We wander through life sometimes, but then we get slapped into the darkness. Slapped so hard we are on islands. Plurality because of this idea of wandering. But no pluralities exist on this island.
The first thing you see is lights that cast shadows. But as you walk further something else exists in the dark...
You just keep walking, And then you gallop to a brisk pace. And then you see a series of lighthouses in a fine little row. Dread, was never the end. But it was cool because the light houses sit parallel across each other. They highlight a trail. All of the lighthouses are blood red but what they spit out is hot white light. The freshness of the air smells like mint. But as you keep walking it seems infinitesimally quandrous. It looks like it just goes on forever . There is no Chthulu waiting for you to make a sound, a move. There is just you and these light houses. --
You find a diary on the ground but it has a very neon glow to it. You pick it up but of course the words are fucking jarbled. But deep in the harsh wind swept sands of this land there is something pink sticking out of the ground. A pink compass? Odd, you find yourself yammering to your conscious as your conscious yammers back. There was never a fucking door. This was not like Psychonauts, where the captivating institution was your mind.
And of all the oddities a seagull flies downward and picks a spot to land. He glides along what you perceive as mucky water but he doesn't land there. He chooses a rather different spot and enticed by the compass. The glow. The shimmer. But when he lands you are extremely horrified to see that he is missing both eyes and he's the color of blood. But it is blood and black feathers that engulf him and mesh and meld with the blood and feathers. Suddenly, now your hand is bathed in blood-- darkness was always there. But now it is you running as far and as wide as you can. The grains of sands filtering through your big and small toe. But a terrible swelling is within your body. Guiding light makes the way. With the compass it ever points towards the end. Always, towards the end and never behind. The ground rumbles...