Fucked if I know.
The spontaneous narrative about The Man Who Will Kill Us All will have to pause for now because I have written myself into a corner and have no idea what comes next.
I mean, the world’s on fire and civilization has completely broken down because people know the universe is dying (or so it seems), and that seems pretty final.
Not sure what to do from there. Something involving a ragtag group of survivors, I suppose. I don’t want to go there though.
I mean, how cliché can you get.
That leaves me with The Man, and he’s now a passenger in his own man, with a frightening new entity who knows impossible secrets n the driver’s seat.
Not sure where I am going there, either. I guess this is the risk you take when you write from the gut like I have been doing for the last few days.
The next bits will come to me when I stop rying to figure them out and just let them come to me like all that came before.
I’m new to this business of letting my inspiration run hot and hard. There will be a period of adjustment, Might take a while before my ego-mind gets with the program,
Well, tough titty. Because I am going to do a lot more of this murky dark shit. I’d be doing it right now if getting my ultrasound this morning hadn’t ;left me so depleted.
The scan was uneventful, except that I thought it was for my liver only, but nope. the imaging tech did my entire lower abdomen area.
She took a LOT of scans. Actually has me a bit worried. The paranoid hysteric in my mind insists that this means she found something on my liver and decided that she better survey the rest of the territory in order to paint a complete picture of the disaster area that is my digestive system,
Or maybe not. But I remember once, a long long time ago, my former GP Doctor Robinson told me I had something called “fatty infiltration of the liver”, and made it sound pretty serious, but then told me there was nothing that could be done except to “keep an eye on it”.
Funny how doctors become pessimistic in an airy, cavalier fashion around me.
“Well, sure, your knee ligaments are shredded, and I guess we could do surgery to clean it up some, but it wouldn’t really be help much….”
“Dizzy spells? It’s your diabetes. Take car of that better. NEXT! ”
“Walking across a parking lot made you feel like you ran a marathon backwards? Hmmm. Well here’s some random tests. The results will probably mean something or other if you ever make me read them, “
All of this seems to lead inevitably to a “the only one I can count on is myself” fuck you kindly kind of attitude,
I’ve always resisted that kind of thing because I associate it with really terrible people. It perforce seems to require a abandonment of compassion, and I suppose that makes sense in that if you can’t trust the world, it makes sense to close yourself off.
But that’s too high a price. I treasure my compassion,. I want to keep it.
There has to be another way.
I need another source of strength,
More after the break.
When The Man Who Will Kill Us All woke up, it was like he fell out of sleep.
One moment he was deep within the cloud of blissful nullity that is truly deep sleep, then there was a brief sensation of falling, then he was fully awake and his back hurt.
For a long time, he just lay there, trying to go back to sleep. He didn’t remember exactly why he didn’t want to be awake, but he knew he was better off not knowing and that was good enough for him,
But all his sleepiness was gone, and trying to force it was becoming actively irritating, so he reluctantly got to his feet and opened his eyes.
He was on the rocky shore of a vast black still lake, He couldn’t see anything above him.. no sky, no ceiling, nothing….just endless flawless darkness.
And there was something… wrong about the rocks he was standing on. At first they had seemed like a random jumble like any other set of broken boulders on any other shoreline, but the more he looked at them, the more convinced he became that they formed a coherent pattern that only could be seen from high in the air.
Like a message to the gods of this godforsaken place.
The water of the lake seemed off as well. It seemed perfectly still when he looked directly at it, but he kept seeing it move out of the corner of his eye.
That’s when the first spasm hit him. A full body muscular contraction that wrung him out like a wet cloth, then a long dark period of weakness and confusion.
After that, they were a regular occurrence, And they only got stronger over time. The Man Who Will Kill Us All could do nothing but whimper in terror and pain.
But then the spasms changed. They became spasms not of body but of emotions, Each one brought on a flood of a single emotion so intense that The Man Who Will Kill Us All was sure they would destroy his mind completely.
Sometimes it was rage. A white hot towering rage that made him want to scream into the void and shake the heavens with his fury.
Sometimes it would be fear. A soul-tearing unsourced terror that shook him to his core and made him piss himself without an iota of shame,
But worst of all was the lust. Cock harder than cold pressed steel but unable to find release, the raging horniness left him frustrated and furious.
But that was okay. The spasms were coming faster now, and blurring into one another. Soon, the distinctions between melted away and The Man Who Will Kill Us All felt nothing but a rising savage joy as power filled his body and his soul.
Soon he would evolve into his next form.
Soon he would smash the sky and escape this place.
Soon, he would break out and seek revenge on that which had invaded his mind and imprisoned him here.
Soon, he would make it PAY.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.