Ream

There's no getting away from the beast .

Feeding reams into the maw of the beast, it feels as if there is no end to what passes. Ream upon ream, feeding, always feeding, and out it spits it once more, only to be fed more, and more, and more... in and out. Always feeding. Always feeding, and the noises of the beast, the soft gurgles and chugs and whirs drone into monotone. Always the same, always different, always feeding, always...

Always...

Always...

Always.

Place

It is dark. Now. Then. Sometimes. Sometimes it is light, but sometimes it is dark. Amidst an eternity of feeding, passing along, sending the jobs amidst the whir and the chug and the gurgle and the spit-out reams, the beast is always hungry. Always demanding, insisting; it must be fed. There is no time. Only now. And now. And now. It is always now. The room lingers eerily, ceiling of the cave low-suspended over the gurgling and the whirring and the feeding, walls aloft, distant, unimportant... a little light trickles in. Sunlight. Moonlight. Only the now, and it is always now in this place. No future save for now. No past save for now...

Or is there? It is so hard to remember here. So hard to think, surrounded by emptiness and blankness and an unending need to feed the beast . Feed the beast its reams. Nothing else matters.

Feed the beast.

A strange urgency lingers in the room.