Beyond Oblivion

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The cave stretched on for eternity, true darkness enveloped the world around him. Nothing guided him but the stones beneath his hooves. Life and death had become synonymous, he lived walking in darkness, and after he was done living, he would again, see darkness. He managed to survive- not the dangers ahead of him, the past's. He seldom took more than three tentative steps deeper into the cave without shaking violently, the air was colder than anything he had experienced before. It was as if the arctic's deathly wind resided here temporarily, just to mock him. Out of melancholy itself, he raised the P08 to his head, his hoof trembling. He found the strength to pull the trigger, put his foreleg refused to stay still. He shut his eyes, and pulled the trigger.

BANG

He hit the cold stones of the cavern floor, the pistol fell down to his side. He masochistically prayed that when he opened his eyes, he'd be dead. Deep breath. He opened them, and the darkness made it seem as if he was, but he soon realised it was not so. He was very much alive- physically, but perhaps not mentally. He soon found himself hungry, and was puzzled at the thought- whatever happened before he went into the cave, he certainly didn't eat. He sighed deeply, he wanted to save the kerosene lamp for later, but he needed to find something to eat.

Thick, green moss grew along the cavern walls, its texture rough, but slimy. Nočná found nothing else but it, not leaving much option. He raised a hoof and pulled a sample off, the moss acting like seaweed, folding over his hoof, dripping water. He lowered his head and gave a quick sniff, it was absolutely repulsing, the scent of- something he had not smelled before.
Whatever it was, it brought about queasiness, its foul odour permeating throughout the air, travelling up his nostrils. He shook violently, throwing the moss down at the ground, where it make a wet smack of sorts. He felt like vomiting, but he hadn't eaten anything to forcibly eject. He closed his eyes, asking himself metaphysical questions.
"Why am I here?" "Why does this exist?" "What is the meaning of this?"
He recoiled from the cavern wall, and spit onto the floor. "Fuckin' hell!" He sighed; he may be a masochist, but this went too damn far. He once again glared up at that damned moss, trying to eradicate it with his eyes. He had become irrational, driven by the fear of death. He wanted to live, but couldn't find himself the courage to consume 'whatever the fuck that stuff was'.
After moments of deep breaths, he coaxed himself into at least taking a bite of it. He raised another piece of moss, bringing it to his mouth. He felt violently ill, deathly even. He opened his mouth and pushed it in, swallowing it, not even daring to taste it. Despite his efforts, whatever small portion had touched his tongue left a mortifying flavour. He fell to the ground, hitting the floor carelessly. He scrambled about, attempting to throw up the moss, the flavour of it; be it possible, the memory of it. He found no such luck, that dastardly substance had already gone down his throat, beginning its journey in his digestive system. He cried, not a cry of despair or desire, a cry of pure terror, something unfathomable to those who had not experienced such emotional pain. Inside his brain, those damn neurones fired, giving him these horrible emotions. He prayed to whatever was out there- God, Luna, Satan, whatever! He pleaded for death to take him, carry him away from this world, absolve him of these sins to himself. His entire life crashed, obliterating whatever was left of his sanity, devouring his conscious mind.