Monday, October 10, 2011

The Mortal Promise

 No wind could rattle the wide starring eyes of the corpse before me. The stink was suppressed by shock. It's putrid skin, green and rotting, sliding off the bones like sludge. Hard to believe this rotting thing once held breath. The face, mostly bones and scab, maintained a certain peace in it's horror stricken features. I took it all in like a shot of whiskey in the long hours of a sleepless night; it burned all the way down. My legs seemed stuck in the filth of the aging sepulcher, my eyes unable to look away from the sicking reminder of mortality and the promise of one day being digested into the Earth's darken gateways. Whatever manner of sorcery kept me there in petrified shock must have broke because suddenly the scene before me was changed. My legs and arms are moving quickly, as though in autopilot. I fled that ghastly sepulcher without a word or scream. I ran as fast as my body could manage, perhaps hoping my speed would keep that mortal promise at bay.
---Tytus Lionheart

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