Purgatory

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
A horror dream sequence.

Submitted: July 09, 2016

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Submitted: July 09, 2016

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Purgatory

 

My thoughts and thoughts commingle; they stir like heady liquor in my mind. Out from where my mind awoke, it was placated in a depth, a tomb-hole. When I looked up I saw a great many people herded by the wind, shedding dirt and fly and regarding me with such preeminent wonder. “Take us”, “Take us there” chirped the crowd encompassing me. Yes I remembered them. That is why the idea had much biting augury.

We began our tour of the earth’s round as nascently the vestments of midnight made their procession through the firmament. Across the mesa, and roaming through a menagerie of forgotten things … heaped weary stone and untended graves, the dormant pitch recasting the meandering forest edge until it was fitfully myopic.  I scarcely remember much now, but how I viewed the moonlight most morbidly on my outstretched palm.

The December tangle was dead above them, woven for the paltry moonlight thickly, which seemed to wane its influence, the same as fortune. I suffer the raw wind’s stiffening ire. I saw a colossus. The great forked tree that would direct me to the grassy plain, to where the knoll is, on which the rueful palace sits.  Only the broad moonlight had shown a trace where it landed upon the strange cursive grasses. For they were intolerably gleeful, as if hiding something sinister.

The palace is of beautiful frame and paramount, its shadow caresses the night. Yet from every crevice whistles a breath conceived parching and malignant within unknown lairs beneath it. And the wood throbs from the loathsome bellow. A promoted marble step-way led us joyfully near.

I now regret my compulsion to look back. Compassing my neck, it became manifest that I was utterly alone. At this I almost lost my reason, as you can probably imagine. Gradually I began to acknowledge the dross-like voices of the crowd were unreal. Curdled humors pulsed indistinctly through an illimitable cranial vacuum. Night-black melancholic bile moistened my body internally. This is how insanity effloresces. With intrepid movement I marched up to the sentinel Overseer, an old man whose eyes seemed to know much … he took us in. Un-circulating the airs smelt of ammonia, sulfur and silage. It adhered like detestable powder, and formed on my person a serenely chalky integument. He led me up mindless flights of stairs to the Imperial Theater. That height is supreme surmounting Olympian choir and feeble cloud and tender cosmos.

As the doors opened I became inundated with otherworldly litanies. The disheartening requiem waned … and swelled. The cadence moved my senses to coalesce at the heights of the monolith walls. The sight of this will always stay an especial agony for myself, since being before my eyes always it has unchained me from the entity I once named humankind. I can only describe it thus. A stockpile of remains, whose turgor of bony digits and trunks pressed ubiquitously against the vaulted ceiling! The smell unbearably festered dizzyingly about my crown. From the heights a million skulls smiled sardonically. Composedly, intrepid movement ensued amongst the litter of that people, puffed cascades of anaerobic decomposition germinated gleefully. Down they came. Down! Down! Down!

There a grand den hall stretched before them. The corners remote. Gracious haven. But blithe was the scene to them, who amorphous parted to learn how blest where they, with winsome feast. With roast and mead, with honeyed pork and spice, grapes and plum and pipes for smoke. It was placed upon the tables, without trace of any who had done it. From whence it came, to shine their iris’s I cannot say. The night world gambols freely, so they along marching cavort to their seats, lustily to their fancy feast. Meanwhile the gourmand crowd took down the course with vulgar hand, filled each grasp.

 With terror trance I will recall, out of grave rot, came welling a spring of life, crimsoning, lashing through them from the bellies, which had token of rebirth, rancid soured, then slight and sweet, as soft they were, and death seize me if I say it not, they were men again. A skin-chill, hard, ran down my back column. Erupting from soul chambers sealed, from dusty remembrances, a light I saw on each their faces. Time labored to grasp them. Their hearts out-bursting chased the muddled bleakness out. It was a domain of dust no longer.

We proceeded to a garden-chamber grotto. I stood diminished before the broad behemoth, arrayed with hoarfrost and lit with an uncanny feeble glow. For a while my eyes traced the bleak innards. For my solace, the voices returned. A form came before me; it was low, brittle, its belly thinned by maggots, her staring face no longer draped by skin. The elder face came close. It spoke, “Dear, relate to me the beating of your heart, the thick water that warms. Describe the morning sun, does he still light upon the lovers cheek, does he still heat them with passion when dreamed upon a verdant peak, soft greens and his lips softer! We plucked from her lofty boughs a bushel, sweet as honey, while we giggled, and with each taste would kiss, our faces slipping with the nectar, to the ground, that is where we fell”. I took her hand as we descended into the grotto.  

The dilapidated floor, its fractured rock and supple yielding earth formed an impediment for each footfall. Now we walked in darkness. Onward and onward again. Not a lamp for succor, not a blunted rock to reprieve my wretched soles. From there memory fainted away. We had left it on the track. All we know is onward, forward, advance. While upon our faces a wicked zephyr fanned, crawling its way around each like a fog, and smelling like the un-livered breath of Prometheus. Until the blindness opened, and I saw it, where a mount protruded from the bedrock in the distance. There sat a rectangular light flooded opening. Drossy liquid began to pour from the primeval dirt, until it deepened to our knees. The lifeless puddle ringed the mount.

We climbed atop, and sat in the light near the stairs. There spread an evaporation rising from the redoubtable gulf, a sadistic mineral tint of red. The design of it was to deepen in color as it converged, to melt and be the base.  The voices were louder, and rang in a place where the mist would not follow, but curled wistfully upon the rock. The whisper lured us down, upon path of poppies curved, and soon we precipitated like night bred crickets. And I say this not as delirium. There could be no deformation in my mind. The vision shattering landscape I stood in was both outside amidst the whimpering elms, but also below a thousand feet of clay and rock. So blind is the droning stars, the distressed mind becomes the eyes, who look hysterically upon the yawning gulf and endless space. Hades! I hear the screams. Hades! Then astounding me, the walls turn ruby again, red streaked white. An ivory opening, excelling with fairy light. Where issued the charnel riot out of the unfathomed woefulness, and into a fallacy of day. By our feet the whisper curves the poppies. Here I know is the cavern well, from which Daemon-winged Oneiroi draw the water of man’s terror. 

A new sun glowed just above the bluff. I can hear their footsteps ascend the radiant bluff. And I will hear the deep-drawn sighs “Warmest green calmness shines the broad earth today”.

As for me, I lay interred within the coffin-well, without sight, a quietus voice speaks from the poppy-wreaths wound around my head. They say things … beautiful things


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