Short:Whispers of Madness

Sometimes I begin writing without knowing where it will end. A horrific Lovecraftian text such as this deserves the uncertainty; one which even causes the writer’s hand to pause.

Grueling and difficult as was always. Cleaning up remnants of a fabled past seemed a tedious affair, would have turned out poorly anyways.
But this had to be worked with.
When employed by an evermore crazed thing there can be no security, never remorse, nor even justification.
Instead the rules change daily, just as one might expect of a child who decidedly falters in the midst of a game. Flops from cop to robber, red to black, demand the toy of which he wants in hand.
None of the changes made any sense side one constant; blood.
There must always be a trail of gruesome and peevish bile. To say it dripped freely would be an understatement given the magnitude of bodies now piled high.
His master required them however, a dark god who saw no evil yet provided dim illumination. Mankind was but a fly to swat, a silly notion that they had any rightful claim to power at all.
Negligence allowed the spawn to grow and fester, becoming the consistently more abrasive slime which stole away a world from those great beings who lived long ago and sleep for eternity.
Jason blinked.
How could his mind be so warped; thinking himself, a man no less, as a mere pittance of drudgery. His master impressed this upon him, of that he was sure. And yet still, none of the obvious signs existed.
Unlike a human being who rummaged around in other’s minds with technological wonders, this thing, this old stain upon existence, it merely willed he change and that manifestation became reality.
The bones were sucked dry. How many more did this thing need, and why?
It never spoke yet clearly heard his whispered thoughts of insubordination. That was enough.
Lumbering over in a chaotic swaying of movement, the thing, it peered at him with a grotesque face, one which was buried deep within the side of a mountainous wall of flesh.
Those eyes!
Jason’s breathing quickened as blood raced. He shuddered as a chill swept into his bones. Those wretched pieces knew then what was expected.
Dinner.

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