Planets, stray bits of cosmic matter, asteroids and comets, belts, solar systems, clusters, nebulae, stars and their dust, debris, light itself…all lost into its inescapable grasp. Nothing can hope to evade it, as it feasts on any and every single thing it comes across. A silent, deadly predator, floating through an ocean of vast, empty darkness. Extinguishing the signs of activity in entire areas spanning light years. Vampire lurking in the haunting abyss, growing ever larger off of the life they consume. Leaving voids in its wake. What was there? That has been forgotten. All that remains is the pitch black stare of a lonely graveyard. But there’s nothing to mourn what once was here. Nor would it care if anything did. For it is unceasing in its gluttonous hunger. Unfazed, for all it can do is follow its path. Suffocating the heartbeats of any and all celestial bodies that are unlucky enough to be met with its presence.
The utter coldness and callousness is the most unsettling part.
It operates on logic so bizarre and foreign to anything’s understanding, it appears simply as a marauding monster in search of more vulnerable, easy prey. What sounds would it make, if it could? A haunting cackle? Deranged howls? Maybe none…none at all.
Bright rings form around its impossibly large, impenetrable core. From a distance, there’s a certain beauty that surrounds this…thing. A whirlwind of enticing and exquisite spectacle clouding the very definition of sheer terror.
Their diseased, choked, stifled breathing sounds haunt your ears, letting you know that they are all around, out there in the thick, crimson fog. Where? One cannot say, for only the strange sounds they make alert you to their presence. Maybe if you’re lucky, you’ll catch a glimpse of them, obscured slightly by the mist. Lurking, skulking, jerking, howling…watching. Eyes as green as the noxious fumes given off by the ancient reactors, the ominous noises emanating from them reminiscent of…cackling. As if they were mocking you. Knowing you were trapped, without a way out.
Perhaps there were cruel smirks hidden under their hoods and masks, toying with you agonizingly as you tried to navigate the dark, confusing layout of this old villa. But they were, truthfully, empty husks devoid of expression and feeling. Your brain wanted to humanize them…yet they were not such. Were they ever? A menacing grin or a hardened glare would’ve less horrific than that ceaseless, many mile gaze. Piercing right through the crimson fog. And perhaps that was worst of all. The utterly mechanical, otherworldly way in which these…things…moved about. Just pure, relentless instinct. Operating on nothing else but the faint, dim remnants of neurological signals. What propelled them forth? No one could say. Certainly not them, for they’d lost any and all ability ages ago.
Creaks and groans reminded you that centuries had weathered this place, in addition to the already poor design barely holding this nightmare town together. Doing your best to not alert them, footsteps as light as could be. The gas liable to suffocate you and take you as another victim. Wise to its presence, avoiding thick concentrations of the blood-colored hue. How its oppressive presence ruled the villa with an iron fist. And the watch dogs that came with it…thrived in it, lived in it, reveled in it…only seemed to reinforce how it maliciously smothered and choked the area. Forever waiting for the chance to strike. Knowing them being here kept you from going so far.
A battle of attrition. One in which you’d cave.
Leaning your head out of openings rewarded your eyes with the far away silhouette of some grand monument to opulence, arrogance, and ignorance. Its very shape, both shadowy and clear, beckoned all towards it. Daring would-be adventurers into its cold, dead embrace. Standing proud atop the hill. A fetid body propped up as a symbol of a bygone era. Oddly enough, it wasn’t hidden away by the pervasive, rancid toxin that made your skin itch and nostrils burn. Huh.
How long had you been here?
Would you ever leave?
Leaving…that was impossible, wasn’t it? You were going to die here. Trapped. Forgotten. Alone, with the exceptions of an eerie recording of a woman singing the same mournful melody on repeat echoing in certain parts, and the indecipherable ramblings of some old, isolated kook. Who somehow realized…
The putrid smell overwhelms your nostrils. Noxious odors of a most foul sort overtaking your nasal cavities, making your head hurt and your mouth numb from the fact that you could taste the rancid fumes, whilst simultaneously a terrible feeling of “my stomach is going to turn itself inside out” makes itself abundantly known. Nevertheless, you kept rowing along this rickety canoe, deeper and deeper into this unknown territory, peering around at overgrown vines, a dense fog, murky water, leering birds, odd fish, the occasional four-legged vagabond, and trees older than most families. Why did you do this? Perhaps you were looking for something. But what was there to look for, really? More like you just wanted an excuse to be a daredevil. Wanderlust, desiring another adventure. Certainly, you can’t be blamed for that, although the risks were ever-present. Not just the obvious ones. The ones you weren’t aware of, too.
Eventually, your eyes come upon a shore. Rowing up to it with not-so-subtle eagerness, your pack behind you in the canoe, you run aground, just enough to avoid having to step in the rancid liquid that seemed to comprise the river that lead up to this little inlet. What was it, exactly? Probably not entirely water. If you drank it, you’d likely feel your esophagus melt in your neck. A disturbing way to go…
Gathering your belongings, you step out and onto dry land, surveying what all was around, you spot something off in the distance. Looks to be shelter of some kind. Maybe a dilapidated shack to seek shelter in for the night. Didn’t seem like the weather would be lettering up, anyway. Faraway sounds of rumbling thunder and the fat, gray clouds hovering ominously over your head told you that you should likely get under something that would prevent you from getting drenched. Sure, you had a tent, but, as you made your way closer and closer to this (seemingly) abandoned building, you figured it’d prove to be a more comfortable and relaxing temporary home than setting up shop upon the ground below you. At least for tonight. Yes, it looked rather worse for wear, but the sight of a large cellar door around the side told you that if the main structure caved in, at least you’d be in a sublevel that would spare you any injuries or damage.
Sighing, you walked up to the cellar door, placing your hands upon the door, prepared to pull it open and descend into a safe haven.
Well, that had been the plan, anyway.
You felt a prick in the side of your neck. Something stick itself into the skin on the back of it. Possibly a needle, or something along those lines. Yelping as a result of this strange pain, you reach around and pull it out, grunting as it came free with a yank, looking at it. Holding it in your hand, you tried to look at this admittedly crude dart, wondering what exactly was on it…or in it. Worried that it might be poisoned or laced with…something. Unluckily for you, you began to feel drowsy. Eyelids feeling heavy. Hell, everything felt heavy. Before you could look around to see where this dart had come from and engage your potential assailant, you fell to the ground like a sack of potatoes.
Under the hood placed over your head, you finally woke up. How long had it been? All you could see was pitch black. Feeling ties around your neck, able to feel them every time you tried to breathe, which felt…wildly uncomfortable. Hearing the murmuring of unintelligible voices around your body, words and sentences unable to be distinguished in any meaningful capacity, which…it seemed, by the position you figured out you were in, you were facing upwards, laid upon your back on a table. Overcome by adrenaline, your heart began to frantically race, no longer overcome by any sort of grogginess. Struggling to move your hands, which were chained together, as well as your feet, two pairs of strong hands suddenly grasped your shoulders, holding your torso very firmly in place. Another pair of hands held your legs. Breathing frantically, thrashing your head around, voice muffled, shouts and threats and growls reduced to merely annoying sounds under the thick cloth of the hood.
Finally, a voice spoke in a manner that was coherent to your ears. Loudly and with perfect enunciation. Yet, the tone of this mysterious individual was eerily even and monotone. The words sending a multitude of chills through your entire body and soul, for you knew not at all what they meant.
“Child of Dunwich rise…
You have your father’s eyes…”
Howls left your lips as a curved blade began to carve through your flesh, indecipherable sigils adorning your butchered skin as you tried with all your might to fight back.
Empty and barren. Not a drop to drink in sight; not for the body, not for the mind, not for the soul. Just a patchy, arid, place that resembled the word…”cough”. Actually, not even that. Because that would imply a place like this had lungs to begin with, that air could leave its windpipe, and it could take oxygen in. No, no. This place stopped being able to breathe a long time ago.
Could get some gas at the gas station. Except it’s been boarded up. Pumps were shut off long go and the well underneath it has long since dried up or turned putrid, sticky, and just plain unusable. Whatever’s inside, well…probably went bad ages ago. Maybe some tramp has made it their hovel, or perhaps some wild critters are nesting in there; you don’t know, and a part of you tells you to not care. Answers aren’t always meant to be sought out. Sometimes you’re better off…not knowing.
On the way here, you saw farms. Bleak patches of parched grass and infertile dirt that seem to roll endlessly through the town. You wondered if they were still inhabited in any capacity. Sure, there were houses out on the edge of these many, many acres, with various buildings that stored animals, grain, hay, vehicles, tools, etc. However, there was a distinct lack of a human presence. There was the presence of animals, however. Yet…they looked…like they were rotting. Ribs showing, eyes hollow and sunken in, clumsy and stumbling movements, a weariness about that made them seem intoxicated, when it appeared, in all actuality, that they were in a state of neglect, looking off in the distance…either towards nothing at all, or something the human eye could not perceive.
So you kept trekking along. Driving down cracked roads that haven’t been maintained in…probably years. Every little crack, every sharp pothole, every chipped piece of asphalt, every section where there’s only dirt left…you can feel it in the very movements of your car. From the suspension translating it to your ass and feet, to the steering wheel communicating it to your arms and hands.
Most of the buildings you come across seem to belong to the aforementioned farms. And you see gas stations and little convenience stores here and there. But they’re, as you figured out very quick, boarded up, usually with generic names hung at the top of the building to indicate what this and that place was called (even though they looked painfully similar and just as decrepit as the last). Shoddy conditions aplenty, with some of them in such a state of disarray, they looked as though they may fall over and collapse at any second. You had to wonder…why were they all like this?
However…one spot in particular gained your interest.
Looming further on down the road, like a castle in a Bram Stoker novel, was a house. A rather large house, probably three stories tall, no doubt containing a large basement. Fences were around it, with a large amount of land surrounding the entire property. Didn’t seem like anyone owned the property. It appeared to be abandoned, given the state of disarray the structure appeared to be in. Rust forming all over, windows either smashed in or boarded up, doors halfway attached to their hinges, part of the roof caved in, shingles and bricks and wooden panels strewn about haphazardly, paint peeling off like potato skins. Who could be living here? What derelict individuals were nestled up in this kind of hellhole? What even was the story of this place? How did it get like this? Before…all of this, what had the town looked like? The people that lived here before…what were they like; who were they?
Didn’t matter. All that pondering came to a stop when you rolled up in front of the home.
Carefully, you opened the door of your car…and slowly step out. The car was already shut off, so there was little need to worry about that. So far, no signs of life. Really, there didn’t seem to be any vehicles. None that were in your field of vision, anyway. If there were, they were kept out of sight. Likely left in a garage somewhere and doomed to rot away, breaking down into unusable status after being subjected to the elements.
Keeping your knife and gun holstered for the time being, you climb over the flimsy fence and approach the front door, hand reaching out to grasp the door handle. Chills ran down your spine in heavy waves, and the urge to turn back grew stronger and stronger; you shouldn’t be here. Nevertheless, after steadying your breath and closing your eyes, your fingers wrapped around the knob, pushing open slowly…
Eyes met with the sight of…
Pitch black.
Oh well.
Can’t say anything, can’t hear anything…
The air in the place is stuffy, able to feel it pressing on you. And the dust…you sneezed a few times, shaking your head, waving your arm, trying not to trigger your allergies too much. But the most unbearable part…was the smell. It smelled as though something had died. Scratch that; not just something, but plural…somethings. Oh, the odor was overwhelming. Made your head hurt, and your mouth taste strange. Left an odd feeling in your nostrils. As well as make your pulse race. What the fuck was the source of that smell?
Gagging and almost puking…you wondered if you even wished to know at all.
Bringing out your flashlight, you turn it on.
Rusty tools and sharp objects of all kinds, covered in bloodstains, are littered everywhere. Even bits of flesh and bone adorn the blades. Speaking of flesh, blood, nd bone…internal organs are piled up upon what appears to be a kitchen counter, or sloppily placed upon plates. Torsos, some of which are dug into and some of which that have yet to be ravaged (aside from being limbless and headless), are also everywhere. Arms and legs decorate the room, some nailed to the wall…others piled up into a refrigerator that has long since ceased to be operational at all. Occasionally, there’s a head. A few are left intact. A few others show signs of having the interior scooped out. Likely devoured, as a meal. Hunks of meat are stashed in various corners, collected into big fishing nets. And, naturally, all of this had become old and expired long ago.
Frozen in place, pure horror and panic overtaking your entire being, eyes threatening to spill out of their sockets…you wonder to yourself: what should you do? What can you do? How do you proceed? Did you want to go further? Or escape, and never return to this accursed place ever again?
All you could manage to do for the time being was simply…stand there.
Swallowing hard, blinking hard and slow (this was not a dream), you pointed your flashlight at the open basement. Methodically stepping towards the crimson-colored stairs that descended into what could only be described as total darkness. You began to pray to whatever may be out there that you could leave this place alive…
Of course, whoever or whatever may be out there didn’t hear your prayers. That was confirmed by the door slamming shut behind you. Now…now you were locked in here with…with something. Stuck in an unlit nightmare. Shaking and unable to move a single muscle.
When slaughtering an animal, the first step is to cut its throat, and drain it of any and all blood…
Clawing and clamoring at the thin, frail piece of wood that serves as the only real barrier between their appetite, and your life. Desperately awaiting the chance to latch their mouths onto every inch of your skin, every bit of muscle tissue, every exposed chunk of flesh. They’re willing to trample over each other for it. Risk maiming and mauling and mutilating the others…all for the glorious prize that seemed so close…
And yet…
So far.
Mocking you with their decrepit sounds of grotesque appetite; as if to say, “found you!”
Run, or hide?
Breathing heavily, you begin to look around. The way you swallow makes the gobs of spit feel like anvils dropping into the deepest pits of your stomach. Your hands shake to an almost debilitating degree, and your legs, whilst ready at a moment’s notice to carry you off in any direction at blistering speeds, shake and wobble, already exhausted from bringing you this far. Chest heaving as the nauseous feeling tightens like a knot in your gut and in your sternum. Eyes darting around nervously, focusing on everything and nothing at the same time.
What to do…what to do…
Perhaps you could quickly search out a place to hide within these walls, under this roof. After all, they know you’re in here, but where? They wouldn’t be clever enough to figure that part out. Blindly sprinting, tumbling, growling, grasping, looking, all in search of lost prey. It wasn’t clear if they relied on scent, however. You hadn’t been too keen on observing them too closely. Especially when it seemed that, within seconds, one could be converted into a member of their wretched kind. A risk you weren’t very keen on taking. No way in Hell you were going to be turned into some mindless eating machine, trapped within your own body, no longer in control of yourself. Just compelled by pure, unadulterated instinct.
Flailing about as you’re now possessed by…
By…
Too late.
No more time to think. No more time to formulate a plan, figure things out. It wasn’t like you had any to begin with, but now? Really, the only option you have left is to act. Forget trying to hide in here (of course, your chances of successfully managing to duck out of the way of these…things…was slim to absolutely none).
Dashing for the nearest door that may lead outside, you brace your shoulder and arm, ready to barrel through to the outside world, hopefully prolonging your existence a little longer, offering you a chance to see another tomorrow. Gaining a sense of tunnel vision as your mind becomes consumed by breaking through that rectangular piece of wood separating you from life itself. Here? Here was only death.
Unfortunately, the door almost gives way. Almost. So, so close…but it manages to barely stay in place.
Blood-curdling screams leave your throat in anguish as a crowd of ravenous bodies press into you from all sides.
“I found this…odd book today. Kept in the, er, religious/mysticism section of my library. Was on the prowl for something out of the ordinary, and it definitely would appear that I got my wish. Heh. Seemed pretty interesting. I decided to check it out. Take it home with me, y’know? Lady who works the front desk looked at me skeptically when her eyes caught it. Only book I’ve seen her act that way towards. She was also strangely silent towards me. Didn’t bid me the usual farewell or anything. No pleasant chit-chat. Oh well.”
Day 2
“Started thumbing through that new book. Title’s…indecipherable. Written in an alphabet I clearly can’t read. Doesn’t look like any language I’ve ever heard of. Not even Arabic. Anyway, flipped through it to gauge it. Pages are filled with whatever writing this is. Can’t read it worth a damn. Lots of interesting illustrations, though. Creatures that don’t exist, hell, can’t exist. Really detailed depictions, too. Same with some of these monuments, buildings, locations. Holy shit. Whoever penned this thing had a wild imagination. I mean, none of these settings are possible or real, surely. But goddamn…they’re so vivid. So intricately penned. I also saw…what I guess were instructions? I assume that’s what they were. Next to and placed between what looked like really…really demented rituals and sacrifices. Good god, I hope no one ever tried any of that shit.”
Day 3
“Couldn’t…couldn’t stop thinking about that book. Didn’t sleep too great last night. Got maybe…maybe 3 hours in total, I would say? Every time I closed my eyes, I had these…really fucked up scenes just flash in my brain. Violent, gory. Kept jumping right out of bed, not sure where I was. As a result, I was out of it at work. And my mind would not stop wandering back to that…that stuff I saw in my dream. Fuck…it felt so real. Every time I tried to shove it down or forget about it, or the contents of that book, it only intensified. My boss and coworkers looked at me weird. Must’ve appeared I was having a breakdown of some kind. Now…I’m at home. Pacing back and forth. God, for some reason…I feel like I’m being watched. Something’s right behind my back, I know there is. But every time I turn, nothing is fucking there. I swear…I swear I hear very faint cackling. I have to concentrate to hear it. But it’s there. It’s fucking there…”
Day 4
“Haven’t slept all night. Couldn’t even if I wanted to. My hands are shaking. I don’t know if it’s from the gashes in my arms or the amount of pure fucking fear. Haven’t done much in the apartment. Certainly not touched the book. Just kinda…sit down and think. Occasionally have a loud outburst. Scream. Shout. Not even anything coherent. Lights went out at some point. All the power did. It’s so dark…I’m so scared. My eyes keep focusing on that bloodied knife. For whatever reason, I feel compelled to jam it right into my jugular vein. But I fear what comes after I depart life is much worse than the torments currently troubling me. Visions of snarling, gurgling, retching…things. Beings. Shit, I don’t even know how to describe them. Just aching for my flesh. Oh god…please…I’m not the praying type. Yet…I can’t help but hope. Have a little faith. Doubt it’d do me any good, though. I know there is no god here. Tried to call friends. Family. Anyone. Didn’t work…didn’t work at all. I’m alone.”
Day 5
“Heishereheishereheishereheishereheishere…demandssacrificedemandssacrificedemandssacrifice…oh god, the pain. Arms…hurt…painted sigils on…walls. What he wanted. What he needs…heneedsheneedsheneedsheneedsmybloodmybloodmybloodmybloodmyblood…wants to taste. Smells my…fear. The cackling…the cackling. I can hear it. Cannot see him. But the pharaoh. Oh, the howling…it’s…it’s terrible. Stop…make it stop. He will not stop. Hewillnotstophewillnotstophewillnotstophewillnostop. Oh the blood…it tastes sweet. I see why he wants…needs…must offer myself. Pick up the knife. The knife…through the knife, he shall taste the flesh and the blood. Yes…”
Who really would’ve guessed it was him, of all people? Of all the shitbags out there, it was him? It just don’t make no sense, don’t it?
Naw, clean cut fella like ‘im ovah there? Couldn’t have done in it. Shit, if you would’ve told me, I wouldn’t have believed ya. Part of me still don’t really believe it myself.
Except…I do.
Ya see, it ain’t never the…obvious choice, that does all this crazy sort of insanity, hackin up young girls, and chokin em, and molestin em…naw, that’d be too simple. The raggedy bum, the smelly hippie, the long-haired kid with a scowl…ha, you simple ass fool. The usual suspects ain’t the ones stashin body parts in the basement, having strange, deviant rituals with whatever’s left behind. Oh, you’d want it to be that convenient, wouldn’t ya?
Well, truth of the matter is…it’s the one ya least expect. Good lookin fella with that charming grin that makes all the ladies swoon. Smart as a whip, could go to any goddamn college he wanted. Has a good record with the law, and his parents don’t suspect a fuckin thing about him. Just destined to be another all-American shinin star. Another pride of the family.
Oh, I can see it. And I can believe it.
Keep tellin yourself that them eyes don’t hide sadism and pure iciness behind em, when you see another one of them types cross your paths.”
Charred black, removed of all color when flame is set to it. So easily is its composition just…entirely undone, all by this simple act. Light up a dancing blaze, so hypnotic in its swaying, and cause it to meet with the fragile thing whose arrogance we have fostered since time immemorial. Then…poof. Reduced to being nothing but smoldering ash.
Undone is all of its charm. Its magic spell is broken, it would seem. Suddenly, we are reminded of the impermanence, the delicateness, the…frail grasp it has on our minds.
It’s something humanity has conditioned itself into believing for aeons.
That we are all alone, in this universe, which was concocted solely for us to inhabit, by forces that are simultaneously all-encompassing and extremely personal. Able to be grasped by the frail human mind and be touched, communicated with, whilst occupying a vast, unknowable territory far beyond our existence.
Perhaps to make our chance appearance on Earth seem more important than it truly was. Blow out of proportion what was likely one of the many dice-rolls of the perpetual chaos that is the cosmos. Give us that sense of grandiose pride that told us, “we, in fact, do matter”. Mankind seems to be the only terrestrial being who has a pathological obsession with what their existence means, why it means that, where it comes from, and who could’ve caused it. As far as anyone is aware, no other creature seems to be too concerned with these matters. Maybe that’s for the best. They seem freer and happier as a result.
What does one do when they’re confronted with the fact that…maybe we are not alone, when it comes to…out there? How is an individual supposed to react in the presence of unknown factors which reveal to us that the yawning abyss, the endless depths of incalculable infinity, the gaping maw of that which we don’t know, cannot ever know, and, most controversially, shouldn’t know…we are, indeed, in the presence of something else?
Apparently, all you can do is grip the knuckles of one’s steering wheel and slam one’s foot to the gas pedal, in pure shock, absolute terror, eyes gazing at everything you did not know. Teeth clenched as the…the…thing…appeared to be actively pursuing you.
But before that, you notice the peculiar shape in the sky. So bizarre, so otherworldly, so out of place is it…that all you can do is try to block out its existence from one’s mind, in a desperate attempt to say, “that wasn’t there”. But it was. That was no dream. And it knows that you know it was there.
Suddenly, you’re not where you were before. It looks similar. Not the same, but similar. However, details are off. The scenery you were used to driving past in your car for countless months was now foreign, alien, in ways that it shouldn’t have been, for it had not changed ever since you’d come to know it.
Your heart had never pounded this hard before, and probably never since you saw that mobile, dark mass of what-the-fuck-is-that coasting over the field, hovering idly atop what you had always known to be an empty patch of desolate grass and dirt. No doubt a harsh reminder that you and your bipedal kin were not masters of reality, and did not know all, did not perceive all, did not experience or even come close to understanding all.
In those moments, aeons of belief are shattered like fine china, reduced to little else but past comforts.
It suffers from the type of hunger which never goes away. A ceaseless, agonizing, relentless, unbearable hunger that can never, ever be satiated, no matter much is shoveled into its bottomless gullet. Each hour, of each day, it roars with a horrific roar that demands an unbearable amount of material be fed to it. Sacrificed, if you will. Those who do not meet its demands are…well, never heard from again. Perhaps they became outlaws, plotting to wage war against it, hiding either in plain sight or on the outskirts beyond the reach of the monster. Maybe…maybe they just…disappeared.
Forever.
What does it hunger for? Any and all things. The soil, the water, the minerals, the air, the sky itself. And it shits out distorted, warped, twisted, mangled versions of these things. Water as black as the air it breathes out from its lungs once it has begun digesting soil and what was contained in the soil, or the rock, obscuring the blue shield of our home in the process. Does the hunger cease? Don’t be silly. The hunger…never…ceases. Even if those who work for the damned thing wanted the hunger to cease, the accursed beast would still compel them to provide nutrients, sustenance. Its influence is all-consuming, ever-expanding, never-ending. Beckoning all whoever come into contact with it to serve its tyrannical interests with a demented, insane sort of selflessness. For it considers service towards its sickening ends to be virtuous. To be one of its subjects, is to be duty-bound to it…for life. A blood pact is made with it once you join up with it. You can never leave…ever.
You think it stops there, don’t you? You think that’s the end of the line?
Oh…oh you poor thing.
We’ve only just begun.
Subjects become the prey. Whoever greases the machine, is eventually bound to become swallowed by it. Churned up and crushed, grinded into bits of meat for it to enjoy, and, maybe, make something new out of it. After all, it’s always on the cutting edge. Innovation. Progress. Always inventing. Just don’t question where all this comes from. Don’t think about it. Blind yourself to the pools of blood on your hands, my dear. Forget about the maddening screams of the wailing ghosts of all the dead that float all around and grab at your ankles from below the ground. Anyway, if it doesn’t steal your flesh, then…then it’ll just steal your soul instead. If it can’t make you dead on the outside, it’ll make you dead inside. Young, old, it does not matter. Upper, lower, you become a slave to it all the same. Fucker or breeder (because those are the only two distinctions it makes between its subjects; those who fuck, and those who breed…those who make, and those who deliver), the hammer pounds upon you all the same. The gears whir their cackling, maddening whir whether you like it or not. No consent required om your end. It’d be silly to think it ever needed it…
Not to mention, all of the…victims, subjected to its insatiable whims. Packed in dozens deep. Cramped into conditions so squalid and miserable, that it makes those of the subjects seem like paradise. Never seeing the sun. Never seeing the sky. But, wait, the sun is blocked out by thick clouds of hateful, acrid smoke, and the sky is now tinged with a dingy, decrepit, dull color that makes one’s nose bleed and eyes burn. Whole families. Fathers conditioned to force themselves on what could’ve been mates, lovers, all for the sake of creating children who will later be turned into meals for the subjects, who know not where all of this comes from, and how it got onto their plates. Cut up, beaten, burned, tortured, flogged, raped…eaten. And those who partake in all this, well…they are the dead flesh walking. Zombies that talk and breathe. Their hearts stopped beating long ago…and the blood is now in their veins. Frosty, like fresh snow during a blizzard. The pupils of their eyes disappearing as they brutalize the victims in ways that are simply too tragic to describe. And…and those with roots…who come from the ground…just slaughtered en masse. Gotten rid of. Later repurposed, stoically and precisely, with chilling precision, into…into…well, useless things that will eventually be gotten rid of immediately. Their lives worth about minutes, perhaps even seconds, of attention, at most. Deprived of lives, of a chance to exist. Trampled underfoot by the marching of the iron heel. So rhythmic, so perfect…so, so disturbing…
The world becomes warped to how it desires existence itself to be. All shall be constructed as a large, concrete rectangle. This shall be the template of the future. Built upon the holy shape of the square, with constantly observed innards kept up with by frightened, starving, weary wastrels who see no other alternative to this den of putridity and nastiness. All hail the grid, all hail the foreman and the cameras he employs to make sure you keep his god alive (it is a god, it is a god, and we must kill the god…but how can we kill the god; is it even able to be killed…can we?). But the god doesn’t need us, does it? Even without our help, it’ll never be a broken god. It won’t allow itself to fall into disrepair, allow itself to go unmaintained and lose its power. See, the god is slowly gaining more and more of a foothold, and soon, the god will be here to stay. It won’t need us, or anything made of flesh, bone, blood, chlorophyll, wood, or leaves anymore. Not to keep it going. Feast? Oh, it shall definitely still feast. But it’ll invent new ways of making sure it survives, and thrives. Becoming autonomous in the process. A free machine. An unbound deity of nightmarish proportions.
Escape? Is that an option? Maybe now. Here and now, potentially. Hopefully (gah, hope, such a funny…funny thing…heh…). While it’s not entirely too late. But the window is closing, fast. Evade, outwit, distract. Get out while you still can. Or fight, fight however possible. No matter how small, no matter how fruitless. Buck against it, swing your fist, scream at it, damage it. Just do it, in whichever way you come across or think about, even. You will weaken the grip it has on you, loosen the mental and maybe even physical chains that bind you. Refuse, resist. Nothing will change, but freedom, liberation, will start to become known to you. Do what thou wilt, because that is the opposite of its law. Not its law. Never was. Do what it wills, yes.
This…
Ah, this…
It’s all thanks to you.
What? This is what you wanted…right?
Pay your dues to the devil you have created.
Yes, penance is not cheap…is it?
Can you hear it groaning for more? Aching for more? More, more it needs…
A World In Flames 