Random Tid-Bit #1
The blackness was all around. The void. Pressing, stifling. A black cloak of nothingness. Clinging to every curve and line, stifling every movement. With every rise and fall of his chest it grew tighter and tighter. Ever tighter. Slowly crushing, ever so slowly. Death. Sweet, Blessed death. So slowly approaching. A lover upon the horizon. Gazing back with cold eyes devoid of thought and care. With hair stiff with darkened blood. Wounds upon lily white flesh, so long drained of that precious red tracery that is life itself. Great reams torn open in that white, lily skin. Maggots festering, broiling. Bubbling, churning within their caves and burrows of flesh and bone. She stood there, gazing at him, beckoning to him with fleshless fingers. Her voice lifted, a hollow, high keen that no earthly creature could bring forth. His lullaby. But the darkness had him, the cloying oil thick void that had enveloped him. It brought him closer to her lipless smile, but so slowly. So painfully slowly. That was when he heard it. The faint plip-plop plip-plop. He turned his head towards the sound. Pure and utter terror clinging to his heart tighter than the endless void of blackness. In the darkness the fangs gleamed with a sickly yellow glow. Like a greasy tallow candle, faint, guttering, but so bright in the darkness. Ruby red blood coated the crescent curves. Dripping in a ceaseless cascade that matched the staccato of his own heart. Plip-plop plip-plop. Eyes stared out at him, hollow, as green as the fire of the wicked. The eyes of no animal that man has ever seen. The eyes of a beast of nightmares. Nay. It surpassed even that. Those eyes tore him apart piece by piece, stitching his broken body back together with agonizing stitches only to tear him apart once more. Its breath crossed the distance between them, the wailing of the wind as it pushed itself through the crevices and dips of the mountainside. He felt it overcome him, hot and putrid. Sticky and sweet. Coating his body as the void pressed against him. But the beast did not seek to bring him closer to the Angel of Death. It sought to bring him to the very brink. But always it would pull him back. Dragging and screaming. Then it would send him down again. A mongrel on a leash. Sent into the badger's den and yanked back out. Over and over. Endless. Ceaseless. Torment beyond word itself. He turned his eyes to the Angel of Death. Begging her to end it. To call to him. But she merely laughed a voiceless chuckle. For she enjoyed her games with the beast. She enjoyed her eternal frolic with the cruel monster known only as Life.