"Hush, now. Shhh...hushaby, baby. Shhh...quiet now. Just over there, can you see him?"
"I can."
"Isn't he getting big? Looks more like you everyday. Acts like you, too."
"Awe, I ain't so bad, am I?"
"Not so much that I can't handle. You have your sweet moments. I think those are the reason why I stay with you."
"How'd he get so big?"
"Don't be surprised, hon. He's twelve now, almost a man grown."
"Jus' so hard t'believe. Does he know me?"
"Do you want to go and talk to him, love? Alright, then! Go see him. He's been very eager to see you."
"He has, huh?"
"Yes, he has. He wants to tell you about how his skin rots off and grows back as scales. How he plays with the other kids, tearing out their eyes and gorging himself on their innards."
"Wh-what?"
"Love? What's wrong?"
A searing pain lanced through his body causing him to buckle over, leg shooting out to catch himself. The black hotness like the suns bake his insides, making him sweat profusely. His foot slid on the brown and bright red blood. A rumbling emitted from the walls, thrumming like wardrums, each beat sending a wave of agony through him like a liquefied explosion. It was like breathing.
Forcing himself to look up, he spies the great slab of cerulean gemstone and watched a reflection that had no real presence vanish out of range, and then like a sigh the stone merely vaporized and a few chunks of coal tumbled down, splashing into the blood like slop. Now there were bodies everywhere, unknown faces staring out with empty eyes or sockets. They were burned and torn and skinned; most had their intestines and other organs flowering out of their chest cavities and stomachs.
The walls pulsated like an artery, blood spurting up behind the cloudlike substance that roiled and churned, groaning in ecstasy. Every sound a lick against the man, forcing him to his knees, and all he could do was wrap his arms around his stomach as if to hold it back from bursting open.
"Stop it! Dat tickles! Hey, don't complain, yer likely tuh get more den a slap if y'keep it up! Hey! Hey! That--stop dat! Ooh, gods...no, don't stop..."
It throbbed, from inside of him outside. This was a queer feeling when it wasn't agonizing, and pure chaotic turmoil when it felt like his liver and kidneys were boiling or ash flaking away from the walls of his lungs. He cried out because the pain was all too real. Rents and tears slithered onto random places of his body, feeling like a sword's cut, slow and meticulous.
On his knees now, with as much strength as he can muster he forces himself to look around yet again, as if somehow trying to discern the reality of that place. But he snapped his eyes shut as a bloody tear evaporated from off of his cheek, leaving a brown snowflake drifting in the chamber.
He screamed.
"Look at me for once, please! I know you see me. You see everything. You. You make my life worthwhile and it's you that I'm too frightened to thank! Gods, I want to just express myself, give you that one thing which you really want! But is it enough? Is it good enough for you that you can have what you want, but I'm left without so much as a goodbye? What is it about you that keeps me hanging on. Why do I feel like I should just--nevermind. This is too much for me. I'm crazy."
Words echoed in his head, but they were his own. Or was he speaking aloud? There was no difference to him as he felt the palpatating anger drive him over, to his knees, to his hands, on his face. It was a heavy burden that moved over him, not unlike the stare of a loved one scorned. Something clicked.
With Will his only ally, as he knew it would be when he originally came to this place, he pushed himself up. Ribbons of flesh separated as muscles strained, scarlet beads popping out with a spitting sound. He groaned in agony. The chamber moaned in ecstasy. He sneered and squinted and focused, his ears filled with the voices of things once said, things left unsaid, and those that were yet to come.
He could see them out of his peripheral but he could not touch them. At a chance to see them he would look and nothing would be there except for the corpses, the rot, and the blood. The veins in his neck bulged out as he came to his knees. Turning, he could hear the thoughts and voices clearly, knowing the web in his mind was spinning.
Turning, he fell and dragged himself forward. Palms bubbled with blisters that popped, blood mixed with puss and sweat. His mouth was open as he breathed, focusing, trying. His will was still his own though it was wavering, no longer steadfast and true. Lacerations covered his face and neck, bones snapped and protruded from cut skin. Massive humps separated on his shoulderblades and still he pushed on.
What had occurred to him, what had given him the means to actually retreat, was that he should be dead, yet he was not. Each time he moved, he screamed. Screamed in torturous agony, screamed in determination, and screamed to simply hear the sound of his own voice. Vermillion saliva dripped from his mouth in a long, continual strand that turned carmine on the bloody floor.
Upon his knees near the wall of billowing clouds of ash and bone and blood, he reached a hand out, touched the face of the wall and wanted to recoil back. A great spasm of pain quaked through his body and he continually trembled with the shock of it. The heat and cold and pain and despair wound through his frame and made his flesh quiver over his muscles like a sheet in the breeze. Eyes wide open, he stared with an open mouth unable to make a sound. His heart thumped. Stopped. Thumped. Stopped.
Thump.
Thump. Thump. Thump, thump, thump-thump-thump.
"Are ya' still wit' me, love? Heh, good. 'Cause it's time t'wake up. Wake up."
"I can."
"Isn't he getting big? Looks more like you everyday. Acts like you, too."
"Awe, I ain't so bad, am I?"
"Not so much that I can't handle. You have your sweet moments. I think those are the reason why I stay with you."
"How'd he get so big?"
"Don't be surprised, hon. He's twelve now, almost a man grown."
"Jus' so hard t'believe. Does he know me?"
"Do you want to go and talk to him, love? Alright, then! Go see him. He's been very eager to see you."
"He has, huh?"
"Yes, he has. He wants to tell you about how his skin rots off and grows back as scales. How he plays with the other kids, tearing out their eyes and gorging himself on their innards."
"Wh-what?"
"Love? What's wrong?"
A searing pain lanced through his body causing him to buckle over, leg shooting out to catch himself. The black hotness like the suns bake his insides, making him sweat profusely. His foot slid on the brown and bright red blood. A rumbling emitted from the walls, thrumming like wardrums, each beat sending a wave of agony through him like a liquefied explosion. It was like breathing.
Forcing himself to look up, he spies the great slab of cerulean gemstone and watched a reflection that had no real presence vanish out of range, and then like a sigh the stone merely vaporized and a few chunks of coal tumbled down, splashing into the blood like slop. Now there were bodies everywhere, unknown faces staring out with empty eyes or sockets. They were burned and torn and skinned; most had their intestines and other organs flowering out of their chest cavities and stomachs.
The walls pulsated like an artery, blood spurting up behind the cloudlike substance that roiled and churned, groaning in ecstasy. Every sound a lick against the man, forcing him to his knees, and all he could do was wrap his arms around his stomach as if to hold it back from bursting open.
"Stop it! Dat tickles! Hey, don't complain, yer likely tuh get more den a slap if y'keep it up! Hey! Hey! That--stop dat! Ooh, gods...no, don't stop..."
It throbbed, from inside of him outside. This was a queer feeling when it wasn't agonizing, and pure chaotic turmoil when it felt like his liver and kidneys were boiling or ash flaking away from the walls of his lungs. He cried out because the pain was all too real. Rents and tears slithered onto random places of his body, feeling like a sword's cut, slow and meticulous.
On his knees now, with as much strength as he can muster he forces himself to look around yet again, as if somehow trying to discern the reality of that place. But he snapped his eyes shut as a bloody tear evaporated from off of his cheek, leaving a brown snowflake drifting in the chamber.
He screamed.
"Look at me for once, please! I know you see me. You see everything. You. You make my life worthwhile and it's you that I'm too frightened to thank! Gods, I want to just express myself, give you that one thing which you really want! But is it enough? Is it good enough for you that you can have what you want, but I'm left without so much as a goodbye? What is it about you that keeps me hanging on. Why do I feel like I should just--nevermind. This is too much for me. I'm crazy."
Words echoed in his head, but they were his own. Or was he speaking aloud? There was no difference to him as he felt the palpatating anger drive him over, to his knees, to his hands, on his face. It was a heavy burden that moved over him, not unlike the stare of a loved one scorned. Something clicked.
With Will his only ally, as he knew it would be when he originally came to this place, he pushed himself up. Ribbons of flesh separated as muscles strained, scarlet beads popping out with a spitting sound. He groaned in agony. The chamber moaned in ecstasy. He sneered and squinted and focused, his ears filled with the voices of things once said, things left unsaid, and those that were yet to come.
He could see them out of his peripheral but he could not touch them. At a chance to see them he would look and nothing would be there except for the corpses, the rot, and the blood. The veins in his neck bulged out as he came to his knees. Turning, he could hear the thoughts and voices clearly, knowing the web in his mind was spinning.
Turning, he fell and dragged himself forward. Palms bubbled with blisters that popped, blood mixed with puss and sweat. His mouth was open as he breathed, focusing, trying. His will was still his own though it was wavering, no longer steadfast and true. Lacerations covered his face and neck, bones snapped and protruded from cut skin. Massive humps separated on his shoulderblades and still he pushed on.
What had occurred to him, what had given him the means to actually retreat, was that he should be dead, yet he was not. Each time he moved, he screamed. Screamed in torturous agony, screamed in determination, and screamed to simply hear the sound of his own voice. Vermillion saliva dripped from his mouth in a long, continual strand that turned carmine on the bloody floor.
Upon his knees near the wall of billowing clouds of ash and bone and blood, he reached a hand out, touched the face of the wall and wanted to recoil back. A great spasm of pain quaked through his body and he continually trembled with the shock of it. The heat and cold and pain and despair wound through his frame and made his flesh quiver over his muscles like a sheet in the breeze. Eyes wide open, he stared with an open mouth unable to make a sound. His heart thumped. Stopped. Thumped. Stopped.
Thump.
Thump. Thump. Thump, thump, thump-thump-thump.
"Are ya' still wit' me, love? Heh, good. 'Cause it's time t'wake up. Wake up."
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