My body lies naked, clothed only in empty boxes and haphazardly stacked belongings. Like everything else, it has been left behind. Below, unseen, the emptiness yawns and echoes. Its boundaries are unforgiving. Should but a sliver of this verdant light spill below, the eyes may dream of opening, and in that moment, as the fearful visage is revealed, the mouth opens instead to emit a paralyzed moan of terror. Ice floods the veins, the body convulses, shudders, shakes. Cold descends in a slow, merciless grip which no soul has ever hoped to evade. What dungeons have grown beneath the floors! See how they admit my atrocities and sins! Only rippling chains that dance hanging from the bars can drown out my cries. I find my flesh torn from myself and horrified, behold it cast aside, left to decay with all else of no worth. So deep runs the corruption that even my bones are not white, but cold and black as iron.
Only then do I truly see that I have grown and crafted my own cage of restless, unending death.
No sequels yet. Why not write one?
Comments (3 so far!)
Sorry Elsha, no bonfires.
- #2540 Posted 2 years ago
I get the metaphorical loss of the old self, and it reads rather beautifully, but my logical half cringes at the nonsensical parts.
- #2542 Posted 2 years ago
I purposefully pulled the tone in a darker direction, and although every piece has a form of inspiration, it doesn't do much to lift the spirits. Call it the creative space between waking and sleeping.
- #2543 Posted 2 years ago
Inspired by (sequel to):
Sometimes, the only way to change is to destroy something.
I have lived here too long - all the whi…Basement Transcendence
- Published 2 years ago.
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