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Short Fiction (latest update - The Boogeyman)
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<blockquote data-quote="Sniktch" data-source="post: 403119" data-attributes="member: 7704"><p>Despair…</p><p></p><p>I can no longer live in this world, this society of interminable suicide and corrosive decay. The blind repetition of insignificant tasks threaten to drown me, and I dread the counting of numberless days that blur together, strangling my dreams and will to resist, breaking me as I slowly grow old. The fresh flowers of yesterday have faded, nothing but tarnish and rust remain.</p><p></p><p>The desperation bleeds into my dreams and waking moments, robbing me of rest. As I walk through the glittering spires and golden cities of my youth, I see that the pavement is cracked and grass peeks through, the golden spires are crumbling, fading and flaking paint falls from above in a gradual hail, and the laughter of yesterday has succumbed to the mourning of a land dying. The sweet smell of lotus blossoms and spun sugar replaced by an opiate wind of exceeding foulness, bringing to mind the fetid reek of the open grave or charnel house. I pull my jacket tight around me to try to retain warmth in the teeth of the jealous breeze that seeks to sap my vitality, but I can feel the numbness spreading and the cold stabs of ice forming in my veins.</p><p></p><p>There is a place, there is a place; a place I once visited in my many dream trips of youth; a place my steps begin to lead me to; one last glimmer of hope and fancy in the gray landscape surrounding me. As I walk I almost think that I can detect the hint of lost fragrance in the biting wind. Circulation is somewhat restored, and I no longer hold my jacket so tightly as my pace quickens toward the effervescent source of radiant joy. The city still reeks and crumbles around me, but I know the orchards will still be there, the orchards before the archaic shrine where once I rolled and laughed in the flowers and enjoyed the bittersweet tang of hanging fruit. It is just another corner or two, and I can barely contain my excited feet as they urge me to run the final paces.</p><p></p><p>I round the corner and stare down into the orchards, the blossom-covered limbs laden with plums and apples, pears and figs. The rows of trees stand as I remember them, radiating outward from that ancient place of columns and worship of long-dead gods in all their green and glorious life. Yet as I approach the rusty hinged gate and gain access to the gardens, I have the sudden urge to retch from the taste of bile that floods my senses. For the grass is brittle in its greenness and snaps underfoot like delicate crystal blades, and I can see the leaves of the trees etched with lines and fractures of the same quality. The fruit still appears in abundance on the hanging boughs, but it is not the teasing aroma that drew me back to this place. Instead, it is cloying, overpowering rot that assails me, the fruit hangs over-ripe from heavy limbs, and the ground is littered with the pitiful remains of birds and animals which mistakenly fed on the tainted fruit. No! I cannot abide any longer the dreams I once cherished twisted into this loathsome perversion. Clutching my head I fall to my knees weeping, barely noticing the tearing of skin on cobblestones and the sudden spike of rough and raw abrasions. I lose track of how long I am lost in despair, but eventually I notice the taunting presence of fragrance still lingers in the air, seeming to reach out from the steps of the old open-sky temple and lure me in.</p><p></p><p>Rising to my feet, I make my way past the stark desolation and ascend the crumbling granite steps leading me between yellowed and cracked marble columns to the heart of the place. At the center of the shrine, the old altar remains but is moved, rotated sideways on its axes to reveal a dark flight of steps leading into subterranean gloom. The first stirrings of fear awaken in my mind, but are insufficient to overcome the powerful draw of that faint odor that leads me down into the unknown. It is barely a moment before my feet propel me to descend this flight of stairs into the forgotten subterranean realms.</p><p></p><p>As I start upon this path of unknown antiquity, I am abruptly plunged into darkness as I move beyond the range of the feeble sunlight. For countless hours I grope and fumble down the ever steeper sloping flight, my only direction the pull of the lingering scent, my blind hands moving over carvings of indiscernible design and pattern. Gradually, I become aware of my sight returning, my surroundings illuminated by a sickly phosphorescent glow that seems to breathe from the very walls and permeate the thick atmosphere of these unhallowed depths. As my vision focuses a stifled cry is pulled from my lips, for I can now see the awful carvings and hieroglyphs carved into the wall. Though unable to decipher the strange, flowing symbols, I cannot but help to discern their meaning. Above the lines of suspected script are graven images in bas-relief, depicting sequences beyond my wildest imaginings. It is difficult to be articulate now; some images defy attempts to describe or explain – suffice to say, the graphic display now confronting me took my mind down the most hideous of paths. If I was to believe the story unfolding before me, this blasphemous ruin and the depths below had been hollowed out even before the builders of the once-golden city above had laid the first brick. Preserved in the immortal rock was the complete history of this star-spawned temple and the vile rituals that had often taken place. The predominant figures in the pictorial record were not of men, but beings which defy all attempts at reasonable description. They seemed to have the features of men, but also suggested to my tired mind cats, scaly-skinned lizards, and tentacled things of the greater depths of the sea. What they were designed to represent I cannot say, but they were shown freely intermingling with a fawning populace of human slaves.</p><p></p><p>Further examination of the images was to prove impossible at that moment, for I gradually became aware of a low murmur ahead of me, such as waves lapping against a rocky shore. The ever-present fragrance that had led me thus far grew powerful despite my growing terror as I started again toward the bottom of the stair, and whatever I might find in the chambers dug so far from the sight of day. I reached the archway and stepped through into a vast chamber that stretched away to the horizon in every direction I glanced, dominated by a great and dark sea which lapped at the broken and sandy shore that lay beneath me. The sickly glow persisted, if anything more luminous than before, and as I gazed skyward I saw that the upper reaches of the cavern pulsed with the greenish phosphorescence. Seeing no landmarks or anything else of interest in the vicinity, I began a slow and circuitous route around the edges of the great gulf. </p><p></p><p>Again, a period of time passed of indefinite length, where I was aware of nothing but the lapping waves and the green radiation from above. At last it seemed I could make out some feature of the cavern other than the black water and rocky walls and floor. Ahead of me two spots of red cut through the surrounding haze. I quickened my place and rapidly closed the distance, noticing as I approached that the fragrance, which had drawn me thus far, now permeated the air with increasing strength every step forward. I drew closer still and finally came upon the scene I had apparently been summoned to witness. A great slab of solid gold decorated in the same hieroglyphs of that terrible passage I had followed to these nether regions stood upon a raised dais of onyx, a glowing red brazier releasing perfumed incense at either end. Kneeling before the unwholesome scene was a figure cloaked all in black, drawn tight about it so that I could see no revealing patches of flesh nor discern any feature nor detail of the man. Sensing my approach, the figure drew itself up to what must have been its full height – I can only say that it now stood a full head above me – and beckoned me closer with a sweeping wave of its black robed extremity.</p><p></p><p>In spite of the horror which blackly gnawed at the edges of my soul, I was powerless to resist the thing before me, and felt betrayed by my own body as it propelled me to face the cloaked form of its own volition. It spoke to me then, in the hollow rasping tones of a corpse escaped from the sepulchre – it spoke to me, but reason fled and I could not recall the words even as it said them. It reached out with its beckoning appendage and stroked my cheek with a touch like clammy leather, drawing my eyes to meet the billowing gulf of its hooded face. It continued to speak as it raised its other extremity and slowly removed the ominous cowl from its hidden face. I wished feverishly to avert my eyes but was betrayed by body once again, until I beheld its features and was saved by the frantic screams that burst from my lips and led me back to the waking realm. For though it had corpse-lights burning in its eyes and a leering rictus smile pasted across its features, I had beheld in that fearsome robed thing from the unimaginable abyss MY OWN FACE.</p><p></p><p>Now I wade through the endless toil and constant drudgery of the waking world, and when the sun sets I lay down for uneventful dreamless nights. I do not try any longer to recapture the fading glory of youth, nor seek to visit the glittering spires of my yesteryears. And although I know that hideous being has robbed me of that which I never realized could be lost, my smile stays on…</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Sniktch, post: 403119, member: 7704"] Despair… I can no longer live in this world, this society of interminable suicide and corrosive decay. The blind repetition of insignificant tasks threaten to drown me, and I dread the counting of numberless days that blur together, strangling my dreams and will to resist, breaking me as I slowly grow old. The fresh flowers of yesterday have faded, nothing but tarnish and rust remain. The desperation bleeds into my dreams and waking moments, robbing me of rest. As I walk through the glittering spires and golden cities of my youth, I see that the pavement is cracked and grass peeks through, the golden spires are crumbling, fading and flaking paint falls from above in a gradual hail, and the laughter of yesterday has succumbed to the mourning of a land dying. The sweet smell of lotus blossoms and spun sugar replaced by an opiate wind of exceeding foulness, bringing to mind the fetid reek of the open grave or charnel house. I pull my jacket tight around me to try to retain warmth in the teeth of the jealous breeze that seeks to sap my vitality, but I can feel the numbness spreading and the cold stabs of ice forming in my veins. There is a place, there is a place; a place I once visited in my many dream trips of youth; a place my steps begin to lead me to; one last glimmer of hope and fancy in the gray landscape surrounding me. As I walk I almost think that I can detect the hint of lost fragrance in the biting wind. Circulation is somewhat restored, and I no longer hold my jacket so tightly as my pace quickens toward the effervescent source of radiant joy. The city still reeks and crumbles around me, but I know the orchards will still be there, the orchards before the archaic shrine where once I rolled and laughed in the flowers and enjoyed the bittersweet tang of hanging fruit. It is just another corner or two, and I can barely contain my excited feet as they urge me to run the final paces. I round the corner and stare down into the orchards, the blossom-covered limbs laden with plums and apples, pears and figs. The rows of trees stand as I remember them, radiating outward from that ancient place of columns and worship of long-dead gods in all their green and glorious life. Yet as I approach the rusty hinged gate and gain access to the gardens, I have the sudden urge to retch from the taste of bile that floods my senses. For the grass is brittle in its greenness and snaps underfoot like delicate crystal blades, and I can see the leaves of the trees etched with lines and fractures of the same quality. The fruit still appears in abundance on the hanging boughs, but it is not the teasing aroma that drew me back to this place. Instead, it is cloying, overpowering rot that assails me, the fruit hangs over-ripe from heavy limbs, and the ground is littered with the pitiful remains of birds and animals which mistakenly fed on the tainted fruit. No! I cannot abide any longer the dreams I once cherished twisted into this loathsome perversion. Clutching my head I fall to my knees weeping, barely noticing the tearing of skin on cobblestones and the sudden spike of rough and raw abrasions. I lose track of how long I am lost in despair, but eventually I notice the taunting presence of fragrance still lingers in the air, seeming to reach out from the steps of the old open-sky temple and lure me in. Rising to my feet, I make my way past the stark desolation and ascend the crumbling granite steps leading me between yellowed and cracked marble columns to the heart of the place. At the center of the shrine, the old altar remains but is moved, rotated sideways on its axes to reveal a dark flight of steps leading into subterranean gloom. The first stirrings of fear awaken in my mind, but are insufficient to overcome the powerful draw of that faint odor that leads me down into the unknown. It is barely a moment before my feet propel me to descend this flight of stairs into the forgotten subterranean realms. As I start upon this path of unknown antiquity, I am abruptly plunged into darkness as I move beyond the range of the feeble sunlight. For countless hours I grope and fumble down the ever steeper sloping flight, my only direction the pull of the lingering scent, my blind hands moving over carvings of indiscernible design and pattern. Gradually, I become aware of my sight returning, my surroundings illuminated by a sickly phosphorescent glow that seems to breathe from the very walls and permeate the thick atmosphere of these unhallowed depths. As my vision focuses a stifled cry is pulled from my lips, for I can now see the awful carvings and hieroglyphs carved into the wall. Though unable to decipher the strange, flowing symbols, I cannot but help to discern their meaning. Above the lines of suspected script are graven images in bas-relief, depicting sequences beyond my wildest imaginings. It is difficult to be articulate now; some images defy attempts to describe or explain – suffice to say, the graphic display now confronting me took my mind down the most hideous of paths. If I was to believe the story unfolding before me, this blasphemous ruin and the depths below had been hollowed out even before the builders of the once-golden city above had laid the first brick. Preserved in the immortal rock was the complete history of this star-spawned temple and the vile rituals that had often taken place. The predominant figures in the pictorial record were not of men, but beings which defy all attempts at reasonable description. They seemed to have the features of men, but also suggested to my tired mind cats, scaly-skinned lizards, and tentacled things of the greater depths of the sea. What they were designed to represent I cannot say, but they were shown freely intermingling with a fawning populace of human slaves. Further examination of the images was to prove impossible at that moment, for I gradually became aware of a low murmur ahead of me, such as waves lapping against a rocky shore. The ever-present fragrance that had led me thus far grew powerful despite my growing terror as I started again toward the bottom of the stair, and whatever I might find in the chambers dug so far from the sight of day. I reached the archway and stepped through into a vast chamber that stretched away to the horizon in every direction I glanced, dominated by a great and dark sea which lapped at the broken and sandy shore that lay beneath me. The sickly glow persisted, if anything more luminous than before, and as I gazed skyward I saw that the upper reaches of the cavern pulsed with the greenish phosphorescence. Seeing no landmarks or anything else of interest in the vicinity, I began a slow and circuitous route around the edges of the great gulf. Again, a period of time passed of indefinite length, where I was aware of nothing but the lapping waves and the green radiation from above. At last it seemed I could make out some feature of the cavern other than the black water and rocky walls and floor. Ahead of me two spots of red cut through the surrounding haze. I quickened my place and rapidly closed the distance, noticing as I approached that the fragrance, which had drawn me thus far, now permeated the air with increasing strength every step forward. I drew closer still and finally came upon the scene I had apparently been summoned to witness. A great slab of solid gold decorated in the same hieroglyphs of that terrible passage I had followed to these nether regions stood upon a raised dais of onyx, a glowing red brazier releasing perfumed incense at either end. Kneeling before the unwholesome scene was a figure cloaked all in black, drawn tight about it so that I could see no revealing patches of flesh nor discern any feature nor detail of the man. Sensing my approach, the figure drew itself up to what must have been its full height – I can only say that it now stood a full head above me – and beckoned me closer with a sweeping wave of its black robed extremity. In spite of the horror which blackly gnawed at the edges of my soul, I was powerless to resist the thing before me, and felt betrayed by my own body as it propelled me to face the cloaked form of its own volition. It spoke to me then, in the hollow rasping tones of a corpse escaped from the sepulchre – it spoke to me, but reason fled and I could not recall the words even as it said them. It reached out with its beckoning appendage and stroked my cheek with a touch like clammy leather, drawing my eyes to meet the billowing gulf of its hooded face. It continued to speak as it raised its other extremity and slowly removed the ominous cowl from its hidden face. I wished feverishly to avert my eyes but was betrayed by body once again, until I beheld its features and was saved by the frantic screams that burst from my lips and led me back to the waking realm. For though it had corpse-lights burning in its eyes and a leering rictus smile pasted across its features, I had beheld in that fearsome robed thing from the unimaginable abyss MY OWN FACE. Now I wade through the endless toil and constant drudgery of the waking world, and when the sun sets I lay down for uneventful dreamless nights. I do not try any longer to recapture the fading glory of youth, nor seek to visit the glittering spires of my yesteryears. And although I know that hideous being has robbed me of that which I never realized could be lost, my smile stays on… [/QUOTE]
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