The author Snoutmol is used to being rejected. His writing depicts dark and disturbing things sometimes, not because he likes it, but because that is how he experiences life, and, like anyone, he can only write what he knows.
He has lain, restrained, on a hospital bed, terrified of the nurses, who were really zombies, and hearing demonic voices talking to him. There was no escape but all he wanted to do was run until he fell and skinned his knees but kept running until his entire body was grated to bits by the rough ground. He's crazy, basically.
Rejection always hurt him, but he was relieved, at least, to escape Hermertia alive. The only danger was himself: his suicidal thoughts that bubbled like boiling water, and the whispers, that he still sometimes heard, "max, max, kill yourself..."
Everyone in hermertia was against him. They said they would never accept him, ever, and that they did not want to be associated with him. He had been angry at them, and he had yelled "Asshole!" at the entire mob, but like everything else this quickly wrinkled up and blackened like fodder, fueling their fire of hatred.
He threw his book down, in anger and exasperation, into the flames [WARNING: NSFW]."Fuck this book!" he yelled. "I don't even care about this stupid fucking book." He ran, throat burning, about to cry.
He knew that the book would not redeem him. He knew that he would always be a reject. He longed for a community that would care about him and love him. He still wanted his home to be Hermertia. He liked the hermertians. They were all good people. That's why they had rejected him. Because they were all good people.
His application was bad for too many reasons, yet he was stubborn, and he did not change it despite being given numerous suggestions. He deserved his sad fate. Now that he was alone, he could continue being stubborn with his ways, and he could continue to do whatever he wanted.
Well . . . not whatever he wanted. He couldn't do everything he wanted. He wanted something and someone to love. He wanted another chance with Hermertia . . . Even though he knew, as they had told him, they would never, ever accept him.
He thought of going back to Hermertia wearing a disguise.
No, he thought. I would have to reveal myself someday, and they would not take kindly to my deceitfulness. Worse, they might guess who I was before I told them.He spent many days barefooted in hell, the nether, punishing himself. He begged for death, to release him from his loneliness. The soul sand was cooler than the netherrack. It didn't burn his feet quite so badly. He paced back and forth on it, crying and begging for death. After a whole week of pacing he fell, exhausted, into the soul sand.
And he heard a voice. It sounded like a distant bell. "I am a soul, Snoutmol, and I long for a body," I said from the soul sand. "I have heard your cries of pain, and I hate seeing you suffer. I know that you don't fit in among the living. Let me tell you something, Snoutmol. The dead will be kind to you. There is nothing too dark for them to hear."
Snoutmol said, "I think you're trying to trade places with me. While I like the idea, I need to explain to you some guidelines about how you would use my body, in the event that you took it. First of all, you will only wash it with kosher soap-"
"Snoutmol!" I said. "You cannot be too controlling. If I have a life, I cannot follow all your guidelines. I know that you are stubborn, but you must let me live my life as I want to live it."
After I shared some personal thoughts with him, and he likewise with me, Snoutmol agreed to give me his body. I was very grateful. I had been dead for centuries, and I had always longed to be alive, and I never thought this opportunity would come.
I have a very interesting history. Fortunately, I, myself, am a conformist, and I haven't had to feel the same terrible feelings that Snoutmol must have felt. I truly believe, from listening to all his partially-coherent ramblings, that he will be better off dead. As a matter of fact, as soon as I acquired my new set of organic ears, I heard him laughing with the other disembodied souls, loudly and happily.
But the laughter was distorted.
That's strange, I thought. The laughter sounded almost like tears. Then I realized that my new body, Snoutmol's old body, was filled with a lifetime of sorrow. My soul - which, because of being deprived of a body's senses for so long, developed its own senses - could barely see anything in Snoutmol's brain, because it was so dark.
There were cobwebs. The laughter of Snoutmol and the other souls were distorted and sounded like weeping.
What a terrible way to perceive the world, I thought.
I'll need to get this place cleaned up. I wobbled to my feet. "Thank you, Snoutmol," I said to Snoutmol. "For the body." I felt like I should say more. I felt that our intimate exchange demanded more. But the only kind words that Snoutmol's lips could easily form were, "Thank you." His lips weren't used to sharing his inner feelings with others.
I looked down at his soul, a little fondly and a little sadly, and then I walked, slowly and awkwardly, to the nether portal. I returned to the overworld, and I felt the cool breeze and the warmth of the sun for the first time in centuries. But it didn't make me happy. It was sort of like I was under an umbrella. Snoutmol's body was the umbrella.
I walked into the Mercurian Empire, where I knew, from what Snoutmol had told me, I was not welcome. But I walked into the Hermertian room of judgement anyway. The nobles around me were stunned and silent.
"He looks like shit," someone finally whispered, and someone laughed. "Why is he back?" someone asked.
Suddenly the darkness surrounding my soul became darker. The cobwebs began strangling my soul. I collapsed on the floor, in the middle of the room of judgement.
"I'm someone else," I whispered hoarsely. "I'm not who you think I am. There is so much darkness inside of me, I don't think I can stay conscious. I'll explain, quickly . . .
"There's a spark inside of me. A new life. It wants to fit in with you. It wants to learn about you and then fit in with you. But there is also so much darkness around that spark." Then I lost consciousness.
WHAT YOU KNOW:
A few months ago, a lunatic came into your halls, and you turned him out. Today, the lunatic came back, and he's still a lunatic, just a different lunatic.
WHAT YOU DON'T KNOW (SPOILER):
I am an ancient soul with an interesting history. I don't know what that history is, though. A soul doesn't store that kind of information. I only remember that, in life, I once considered myself interesting. To discover my past, I'll need to relight the mind of Snoutmol - I'll need to put a few metaphorical torches around - and, regaining control over his mind, I will have the capacity to remember what my history was.
But this will be extremely difficult. The darkness around my soul is so dense that I doubt I will ever conquer all of it in my lifetime. I can try, however.
I have a different soul from Snoutmol's. This soul is always eager to fit in, and it's agreeable, if I do say so myself.
Until I can recover my memories and discover my real name, I will keep Snoutmol's name, to honor him. I talked intimately with his soul, and I now occupy his body, and I respect the man, and I also feel terrible for him. So my name will be Snoutmol.
Right now I, Snoutmol, am lying unconscious in the middle of the room of judgement. If I don't hear some encouraging words, I am quite certain that I will die. If, however, someone pities me, and they speak to me kindly, maybe asking me a little about myself, the darkness around my soul will recede a little, and I will open my eyes and respond . . . in a manner that is agreeable and eager to fit in.