Axe

This Memento has taken the form of a felling axe.

It stands as a symbol of forging your own path—of staying true to yourself, and cutting free from the suffocating pressure to conform. In this age, only one behavior is socially tolerated: contributing to the illusion of a perfect, cheerful world. A world where genuine emotion, opinion, and struggle are discarded in favor of the facade.

It defies the relentless censure of all things that disrupt the illusion. In this world, anything that does not conform to the performative harmony is met with silence or erasure. The result? A fragile society—crippled by anxiety, disconnected from reality, and unwilling to challenge its own reflection. Settled into comfortably upholding the mass delusion–this path being easier than questioning it all.

You step outside the log cabin and take a deep breath.
The crisp morning air enveloping the woodland hillside brings a smile to your face. Last night was cold and firewood is running low. You make your way to the toolshed to collect your felling axe.
As you walk something feels off, as if the rustling of fallen leaves is the only thing your ears pick up—the world around you is quiet. Unnervingly so.
No birds sing their song, no wind moves the branches—nothing, only the growing absence of sound. The more this feeling of unease settles in, the darker your surroundings seem to get.
Instinctively, you quicken your pace. You hurry inside the shed and grab your axe, the familiar weight easing your mind for just an instant.
Then, out of nowhere, three loud bangs on the wooden door. The shrill contrast of the sudden noise so frightening you almost drop your axe—which by now feels less like a tool, and more like salvation.

You muster your courage, swing open the door and rush out, blade ready to carve.

Nothing—

You look. You listen.

Nothing—

Until, distant, yet clear, you hear music.
Out of the nothingness that surrounded you, it feels like being drawn by a siren’s song.
You follow the sound, axe firmly in hand, until you reach a clearing. There you find an abandoned stage.
Confused and on your guard, you make your way up. Instruments lie forgotten on the floor, no sign of their owners to be found.

As you investigate, a violent push shoves you off the elevated platform. You fall down into a single mass of faces, bodies and limbs. They are pushing you from all sides, you stumble and fall, clambering back up, only to trip and fall again into a different direction.

Something snaps.

You start blindly swinging your axe into the faceless mass of flesh and limbs.
Blood and gore spatter everywhere.
Lukewarm viscera clings to your skin.
The taste of iron seeps into your mouth, as a crimson tide washes over you.

This goes on for what seems an eternity, until you are alone amid what seems a scarlet sea.
You fall to your knees, mind swirling into madness—

You open your eyes.
You are alone in a forest clearing.
Surrounded by nothing but trees and fallen leaves.
You reach out to pick up your axe when you notice an envelope lodged underneath it.

An envelope bearing your name.