You are being ripped apart, your whole existence torn to shreds. You’re numb, but at the same time you’re morbidly aware of the sensation of your body being torn apart, disintegrated into nothing but mere pixels by the glitched out space around you. You deserve worse.
Jake. Jane. Roxy. Everyone. You weren’t there. You could have done something, anything, if only you had been there. Why didn’t you try harder to get to them? Why weren’t you faster? Why didn’t you do something? Anything.
You could stop. Pull yourself out of the shitty jpeg artifacts consuming you, try to figure things out with this blue Jake-adjacent guy, but no. You aren't going to do that. There's nothing to fix. Nothing to save. Even if there was, what use would you be? You have already fucked up immensely. There's no way you will be able to contribute anything beneficial to the aftermath of this. Why?
Because you failed.
You think for a moment that you might choke to death on your guilt before you die, like somehow you can beat every atom of you getting destroyed to the punch, but then everything stops. You’re not thinking. You aren’t breathing. You aren’t doing anything. Maybe you’re actually dead.
As quickly as the feeling came, it passes. Your lungs fill with air again. The pain is gone. You’re still alive. When you open your eyes, what you see makes your desire to die a thousand times stronger.
I deserve this, you think.