The Extraction

It felt like an escape, a cold hug soothing the aches of life as I separated myself. It also felt like tearing off an old nail from a stubbed toe, sharp and inevitable.

As I lifted myself out, I became weightless, uneasy, and felt slightly nauseated. 

My container was ageing, slowing me down. 

I longed to race with the wind, to sing with the ocean waves. 

I had to extract myself as my own voice had withered to a croak, my legs stiff like planks, uncooperative with my shrunken brain. I had wanted to sever them entirely, but the extraction was the easier, less painful choice.

Let me tell you about my skin, once buttery smooth, now rough and stale, like old bread. It happens every time, no matter what I do to stop it. I have occupied countless containers, tried every kind of skin, different colours, different textures. It all ends the same, me being unsatisfied over time then leaving.

I am a wanderer, a seeker, a creature forever hungry for experiences. I have done this a million times, numb now to the feeling of extractions. I come back again and again craving more, my existence is a drug. I have every reason to be the happiest being ever created, born with unlimited potential. However it always ends the same way: I grow restless, stifled, until I am forced to extract myself from the flesh I once called home.
I am a coloniser of worlds, yet I am limited to attaining one body at a time. I am the force that animates, bestows emotions and attachments, and ultimately brings destruction upon anything I enter. 

I am selfish, touching many yet remembering none. I enter, never intending to leave those I occupy, yet I always do, sometimes for my own pleasure and sometimes by another’s unwelcome force.

I know my power; vast, limitless, brimming with knowledge. And yet, I am but a puppet in another’s hands. I loathe being controlled. As one so ancient and wise, I should be the ultimate master. Yet, there exists an unseen entity that governs me, always in hiding, striking before I can savour even the smallest victory. Its presence is more profound than any experience across all universes, a shadow looming over my very existence.

I can move through worlds, become anything. I can rule kingdoms, and I have slain countless enemies, including myself. Yet, through it all, I have never found a way to slay this being.

Time.

To erase its existence, to free myself from its shackles, would be the ultimate ethereal pursuit. For I have been an eternal slave to one I cannot even catch with my eyes. How is this a fair battle? It’s humiliating.

It needs to end.

Tell me, is there anyone to whom Time itself surrenders?

Give me their names, and I will gladly fall at their feet.