An Exercise in Entropy
folder
Horror/Thriller › General
Rating:
Adult
Chapters:
6
Views:
630
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Horror/Thriller › General
Rating:
Adult
Chapters:
6
Views:
630
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
The following is strictly a work of pure fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Please do *not* copy any of the following works.
And If You Don't Believe...
...I think you should.
"I can still hear them screaming," he murmured, the sap-slow of words crawling from his mouth, like viper's winding free of their dens.
"What does it sound like?"
"What do you think it sounds like? It sounds like the dead. It sounds like the glorious finality of mausoleum doors, slamming shut. There is no other sound in the world like it. It is the sound of life ending, of candles being abruptly snuffed out."
"What does it feel like?"
He tossed his head. Horn after horn, tine after tine, time after time, they cut at the air the way slim daggers slip beneath flesh: oh so easily.
"It feels like nothing and everything, all at once. A great oneness, but nothing matters. It's like looking at a field of snow: It's white and it's dead. You could stare at all of that white forever and neither near, nor far, it doesn't matter. Do you understand? Death is the great unifier. Before it, all else becomes stagnant, the same. Ennui grows in it."
"Is that where you grow your Garden, Bylah?"
"Yes. In that field of dead white, that is where the corpse weeds flourish. That is where I bury the lies."
"You're so poetic, Bylah. When are you going to bury me?"
Out of his mouth, another quiet laugh smattered, spattered, ink on paper, black on white, the marring of white-washed tombs.
"When you're no longer useful."
"I can still hear them screaming," he murmured, the sap-slow of words crawling from his mouth, like viper's winding free of their dens.
"What does it sound like?"
"What do you think it sounds like? It sounds like the dead. It sounds like the glorious finality of mausoleum doors, slamming shut. There is no other sound in the world like it. It is the sound of life ending, of candles being abruptly snuffed out."
"What does it feel like?"
He tossed his head. Horn after horn, tine after tine, time after time, they cut at the air the way slim daggers slip beneath flesh: oh so easily.
"It feels like nothing and everything, all at once. A great oneness, but nothing matters. It's like looking at a field of snow: It's white and it's dead. You could stare at all of that white forever and neither near, nor far, it doesn't matter. Do you understand? Death is the great unifier. Before it, all else becomes stagnant, the same. Ennui grows in it."
"Is that where you grow your Garden, Bylah?"
"Yes. In that field of dead white, that is where the corpse weeds flourish. That is where I bury the lies."
"You're so poetic, Bylah. When are you going to bury me?"
Out of his mouth, another quiet laugh smattered, spattered, ink on paper, black on white, the marring of white-washed tombs.
"When you're no longer useful."