DimWest
January 15th, 2011, 11:12 PM
A fragment of a man garbed in nothing but boxers sat frozen in the crevice between the wall and his bed. Sweat had gushed from his pores, leaving him, his meager attire, and the wall that supported him doused in salty perspiration. Bottles of various alcoholic beverages lay empty on the floor in front of him; he had sought intoxication fervently but his senses endured. The persistence of his faculties was the design of the entities that had reduced him and he knew it, therefore he no longer pursued unconsciousness. Some inner part of him surmised what gave them this ability, but, like the consciences of many people, it slumbered malnourished and mute.
When he looked at the figures that surrounded him he could determine neither their true color nor form. They can only be described as black – for lack of an appropriate color – and he could almost feel the dark that pigmented their outline. He discerned that if reached out to strike one of them in defense, his clenched hand would feel nothing upon impact and his fist would disappear into their abyss-like torsos. Their height and body form were not indelible, sometimes they were as tall as a child but more often than that they were shadows with no person, creeping about the floor and walls. When in full height they were insect like, but the size of a small child. Their appendages were never fully extended, if they had joints then they were permanently fused into a bent position. They lacked defining features such as a mouth, nose or ears, but they did, however, have two blue protuberant beads imbedded into their heads that resembled eyes.
It was not the beings themselves that disturbed him, it was their hands that probed his mind and searched his soul, whispering of the Plutonian world that awaited him when death - or his tormentors - stole the breath from his lungs. No spoken word was uttered to him concerning Heaven’s Reverse. No, words would not suffice to terrify him so, but the perverse concept of eternal damnation was now what pervaded his soul. Fear of a place he once had denied saturated him and filled every crevice of his mind. Love, hate, anger, passion, envy, jealousy, everything that previously defined him was replaced by an all-consuming fear that forced him into a pathetic submission to the whim of whomever controlled salvation from this fate, and at this moment the salvation that daylight brings was as absent as green grass and leaves in the midst of a cold winter.
He was incognizant of the amount of time that had passed since their arrival; he had unplugged his alarm clock, imbibed excessive amounts of alcohol, and downed several sleep aids in an attempt to obstruct any intrusion of theirs into his dreams. As he had learned, this attempt was futile. It seemed that whatever empowered the shadows was beyond any natural restraints.
A shadow ascended the wall to his immediate left and crossed the corner until it was poised directly above him. It solidified into a standing figure above him and peered directly into his eyes with its dark blue ones. Its gaze bore a promise of rest had an uncannily calming effect on him. Shivers withdrew from his body and he closed his eyes as it stretched its claw-like hand towards his bedraggled head.
The longest of its fingers contacted his skull.
His mind became blank in an instant, his senses altogether ceased to exist. The silence that was present before was replaced by a silence that truly was beyond silent. He could hear nothing, neither the resonant sound of his beating heart, nor the breath in his lungs. In fact, he had no idea if he was even breathing, or if his heart was indeed still sending pulses of oxygenated blood to keep his muscles and brain functioning. He literally was nothing, no one, nobody. All that remained of his existence was his very consciousness.
The first thing to enter his mind was confusion. Then it was realization. Realization of the fact that this must be the end, realization that he never really existed. He came from this place and now he was returning. He realized that his life as he knew it was over that everything he knew was an illusion. This pure, unadulterated, horridly true realization gave way to a panic that was just as pure, unadulterated, and horrid. Then fear. At last fear. He tried to move, he tried to run, he tried to scream. But. He had no arms to move. No legs to run. No mouth to scream with. He fought for any sensation in his appendages, but they simply did not exist. It registered within him that this was the afterlife that he had always denied, he knew he was now paying the price for the words he has spouted to discredit the possibility of a spiritual existence. The fear was then replaced by the comical madness of the irony of his situation. Abruptly, his mind considered the longevity of his existence here, and the appalling awareness of perpetuity pummeled his mind like a pulse. Just as quickly as the comical madness arrived it was replaced once again by horrifying dread. There was no escape from eternity. Now the fear returned and cannibalized his mind, refuting any attempt to control it, because there was no reason to control it. He lost his ability to cope.
Time elapsed.
When he looked at the figures that surrounded him he could determine neither their true color nor form. They can only be described as black – for lack of an appropriate color – and he could almost feel the dark that pigmented their outline. He discerned that if reached out to strike one of them in defense, his clenched hand would feel nothing upon impact and his fist would disappear into their abyss-like torsos. Their height and body form were not indelible, sometimes they were as tall as a child but more often than that they were shadows with no person, creeping about the floor and walls. When in full height they were insect like, but the size of a small child. Their appendages were never fully extended, if they had joints then they were permanently fused into a bent position. They lacked defining features such as a mouth, nose or ears, but they did, however, have two blue protuberant beads imbedded into their heads that resembled eyes.
It was not the beings themselves that disturbed him, it was their hands that probed his mind and searched his soul, whispering of the Plutonian world that awaited him when death - or his tormentors - stole the breath from his lungs. No spoken word was uttered to him concerning Heaven’s Reverse. No, words would not suffice to terrify him so, but the perverse concept of eternal damnation was now what pervaded his soul. Fear of a place he once had denied saturated him and filled every crevice of his mind. Love, hate, anger, passion, envy, jealousy, everything that previously defined him was replaced by an all-consuming fear that forced him into a pathetic submission to the whim of whomever controlled salvation from this fate, and at this moment the salvation that daylight brings was as absent as green grass and leaves in the midst of a cold winter.
He was incognizant of the amount of time that had passed since their arrival; he had unplugged his alarm clock, imbibed excessive amounts of alcohol, and downed several sleep aids in an attempt to obstruct any intrusion of theirs into his dreams. As he had learned, this attempt was futile. It seemed that whatever empowered the shadows was beyond any natural restraints.
A shadow ascended the wall to his immediate left and crossed the corner until it was poised directly above him. It solidified into a standing figure above him and peered directly into his eyes with its dark blue ones. Its gaze bore a promise of rest had an uncannily calming effect on him. Shivers withdrew from his body and he closed his eyes as it stretched its claw-like hand towards his bedraggled head.
The longest of its fingers contacted his skull.
His mind became blank in an instant, his senses altogether ceased to exist. The silence that was present before was replaced by a silence that truly was beyond silent. He could hear nothing, neither the resonant sound of his beating heart, nor the breath in his lungs. In fact, he had no idea if he was even breathing, or if his heart was indeed still sending pulses of oxygenated blood to keep his muscles and brain functioning. He literally was nothing, no one, nobody. All that remained of his existence was his very consciousness.
The first thing to enter his mind was confusion. Then it was realization. Realization of the fact that this must be the end, realization that he never really existed. He came from this place and now he was returning. He realized that his life as he knew it was over that everything he knew was an illusion. This pure, unadulterated, horridly true realization gave way to a panic that was just as pure, unadulterated, and horrid. Then fear. At last fear. He tried to move, he tried to run, he tried to scream. But. He had no arms to move. No legs to run. No mouth to scream with. He fought for any sensation in his appendages, but they simply did not exist. It registered within him that this was the afterlife that he had always denied, he knew he was now paying the price for the words he has spouted to discredit the possibility of a spiritual existence. The fear was then replaced by the comical madness of the irony of his situation. Abruptly, his mind considered the longevity of his existence here, and the appalling awareness of perpetuity pummeled his mind like a pulse. Just as quickly as the comical madness arrived it was replaced once again by horrifying dread. There was no escape from eternity. Now the fear returned and cannibalized his mind, refuting any attempt to control it, because there was no reason to control it. He lost his ability to cope.
Time elapsed.