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Literature Text
In the night, her mind came alive with dead visions, and things that may have once been living, or maybe things that never were alive at once point, just unholy animated things. There was a faceless nurse sobbing in a corner, ready to leap up and stab with her twisted needle in an instant, her shrieks of an unknown need calling forth others like her from the bowls of the madhouse. Perhaps that was why they all were so infinitely terrifying- because there WAS no motivation for their actions- maybe that was all they did. In the open closet there moves something, and flashing a beam of light onto it would reveal multitudes of human heads, not severed, but as if their body was the floor, all reanimated by the will of an unknown insanity, screaming and shrieking, and yet their noises were as silent as whispers. Sometimes, something grows out of the floor and swallows one of the heads of the damned, and disappears, as if this place were a single entity. Perhaps it was.
Upstairs comes the laughter of children, when there should be screams, because the children’s blood is pouring down the stairwell. And yet they still laugh. Downstairs, that’s were it is black. There’s an entity there, that isn’t really there. Or is he? That is why those stairs strike fear in so many. No one knows if there’s a thing there or not. Sometimes, we fear it more than what is down at the bottom of those steps. If you somehow manage to get down there, there is a caldron boiling with a sickly thick stew of tan and red, and black, all bubbling, and occasionally, something like a face emerges, screams once, then wallows down into the mess. It’s like when you get there, you know what it is, even though you really have no clue how you know. It’s the boiling bodies of dead children, and if you look up, from a hook and chain come down a groaning man, moaning in misery as his dead eyes look around him. He is being lowered into the caldron and again, by some damnable power, the children are laughing at him, as if amused by the thought that adults aren’t as invincible as they thought they were, laughing at the thought that the adults they had counted on saving them were now as lowly as they.
There is a snarling from a room above this one. That’s from a lot of rooms. This place IS endless after all. But if we take a look above, if we were able to phase through the floors like the thing in the Closet of Mindless Minds, we would see some other wretch hanging from a hook and chain, the hook buried in his flesh. Rabid, foaming animals race around, but they do not tear at the thing, the human like wretch. They snarl and watch as something black and sickly bubbles out of his armless torso, until it grows into a hideous, fang-mouthed conjoined twin, flesh black with blisters and pus-filled boils, it’s eyes glowing white, the slitted nose taking in the scent of fear. As if the rabid animals were egging it to do such, it begins to tear at it’s own flesh with it’s mouth bristling with teeth, ripping at it’s twin as he groans and screamed.
Something that may have once been human watches us. Nails stick out of it’s brown, emaciated flesh, the skin peeling up, looking like burnt flesh, with running sores and warts all about it’s body. The legs were dwarfed by it’s long-reaching arms, each tipped with six boney fingers, with five joints to the digits as one reaches out, and the other cradles a small, fluffy, smiling teddy bear. Why is it holding that? Perhaps once it was human; perhaps once it had a heart.
There’s something creeping in the corner, in the shadows, like some fungus. Oily black oozes and throbs, and sometimes, you can hear it whispering in noises unheard of by human ears.
Nothing in our world makes sense here, just as nothing in this world makes sense to us. This is the realm where the word ‘atrocity’ doesn’t exist, but regardless, this just happens.
And it’s all in the mind of a young girl who sees strange things when she closes her eyes.
Upstairs comes the laughter of children, when there should be screams, because the children’s blood is pouring down the stairwell. And yet they still laugh. Downstairs, that’s were it is black. There’s an entity there, that isn’t really there. Or is he? That is why those stairs strike fear in so many. No one knows if there’s a thing there or not. Sometimes, we fear it more than what is down at the bottom of those steps. If you somehow manage to get down there, there is a caldron boiling with a sickly thick stew of tan and red, and black, all bubbling, and occasionally, something like a face emerges, screams once, then wallows down into the mess. It’s like when you get there, you know what it is, even though you really have no clue how you know. It’s the boiling bodies of dead children, and if you look up, from a hook and chain come down a groaning man, moaning in misery as his dead eyes look around him. He is being lowered into the caldron and again, by some damnable power, the children are laughing at him, as if amused by the thought that adults aren’t as invincible as they thought they were, laughing at the thought that the adults they had counted on saving them were now as lowly as they.
There is a snarling from a room above this one. That’s from a lot of rooms. This place IS endless after all. But if we take a look above, if we were able to phase through the floors like the thing in the Closet of Mindless Minds, we would see some other wretch hanging from a hook and chain, the hook buried in his flesh. Rabid, foaming animals race around, but they do not tear at the thing, the human like wretch. They snarl and watch as something black and sickly bubbles out of his armless torso, until it grows into a hideous, fang-mouthed conjoined twin, flesh black with blisters and pus-filled boils, it’s eyes glowing white, the slitted nose taking in the scent of fear. As if the rabid animals were egging it to do such, it begins to tear at it’s own flesh with it’s mouth bristling with teeth, ripping at it’s twin as he groans and screamed.
Something that may have once been human watches us. Nails stick out of it’s brown, emaciated flesh, the skin peeling up, looking like burnt flesh, with running sores and warts all about it’s body. The legs were dwarfed by it’s long-reaching arms, each tipped with six boney fingers, with five joints to the digits as one reaches out, and the other cradles a small, fluffy, smiling teddy bear. Why is it holding that? Perhaps once it was human; perhaps once it had a heart.
There’s something creeping in the corner, in the shadows, like some fungus. Oily black oozes and throbs, and sometimes, you can hear it whispering in noises unheard of by human ears.
Nothing in our world makes sense here, just as nothing in this world makes sense to us. This is the realm where the word ‘atrocity’ doesn’t exist, but regardless, this just happens.
And it’s all in the mind of a young girl who sees strange things when she closes her eyes.
A short piece of writing of the things I see when I close my eyes...
Dear God, I think I need a therapist ^^:
Dear God, I think I need a therapist ^^:
© 2009 - 2024 RustNSplinters
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WOW This is amazing, you may need to see a shrink but that would get rid of fantastic writing such as this so please don't 