosen! You are the God!”
Spinwheels and festivals in mind, a god-mind. He sees the truth; he holds it inside. The skies, he exhaled over above; the oceans, he poured from his exhales and smiling tears; the lands, he mixed the exhale and pouring of his own, before ripping out his heart. He gave himself to all. The angels and other Gods celebrate him at the dining of his Heaven he fashioned. Families gather, children sing; joy is abounding with every breath. His mind brought us home; his ways purest. He is of a genius mind, and his heart is the fountain of love he has offered since the beginning.
A brother approaches, who rejected the Hermit, the brother now teary-eyed. He just looks with a pouting smile that holds back looming fears of all time, saying to him, “I love you, brother. I love you. I’m sorry, man. It’s okay.” His voice breaks constantly, his eyes drowning and red in weep.
The brothers hold each other, Lucifer forgiven forever—
“No! Why did you do this to yourself?!” Lucifer is loudly worried in a tearful heartbreak sound.
“What!? What!? Turn it off! Turn it off!” The Hermit starts pushing the air through the straw of the vice-grip, claustrophobic throat.
The Hermit is in the corner of a small room on brown carpet, yellow-hued familiarly, like a million times in a million times familiar. Maybe without beginning, always ending. He is blue at the feet and the hands, and his veins bulge while the Lucifer is sitting on his heart, yelling, “Repeating! Repeating! I will spill your thoughts through psychotic rambles! They will know!”
In a raging bite, the Hermit bites at the Lucifer, clawing, punching, and—
“Hey! Stop moving! I am trying to help! They are almost here!” The brother desperately wants to help, calming his brother from fighting his care.
Hermit is feeling a vibration stir between every vision point, whirling colors, and eyes stare back at him. Colors mirroring bitter omens, spitting revelations caustic at him with funeral fumes of phosphorus fears.
Colors rolling glows cover an empty vacuum of air. Crinkling skin cackles carry sickness to the mind, trancing him into an unfathomable state. Prickly piercing pressures. Electricity dancing a stupid waltz, unsympathetic to autonomic machinery.
Can’t. Can’t. Can’t. Make it stop. Can’t.
“Do you want your darkest secrets to be seen and known by the whole world?” Lucifer sneaked into a clatter pound pulse ear, cold, hot, and sweaty.
Help.
“Brother?” Hermit voices lowly, the skin stretched tight in red and blue bulges. Again, he muscles out, as needle through a stroke-stack, “Brother…? Brother…? I—don’t—”
His warm wet urine covers his legs and pants below his brother, and the Lucifer noises in the quietest secret, “You are God; there is nothing else. This moment is your awakening.”
The boy stares with large, dome-shaped black eyes dilated, unblinking. Dying before a crying brother, being told how much he is loved. The heart pumps in clammy slams and ripping stretches, in a giving-in suspension break-heart beating. Hermit was once again poured into clay, and then spilt like Hermit. His heart stopped abruptly.
Back to sleep.