The Ritual

by Adam L.G. Nevill

Exhaustion overwhelmed you. Played tricks with your mind.

A la myths and monsters

Evidence of four friends who took a short cut.

I am of the generation of arse, he mouthed and then laughed silently. We couldn’t find water in a reservoir. When we walk in a forest we all die. We are but baby birds fallen from nests to an unforgiving earth.

They wanted to be feared, and revered, as all morbid adolescents do.

in the scheme of things and in the length of eternity, respites were nothing but anomalies in a relentless flow of despair and pain and sadness and horror that surely would eventually sweep everyone away.

Evil was, he decided, inevitable, relentless and predictable.

He suddenly felt mad, and wild, and free of the burden of himself.