Hellmouth

by Giles Kristian

he thinks to himself that the flailing man cannot have enough hate in him to lift his head again in this life and would be better to take the water in and give up the struggle. But the flailing man does not know this and so he tries to live,

Galien can see the green apple hanging before him and yet smell the rot on its other side.

The corpses hang there amongst and above them, naked as infants. A forest of flesh. Unyoked from the earth itself, like souls ascending to heaven. Or descending to Hell.

They all crave violence now, because in violence there is no place for thought, and thought in this place is like a sickness.

the fire seething and hissing as though it knows it is in a fight against a darkness it cannot vanquish.