Desolation
I begin to hear it.
A soft rustling behind me.
I sit in a room.
The center of a room.
Encased in a cloak of dark.
It is...
Desolate.
I know that is what it is, because, I hear it.
I hear it calling to me when I feel low.
When I feel hopeless.
When I feel...
Desolate.
I'm not sure whether it just prefers to call itself Desolation, or is just praying off human fears.
Either way it works.
I feel it.
Breathing.
Moving.
Writhing.
Behind me.
On my skin.
In my mind.
It follows me when I venture in to the depths of the mind.
My own Desolation.
It acts as though it is a physical essence.
Rather than a paranoid delusion caused by a genius-level man trapped in the dark.
Perhaps it is.
There is again.
The writhing.
The breathing.
I hear it whispering.
In my ears.
In my mind.
It's words are indistinguishable at first.
A mere droning.
I strain to hear what it says.
It slowly becomes louder.
More insistent.
I can hear a word.
Repeated.
Emphasized.
"You."
I don't know what it wants with me.
But I am no longer doubting that it is real.
Whatever it is, it is insistent.
And...
Malevolent.
Desolate...
I feel something brush the back of my neck.
The hairs rise up.
And goosebumps form up and down my arms.
The thing is close.
And it wants me to be scared.
It caresses my face, holding it still.
It leans in.
I see nothing.
But I feel it just as I can feel the floor beneath me.
It's breath smells of ozone and rot.
It whispers to me.
"Desolation."
I finally feel the need to speak.
"I know," I say.
"God. I am... God."
"Whatever you are, you are obviously not God."
It pushes me down.
I hit the ground.
And as it's hands fall upon my throat, it whispers.
"I have abandoned you all."
With my last breath, I ask it a question.
"If you are God, why are you killing me yourself?"
"Because your race is so pitiful that a slow, painful death is what even the most innocent of you deserve."
It tightens down.
My vision starts to fade.
I start to hear screaming.
Sounds of agony.
Torture.
Desolation.
Blackness.
Credited to RaxisTheOmnipotent
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