The howls of someone, raw and untamed, echo off the high stone walls, cascading into a twisted sonata of pain and terror; sung by someone who knows nothing but. These high notes of fear, these low screams of pain, just some of the sounds heard in this landscape of endless night.
Pretty, aren’t they?
Through these iron doors, into this high cavern of the endless night, with a ceiling so high up, I wonder if there really is a ceiling or just darkness pressing on you, heavy as a stone slab.
These walls, slick with the blood of long dead people, singing out their twisted songs in the hallowed halls. Nobody hears them, but they scream anyway.
Humans. So easily broken.
See this corpse, rotting and old. It’s all we are in the end – bones and soft, squashing flesh. Cold. Lifeless. So pathetic it almost makes me cry for you.
Smell the fear, sharp and electric. Tastes like what nothing else ever does, fear. It’s an aphrodisiac to some, more effective than even the most beautiful harem. The smell of fear, the taste of it in your throat, when it’s your own it’s different from when it’s someone else’s. We all know it – the taste of someone else’s fear; the thick cloying taste of your own…but someone’s else’s…that’s sweet or sour as the case may be.
No matter. We’ll find out about yours, soon enough.
These stone pillars, soiled with the blood of those that came before, chains of iron red with rust and brown with blood. The colours of the passage of time but the inevitability of the human need to cover everything with their bodily fluids. Still, humans fuel their own demise.
See these monsters? Twisted fragment of your own mind; the Anger a sickening beast, malformed and insane, chained to these walls with chains of emotion, the bands of society keeping him locked away, imprisoned within humanity until the time is right. See Envy, the second largest grow fat on the unfulfilled desires of the human race, his green skin swarthy in the light of Pride, who is only chained by these chains of morals.
The chains grow weaker by the day.
Scared? Humanity does not hold onto what is needed to keep these beasts in chains. The humans do not bind these beasts with new chains, new bonds. They ignore and weaken the chains. One day they’ll break free. I’d like to see that. It will happen. I can feel it.
Scared now? You should be.
See these carcasses? The body of the dream you did not fulfil, the childhood dream you swore to follow and left behind. These is the child you did not see, the one who was too thin, too bruised, too invisible because you did not see, because you would not see. See the filthy carcasses of that which you did not do, the bodies of the children you did not help in Africa, Asia, America. The beggar on your street corner, the child who begged you for food.
Why do you cry?
Taste their rotting stench on your tongue, their feel of their blood and skin beneath your fingers, the sight of their bodies splayed before you.
Look into their eyes.
Scream all you like; no-one will come. The only people to hear are the damned and the insane. Let the screams mingle; create a new chorus, the products of the truth and fear, and stark honesty staring you in the face.
Scream your own twisted sonata, a howling terrified tribute to your future, to the failure of the human kind.
See the shadows on the walls, images of your life undone and unbound; watch them fall to the ground. Watch them shatter – your hopes, your dreams, your successes, all that you have achieved in your mortal life all that you have painstakingly built up in your lifetime, brick by brick, stone by stone, lie by lie.
Watch as it comes tumbling down.
Pick up your head; see these shattered twisted fallacies and illusions that you once clung to so desperately. See the tiny images become fragments of nothing within these walls of your own devising. See everything become nothing, what was becoming what is no more. What you have done becoming undone. What you have created, becomes destroyed, what is hope becomes despair, what is joy becomes grief, what is pleasure becomes pain.
Smell the scent of failure, the nightmarishly real smell of knowing there is nothing but nothing but nothing left. Walk through these caverns, the mighty stone blackened and charred by jealously, shame, anger, rent by the claws of Hel and Hades.
[A] Superb. I like your vocab as well as the way you have chosen to structure.
Please be aware of your handwriting.
(To improve: Controlled/sustained crafting and use more devices such as satire and irony [gallows humour may be useful])