- Mood:
Adoration - Listening to: A bunch of stuff
- Reading: nuttin'
- Watching: also nuttin'
- Playing: still nuttin'
- Eating: cake
- Drinking: water
He entered the room with elegant swagger and evil brilliance. I saw in his malignant eyes, a morbid passion kindling before it grew into an inferno of lust for pain. He was already grinning, evincing his powerful, canine fangs as they trembled with anticipation. He was aroused by the smell of fear and the awareness I had—the knowledge that I was about to experience everything I created in my mind crumble to my feet as I begged for death. He could already smell my vomit when I attempt to purge any life from me. He knew that this fear I felt was painful enough to make me wince. He understood that his mighty and horrible appearance demolished my spirit. He stepped toward me slowly, prolonging my agony. His hoofed feet echoed like screams on my floor and the heat his body emanated was painfully nauseating. My insides churned and curdled, my mind seemed to sift through my body in an attempt to escape, to elude the coming pain. I was terrified, and paralyzed with trepidation. He came closer, mocking me. His horns protruded arrogantly from the red fur in his forehead. His face was abominable and murderous. At the sight of his eyes, which seemed to sink into you and stare from the floods of Hell, you could feel his overt hunger, his avid taste for resistance. He wanted you to fight, to not accept death or fate. He wanted you to rebel with angst and resilience, resilience he could kill slowly and painfully.
He stood over me now. I was petrified, prostrated over my bed, stiff with anxiety and realization that I was no more than a toy for him to take apart. I stared at him while he stared into me. His body was calloused and solid, it was impossible to see past his adamant flesh, which was best. What dwelled within him must be exponentially terrifying. Around him swirled a nebulous mist, bearing faces of tortured men, whose souls could no longer stand the crippling sensation he dealt with his touch, whose souls fled their bodies and found themselves hopelessly orbiting his beastly demeanor. I saw faces that looked like mine, faces that seemed to molest any comfort or hope I managed to hide from the creature looming above me. They unburied what I worked so desperately to conceal; the only thing keeping me together, before my mind, body, and soul violently separated and screamed like velcro.
I rolled to my side, turning away from the creature before me, and whimpered like a broken child. Any escape, even if delusion to alleviate these feelings for just a moment, was warming (though everything was burning). I wanted to lift my dead spirits and die holding them. I bellowed and panicked while he simply stood behind me, watching me psychotically wail as I shift back and forth from reality and an illusionary refuge that could contain my frenetic and rampant heart. But I could feel his sharp eyes piercing every nerve inside of me and raping every joyous memory I kept close to me. He fondled my dreams and threw away every drop of joy I ever conceived. With the destructive touch of his gouging vision, my worlds were ravaged and brutally mauled.
I felt his hand begin to extend toward me.
The Cave Story
