Descent

You know it, that sinking feeling.

See, there’s this deep pit filled with sludge. The sludge possesses a malicious sort of magnetism. It’ll reach slimy fingers out and drag you into the muck by your toenails. It’ll suck you down into the mire. You’ll sink so deep that you’ll forget that the sensation clawing away at your insides is fear.

You’ll forget that the delicious pain in your head, that deep and jerky strumming and the red roar in your head is just you—slowly, steadily suffocating. You’ll forget. You’ll get sucked deeper and deeper down into the crushing dark. You’ll flail and grab uselessly at bits of straw, dead leaves, pieces of corpses… anything.

It’s hell, you know.

It’s hell but soon enough, you won’t be able to see, hear or feel enough to care. You start thinking that getting swallowed up by rot and wet dirt isn’t so scary. That awful abyss isn’t where you’ve descended. You’re actually floating out there somewhere, lost in the deep dark of the universe.

You’re an orphan planetoid, a burdensome chunk of flesh that was cast away by some haggard star. You drift in the empty spaces between the stars with no anchor, no light. There’s no lucky current to sweep you onto some strange and distant shore, therefore no winding road beyond waiting to lead you to some secret sanctuary you can call home.

Of course there isn’t.

Wishing for such a thing never made any real sense. The place you’ve been trying to find doesn’t even exist.

It never existed at all.

 

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