It was quite simple, really. That affliction black, with its nameless origin save for the rumored hellspawn-back from which it sprung, it's clinging briar-like qualities seemingly endless -- yes, that affliction seemed to mature in me, in myself, and within, seemed to become the endless coiling mass of both aether-stuff and yet again, of compressed physical nature, like a tapeworm within the tiny vessels of the human body.
It was terribly painful, true, as nerves were shoved and vessels filled with that black seed, my lymphatic system seeming to coagulate and causing a noxious swelling of my limbs. Quite gruesome, as the psuedo-"elephantiases" ran rampant across my semi-respectable frame.
My ego shattered, as some primal, primordial fail-safe, locking away who I was, what I was, my emotional baggage and all other mental faculties not ingrained hardly into the soft-white-grey cells necessary for my operation as a sane individual. How long it took to piece myself back together, I'll never say for sure. I remember sparingly (the brain is a wonderful thing, as during my afflicted "outbreak" it seemed my psyche conformed and created a foster-ego in which to house my experiences during this time, my body operating than a man and more like a field-beast, memories saved and recorded apart from my waking, splintered mind) that I had crawled within an abandoned shelter, built in the style of luxury and found it rather distasteful -- there, I crept quietly to the bottom, and with appendages I knew only through otherworldly genetics swept and devoured the pestilence of rats that claimed the basement place as theirs.
I had usurped the rat-king -- that is to say, I ingested each and every one for sustenance.
After that, I remember the black, and like a child longs at some unconscious level, found it as a returning to the womb -- not mine, but whatever thing that lay hands and invaded my temple-body. Yes, it's greater self, as all parents are the greater templates for the child before maturation takes hold. Save, this was the everlasting mother, the ever-domineering father, they that never die, but instead, are in a state of perpetual reincarnation, devastation, and rejuvenation, derived from the natural void of light and the wayward follies of man's heart.
It is in the endless dream I had, curled like a beaten dog in some wet, soggy, stifled corner beneath beams and boards, that I came to know (my ingrained personality stricken clean of whatever experiences had tainted it, turning it so to become the 'I' before the Disease. And now, that pure-white blood-code rain wild, directing as the Early Man may have, on instinctive and lower-brain functions alone.) of something curious. Something beyond the senses.
I had come to know that, not far from whence I slept, something remarkable had came to a green pasture, and had fallen dead in the sunlight, and was presently rotting away. It's magnificent folds of skin drawing up like leather, wafts of gnats and flies covering the open wounds (I knew not where nor how the thing came to die, but I do know that it was something ever-graciously given, as the Native Americans may have thought towards their fill of meat). It would be several days before my black, ink-colored body, with rapidly deformed superfluous limbs flailing from their hinges, ribbons of feeling sheets stretching from my bosom coating walls and the like, was able to adequately respond to this vision.
I remember quite vividly the next part.
The moon was full, and the carcass had been pecked curiously half-way through by the wilderness. It's upper-half, intact, seemed yet alive, yet barely -- the Promethean spark still left in it's veins as a dying ember, some calx of life left on it's carcass.
It gasped thrice, me standing before it, it's large, deer-like mouth gaping for air as it sensed me approach. And the horrific thing of it was, I could feel those extra-hands leaning down to tear apart it's lower self, separating what little nerves still existed for it to associate it's body as a whole. It came with a soft 'crack' not unlike the sound of flint scraping flint. And with that, The limbs ingested the bones, holding them within.
It's eye went wide, pupil dilated, and it let out some fear-stricken moan before I suppose I forced it to give up the ghost.
I remember that eye, because, there was a lapse of memory, between the breaking of it's back and the seeing of it's optic-organ. I had thought easily the moon had fallen too close to the land, for it had taken up the majority of all I could see in the next memory -- but instead, it was that dreadful off-white, with the fleck of pupil holding to it's heart.
I awoke the next morning, with an aftertaste of peaches, and honey.
Curious.
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Danse de la Terreur
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