Presented with this task, I struggled to find a way to connect the three Time monsters and present them as siblings. The difficulty didn’t come from expanding on their similarities to demonstrate their obviously close motivations. No, the problem stemmed from the connections being too close, as to almost be mistaken as the same being interpreted through various cultural differentials.

Similarities can go too deep.

So close as to steal thoughts right out of your mind and make them their own, before you ever have a chance to express it. To live life as someone whose every piece of what makes him themself can be taken by another if only expressed stronger than you can do it, is a terrifying place to be.

It’s demonic.

Siblings, yet not in human terms, but rather those whose connections divide from each other. So they don’t love, don’t laugh, don’t live, as fear of being taken away puts everything they cherish in a constant state of stalemate. They only envy the missing parts and covet them in someone else. They resent their siblings for existing but also fear being separated from them as without them they would only be parts of something incomplete, something not worth attention.

For you see they are not the same. They differ in small things that make all the difference. Variations that help them distinguish and understand one another, as well as help us see them as something other than demons.

You cannot deny the compassion felt for them kindled upon reading these lines.

In terms of those dissimilarities that make up their identity, the youngest among in terms of evolutionary importance could be considered, and justly called, Language.

There is something between a Word and the Sound it makes. They are not of the same world and now more than ever in my life does that sentiment ring true. It seems that my body and soul have put a great distance between one another since the Tunnel took me hostage. We can no longer hear each other so to keep writing this has become a very difficult undertaking.

Imagine “Me” from the outside typing the sound I think without ever being able to see it written. The “Me” you read about now is not the one doing the writing. We haven’t been in touch ever since then. It was the best strategy we could come up with: divide and conquer.
One of us is trapped in here blindly thinking of possible fates that await us, while the other is helpless without our conclusions loudly acting out without the comfort of afterthought in hopes of stumbling upon solutions in the blind. The action never reaches the thinker and he in return never comes to an understanding. Even if in places miles apart, we share the same spot: lost in pure darkness.

So I’m about to try something different: as by some manner of siblingly connection, I actually do feel him out there, much weaker than myself. I’m gonna use the remainder of my energy to sound my voice as loud as I can hoping that at one point he can find me again. But before doing this, I would like to finish my part of this story. Sensing the near end, I offer solace, for it won’t be much longer now.

See you on the other side.

Language is far more than words for We as complete beings are in a state of constant communication.

Another one of the demons goes by the name of Life Cuts.

Segments of a dream that don’t feel like dreams connect perfectly to realization upon waking. Fitting naturally in life after you arise from sleep without ever being part of it. Ever felt that? It starts to feel like a lost segment that was there at one point, but eventually cut out, leaving only a feeling of phantom limb syndrome that slowly starts to creep in place of a scar.

After a few entries about the Tunnel, I realized I was stalling. Avoiding to talk about myself because as soon as I do, that man would truly be gone. Cut up and transferred to a page to be preserved by an admirer; someone nostalgic and envious of a life led; someone only learning from my experience.

Yes, the Life Cut curse is part of me as it is part of anyone else *****(insert adjective here) enough to admit it; as life truly does cut in a most painful way.

The final sibling is one that we already mentioned, one that stole from my life dearly. The one calling itself The Moment. In the way of life’s unpredictability, this also shows irony as not being able to remember Lan has made his impact on me that much clearer.

So yes, to use this example -his life!- as a poignant learning tool, let me conclude that the “Three False Demons” don’t actually lie to us. They fabricate truth that we can live with. They truly are -false- demons for those who come to see this blessing.

Without them, we are only cursed by ourselves.