On The Nature Of Becoming

[MordredRaal]

On The Nature Of Becoming

I often look up at the sky.

It's something many people do, I think.

I don't know if others feel the same, but I do not much like looking at the sky during the day.

The blue or gray of the day-sky always feel... wrong, somehow. Like the sun is pulling a veil over reality.

I much prefer the night-sky.

When I look up at the vast blackness above and the stars within it, I experience an enormous sense of... Connection.

With myself, looking up at the same sky, over and over.

With others who are looking at the same darkness, at that moment and in so many others.

And, of course, with the stars staring back at me.

---

You are standing in a room made of pulsing flesh.

He is standing in front of you.

"Nothing ever ends."

He is waving his revolver around like it embodies his superiority, even though he did not load it.

His smile is wide like he had just cracked the universe wide open.

You approach him.

"No."

You grab his throat and his soul at the same time.

"You end. Right now."

Then you squeeze.

You see the arrogance in his eyes.

So naive.

You see it flee his eyes, as his flesh gives out and his soul starts to crack.

You see as he tries to form words of begging and forgiveness, but you had already destroyed the part of him that could communicate.

Finally.

The light leaves his eyes. His soul shatters into a thousand pieces. His throat explodes in a shower of red, covering you.

You stand there for a moment.

Then you drop his remains.

And stare at them.

His soul lies in a thousand pieces scattered throughout his body, never to be whole again. But still present.

Disgusting.

You raise you foot, and bring it down again.

Stomp

Stomp

Stomp

Over and over and over and over again.

But his soul is still there. In so many pieces. But still there.

You lean over his corpse.

You know what you have to do.

Then you start to eat.

You tear into his body.

You do not stop until you have devoured every last bit of his soul.

Then you are done.

Blood streams down your face.

But it doesn't stop flowing from your mouth, even when there should be nothing left.

You stand up and turn towards the room.

The walls are watching you.

You take a step forward.

They quake in fear.

Good.

---

I always enjoy looking at the night-sky. I always feel such an enormous sense of... Connection.

With myself. Displaced and distorted a thousand different ways.

With the other people looking up at it. Whether they know it, or not.

And, of course, with the stars staring back at me.

They are like eyes ripped open in horror.

The sky is afraid of us.

And it should be.

---

Eldritch Horror, as a genre, is, at it's core, about the process of becoming.

---

Authors note: This story appeared fully formed in my mind in the middle of the day. I immediately felt an overwhelming urge to write it down. Which I did.

While this story can stand alone, I also feel a... Connection between it and the essay I posted a few days ago: Signalis: A Hand Reaching Out Beyond Death

Thus, I will also post this story there, in addition to this stand-alone thread.

If you liked this story maybe check out the essay, as well.