Friday, September 2, 2011

Iota Introduction

Sleep had encapsulated Rhom for only three hours before unexpectedly receiving the order to immediately evacuate the premises.  Rather unfortunately for Rhom, he wouldn't be doing so tonight.  Sedating tendrils instantly released Rhom's body only for him to be bombarded by relentless chaotic whispering.  It was a whispering that came from nowhere and everywhere at once.  Unnerving tongues at first, they would soon become a tumultuous aural blitzkrieg and it was all too familiar to Rhom.

The vast majority of the world's population is ill equipped to comprehend, let alone defend against a salvo of this magnitude.  Although, there isn't very much that can be done at all in the midst of such extreme discord.  As soon as it is upon you petrification sets in.  Sheer terror pushes the body to the point of immobility.  In terms of science this is generally considered to be a manifestation of sleep paralysis.  Rhom knows from years of experience that this is only a half truth. 

He knew from the instant of his release from rest to brace himself and maintain quiet in his mind; it was all that could be done.  The voices grew increasingly violent as Rhom suppressed intense primal dread.  This innate fear had nothing to do with being robbed of his body and confined to his mind but the very sound of the murmurings themselves.  They possessed an unmistakable otherworldly timbre, an eldritch facet that few can distinguish.  It can be found in innumerable other parts of the human experience but is obvious in these raucous assaults. 

A rumbling began to swell from beyond the harsh whispers.  It was a distending gray static, maddening in its increasing intensity.  Rhom centered himself as a thin streak of blood from his ear met his pillow.  His head throbbed with pain worse than last time.  It was now upon him in full force.  Cacophony. 

And then it was gone.  A sharp pain in his hand jolted up his left arm.  He clutched in his hand an old pocket watch, a gift received many years ago from his grandfather.  Its unfaltering ticking soothed Rhom's shaken nerves.  The attack had felt like several hours, but he knew that was never the case.  He opened his hand to find a small bloody gash in his palm.  The glass covering the watch's face had shattered but it still functioned properly.  "Five fifteen?" he muttered hopelessly, becoming quickly mired by exhaustion for the third time of the night.  "Just four hours now before it all begins and I can be rid of this curse," he said dreamily.  Sleep had returned swiftly to embrace him.

"Their power and cunning improve with worrying speed.  Our cause may soon be forever lost."

Thursday, February 10, 2011

These must be


For the prosperity of your god.

Thursday, January 27, 2011


Insurmountable and pure
     (a festering rage)
Vehement and searing
     (this malevolence profound)
Unrelenting and pervasive
     (abhorrence of the wicked)
Maddening and calamitous
     (in umbral vision)
Focused and unabashed
     (in denouncing the hypocrite)
Malign and glacial
     (unbridled barbarism)
Invigorating yet draining
     (to bestow glorious nihility)

Sunday, January 2, 2011

An Awful Realization

The sepulchral mind exists purely through the constant necessity of reactionary observation, analysis, and testing.  Subjects include but are not limited to adders, bulls, hyenas, pigs, sheep, sloths, and wolves.  Unsurprisingly, all subjects fail on a consistent basis.  Experiments - the basis for which lies in the alarming lack of like-minded beings - vary in complexity.  Even in the simplest of trials the results remain bafflingly abhorrent.  Neither rational nor empirical thought manifests in these creatures.  The only conclusion that can be drawn is that there is an expanding inauspicious intellectual void; making way for the final collapse.  The impact of the sheer monotony and disappointment of this testing is that of pessimism and near misanthropy.