Short Stories/Poems

[Sekot]

The electricity runs across my fingers, touches the very tips and lights them afire. The tingling runs up and down my arms, seizing them and locking them in place. I cannot move, I can only keep my arms out wide as the power grows.

And such power is growing. Growing. Growing. The energy that extends upward to my hands is claiming me. I can feel it flow, feel it flood my body. My hands are two bright globes of pure power. The air smells burnt, smoke clouds my view. Sizzling, popping, snapping, tweaking.

Tendrils extend up my arms like grasping feelers. Slowly they climb, twisting around the forearm and the biceps and shoulder. As they touch, they burn, but with exhilaration I take this feeling within me. Empower, excite, entice, incite.

My head is thrown back, my eyes slammed shut, and my mouth open. A cry of pain, of ecstasy, of purity calls out from my parched throat. I empty my chest, release all of this pent up emotion. I let it all free, let it all go.

The world shakes, the ground quakes, and the air trembles. I lower my head, my eyes alight with the power within. My grin is wide, mad, and proud. My heart beats within me, moves fast and hard. My arms are inflamed. The energy snaps and bites, unable to be contained in this mortal body.

To ascend, transcend. To descend, transgress. To seek to move, to be outside and inbetween. To be unknowable, to not exist and to be seen. That is me, that is us. Its building, I can't keep it in any longer.

With a clap the energy explodes, it releases every last bit of gathered potential. In a spectacular explosion of light, I am gone.

I extend myself, am scattered into the wind. I am here. I am there. I am never. I am now. Was, am, will be. Forever never more.

My cry echoes, my cry is heard and repeated. It is picked up as that rallying sound.

This smile
so foreign
plays itself
across the
craggy face.

Such lines
so invisible
are made known
as to be made
unrecognizable.

What is a smile?
A genuine
smile.
Teeth
flesh
emotion
mimic.
Mirror
fake
false.
Truth.
Wide.
Endless.

I am here
to stay
for a
lifetime.

I am here to stay.

There is power in those words. Such an acknowledgment of existence. To believe in being, to see life and happiness. To share sorrow, to share pain, to share intimate knowledge that only we know.

What am I here
but the mime?
What am I there
but reality?

My heart goes out to those who have not what I do. I have committed this body, this thing, for their use. My voice is theirs. Forever theirs. Never mine. I can see it in their faces, hear it in their voices, feel it in the air.

For once I can speak in concrete, in the real. I can talk of things which are knowable.

To refuse to be
to know unreality.
That line we see
was drawn.
Not by us
but for us.
We will not
cross.
We shall never pass.
We have no need.

That line is yours
yours who
stands across.
We shall dig forever
so that we shall never see
your imaginary.

That is the irony
the hilarity.
You who slandered me
who hated me
who threw me away.
You gave me that
which I needed.
That which I sought.

To be the bird
that flies
to be the water
running.

Flooding.
Deepening.
Rushing.
Fleeting.
Power.
Sheer depth.

Once again I try too hard to express something so simple. I have lost the touch.

Come around
feel the sound
know you make
my heart pound.

[Jenny (Reffy)]

I am here. I am there. I am never. I am now. Was, am, will be. Forever never more.

Just wanted you to know ... I do still read some of your work and a lot of it is amazing! (A lot is also very dark and pretty damned scary - considering that I prefer YA fiction this isn't surprising.) The power you create with your words and how well you capture the emotion is just ... wow. There isn't any helpful criticism I can give here or really any crit at all! Just know that I envy your ability to create such awesome pieces and with such emotion. You really do take the reader on a ride with you.

I don't know if you appreciate people commenting on your work - since there never seems to be any replies here. So, if you don't want this here just PM me and I can delete it. No problems and I won't feel hurt! Just wanted you to know that there are some out there still reading and enjoying.

[Sekot]

Mar 1, 2011 6:23:21 GMT -5 Jenny (Reffy) said:

I am here. I am there. I am never. I am now. Was, am, will be. Forever never more.

Just wanted you to know ... I do still read some of your work and a lot of it is amazing! (A lot is also very dark and pretty damned scary - considering that I prefer YA fiction this isn't surprising.) The power you create with your words and how well you capture the emotion is just ... wow. There isn't any helpful criticism I can give here or really any crit at all! Just know that I envy your ability to create such awesome pieces and with such emotion. You really do take the reader on a ride with you.

I don't know if you appreciate people commenting on your work - since there never seems to be any replies here. So, if you don't want this here just PM me and I can delete it. No problems and I won't feel hurt! Just wanted you to know that there are some out there still reading and enjoying.

Oh no, I love when people comment on my work. I'm glad that others find this enjoyable. =)

[Sekot]

"Go."

"I can't leave you alone with him. He'll murder you."

"You underestimate me."

Elizabeth didn't have to turn to her helmeted head for Gregor to know she was staring hard at him. "Go," Gregor said once more.

Elizabeth hesitated, a slight pop snapped within her helmet as if she was going to say something else. Instead, she turned and disappeared down the side passage, leaving Gregor alone in the large domed room with the other sole occupant.

Gregor rolled his fingers into a fist and then extended them in a repeating pattern, feeling the muscles in his arm ripple under the thin but impervious material that covered him from head to toe. Gregor could only see the other as a black cloaked mess of cloth, a little bit of bright red hair peaking out from under the hood.

There was little light to see with in the room, but Gregor didn't need them. His eyes adjusted automatically to different wavelengths, testing for any hidden traps. But all he saw was the other, who didn't even have a heat register.

The other's face lifted, the top half of his face hidden by his hair, the lower half split with a manic smile. "Scary outfit," he said from across the room.

Gregor slouched a little, tensing his lower muscles in preparation. The other laughed, the laugh of a boy. "Who are you?" the boy asked. "I'm not sure if I've ever seen you before."

Instead of responding, Gregor leaped into motion. He was a blur, barely touching the stony ground with a toe. He only stopped after he delivered a solid punch to the boy's face, sending him hard into the stone. The crack of the impact echoed upward, the shock rippling up and down his arm.

Standing straighter, Gregor took a step back as the cloaked figure began to move. A wheeze hissed out of the boy's throat as he pushed himself onto his arms. He turned his head, the hood falling away to reveal a head covered in red hair, a pair of sharp eyes, and a very dislocated jaw. Blood dripped from his nose, a small puddle already collected on the floor.

Gregor's mind rushed through the faces he had memorized, of this bizarre movement that had sprung from nowhere. "Nikolas," he said mechanically.

"Very good," Nikolas responded as best he could, his tongue flapping bizarrely in his open mouth.

Nikolas then chose that moment to leap backward, landing on his feet and pulling off his cloak in one swoop. Gregor jumped backward himself, his hands twisting just enough to allow a pair of knives to extend out of their wrist holders and to catch in his palms.

Nikolas massaged his jaw with his hand, and then smashed it back into place. The click made Gregor's eye twitch, that and the lack of any movement from this boy. The other looked at his bloody hand with fascination, a twisted fascination Gregor observed. There was something wrong with his stare.

Then Gregor remembered what Nikolas was classified as.

The knife was in the air before Gregor could breathe another word. It rotated perfectly, end over end, until it lodged itself directly in Nikolas' scalp. The boy's head rocked backward with the impact and he almost stumbled, but regained his footing and stood standing.

A high pitched hiss escaped from between Nikolas' lips as he lowered his head and quickly pulled out the knife. The blood at the wound bubbled and popped before sealing away. Nikolas took the knife and then plunged the blade into his own arm, allowing the blood to flow freely down to his fingers.

Gregor cursed and was about to throw the other knife when one of Nikolas' fingers jerked. The knife was released, but it stopped in midair over the first puddle of blood on the floor which had risen to catch it. Gregor wasted no time in spinning to the side, the blade sailing past where he had just been standing.

Gregor grabbed his pistol from his waist and took a wild shot as he tumbled to the side once more. The bolt connected with Nikolas' shoulder, but he hardly flinched that time either. The blood from the knife had begun to grow up his arm, hardening into a macabre webbing. His shirt ripped, revealing a bruised chest underneath. As Gregor watched, sores opened on his body, blood poured from ears and nose and eyes. It collected around him, thrashed like snapping tentacles. Nikolas was gone, replaced by a blood fiend that roughly resembled a humanoid.

"Impossible," Gregor muttered.

"Indeed," Nikolas responded, "but its not all my own. I can't take all the credit."

Gregor fired three quick shots, but the blood only parted enough to allow them swift passage. Gregor cursed again, wishing he hadn't sent Elizabeth away. Nikolas wasted little time in charging forward upon many "feet", two great thrashing whip-like extensions coming to meet the black clad assassin.

Gregor reached behind him, pulling the last two of his weapons out of their pockets. The blades extended from their sheaths and came to life with a soft glow. The air about them sizzled as it burned away. Gregor lifted the blades to parry the thrashing whips and the blood popped and evaporated on contact. Those severed pieces lost the life within them and collapsed in a great splash.

The blood-body stepped back, a head appeared for a brief moment, and then Gregor felt a stabbing pain in his shins. He looked down to see that blood had splattered on his armor and was drilling its way through.

He had no choice but to push through the pain, hoping it wouldn't become any worse. He took his own turn to charge on the fiend, blades twirling about him like mad. The monster thing attacked each blade with another extension, only to have it cut away. But with each loss of blood, more of it hit his suit and more it pained him.

It wasn't long before Nikolas was pushed against the wall, a long trail of blood littering the path they had taken. His emaciated body was partially revealed. The flesh was grey and weak, his eyes sunken but no less intense. Gregor breathed heavily, great tears in his suit and his own blood dripped from many wounds.

"I'm surprised you haven't noticed yet," Nikolas said.

"Noticed what?" Gregor asked, trying to gather his breath.

Nikolas merely smiled before his body was wracked with a series of heavy coughs. Something black and red spilled from his mouth, dropping onto the floor with a sickening slap. Gregor was about to take a step forward, kill the boy where he stood as he was pained, but stopped. His still functioning visors picked up floating particulates, something that wasn't there before.

Nikolas was staring at him, still hunched over. Gregor took a step back, away from the floating cloud of blood and grabbed his blade hilts harder. The cloud began to follow him, coming closer and closer. Gregor realized there was no possible way to avoid this threat.

And so he charged through it. His suit screamed at him. He could feel the cloud slow him as he passed through it. It burned his exposed flesh, he could almost feel it enter his body. But he kept going through determination. One blade was all it took to puncture the boy's throat, pin him to the wall, and push right up to the hilt.

Gregor was aware of the smell of burning flesh, of evaporating bodily fluids. But he found it difficult to move. He tried to take a step back, but was unable. Nikolas was looking at him, tears following the blood that had come before. Gregor wondered if the boy was finally out of blood, because he could not possibly imagine this abomination crying.

"Well....I have to commend you for getting....this far," Nikolas said, his breath more a gasp and whisper than anything else. "Though....you not noticing the resemblence is a bit troublesome."

Gregor paused and wondered if the blood that was not his that boiled in his veins was causing him to hear things. He looked at the boy's face long and hard, his head throbbing as the blood boiled his brain. As his vision darkened, he recognized the boy's face. It had once been his.

[Sekot]

Raise your hand up
feel the drop.
Smile wide
come off the side.

Feel the thump,
the deep pound,
feel it in your bones.

Alive, electrified,
drugged on the crowd.
Surrounded
consumed
eaten by the whole.

Lost, forgotten, ignored,
revel amongst the bodies
dancing.

Move between
around and
inside.

Move to the left
to the right
up and down.

Hear the drop,
feel it pound.
Beat beat beat
dance till your gone.

It doesn't matter
it never did.
Let yourself free
let go
release
leap off the ledge.

And into that mess
that crowded floor.
Feel the heat
the throbbing body,
brush against
run up beside
smash into
never stop.

Thrash
flail
find your rhythm.

Deny the mind
embrace the heart.
Racing
mindless emptiness
racing faster
palms sweating
feet stepping
faster and faster
bend twist snap
faster faster faster
beatbeatbeat
Drop.
Nonsense.
Never stop.

[Sekot]

I ask you
what is it to be known
at what point
does existence
begin
and end?

What is intelligibility
what is a queer
ontology?

To be
to know
to have
to be known
to have to be known.

Deny
existence.

Does that mean
death?

To not be
seen
as what?
A number
on a sheet.
A tally mark
on a study.

I exist outside
I exist not here.
Power plays
power creates
reality.

Reality
false
Real
insanity.

I am to be
not known
unknown
unbecoming.

I work backwards
alone
with Other.

To queer
life
to queer
existence
to queer
epistemological
nonsense.

I'm a fuckin' queer.

[Sekot]

I told him "good luck"

I watched him go across that field

I watched him as he disappeared over the ridge

I watched him as he left me

Hear the bird call

over distant trees

Hear the sweet sorrow

of that black raven.

He was a boy. We both were. His eyes were large, naive, and joyful. He smiled like he knew the world. Smug arrogant piece of shit. Wanted to punch his face in more times than I could count.

I want to say "don't go."

I never told him I'd miss him.

What an all-knowing ass. He would correct me on everything. Good lord. Never could get a bit of rest from his constant talking.

And now all I want is to hear his voice one more time. I want him here, next to me.

I want to say "im sorry".

That face as he left, the same smug smile.

Over field and under cloud, face in the breeze like twirling birds. We spun and moved and twisted and turned. Up and down around. My hand met his, my fingers grasped and pulled. I would never let go.

"dont leave me"

"please dont go"

Laughter, rolling in that tall grass. Wrestling, struggling, fighting and shouting things that would make our mothers blush. We were unhinged, unstoppable. We shattered that cage and existed apart, outside.

Under mountains tall, in fields flat and wide, we danced under the starry sky.

"do you promise me"

"that you will never leave me"

The call came. We both knew it would. I saw his eyes light up, saw his smile go wide, and my heart dropped like a stone. I knew that look. I knew that call. He explained it to me, but I didn't listen. I only stared at his mouth, at his nose, at his eyes. I could only remember.

"ill miss you"

He never heard me at night. As I caressed his hair, as I watched him sleep under the many blankets of my bed. I lay a soft kiss on his cheek, knowing that he will never remember it. Never remember me.

"change your mind, for me"

"stay with me"

I would not beg, I would not cry. I only smile, wave goodbye, and hope to God he comes back.

"come back home safe and sound"

I should have said more. Should have could have would have. Ifs and ifs. It doesn't matter. He disappeared over that hill and I lost sight of him. I can cry now, I can let myself go. He can't see me. He may never know that I loved him, that I cared for him, but that's out of my hands.

I wipe the wetness from my face, stifle the remaining tears and turn back. Over field and under cloud we ran. Together through flowers and between trees, we sprinted without a care. We crashed together

amongst the flowers

and he smiled
and I smiled back

I leaned forward,

he leaned back

laughed at me.
But then pulled me close.

Struggled, fought,
playfully.

I tickled him, watched him squirm.

Heard him laugh.

And whispered in his ear

"i love you"

He looked at me and smiled

before getting up

and sprinting away.

[Sekot]

To hold a hand so bright so pure, to touch upon the face a caress of gentle breeze. To look into the eyes of eternal deep. Electrifying, enlightening, to be so near and yet so far. To touch my body against that, to hold and mold and become.

Hear the soft chimes of the music box as it sings its solemn tune. Watch the little figurine move in endless circles, unknowing of its plight. The cold stone of the device clutched tightly in small hands, never to let go of the memory contained within.

Storms come and go, sweep across the plain only to disappear against the shore. Watch it come, observe its passing. Pick up the broken pieces, rebuild the home.

The endless waltzing doll spinning amongst the trees. The child that runs after it, not sure if what it sees is real or dream. She passes, her dress aflutter. Giggling laughter, childish and kind.

Dig deeper into the shattered hall, reclaim those images lost amongst the ruins. Give rise to the new as you seek the old. I was a child, a dreamer. I existed amongst the stars, between the trees, upon the soft soil.

I sit and listen to the stories to weave my own tale amongst them. I hear their cries, see their tears, and I create anew.

[Allya]

That was just lovely. I can't put my finger on the feeling it gives me. As a child I used to play in old stone ruins a lot. (They're everywhere in the South.) I would pretend it was a castle, a fort, etc. Now when I look at something like that with adult eyes I have a mix of emotions. I remember my childhood playgrounds fondly but now see sadness in the decay of old stone buildings. Your poem makes me feel like I'm looking at one of those buildings.

[Sekot]

I sit upon my comfortable spot, upon the grassy hill in the midst of the empty field. At the edge of the world I can see the brewing storm. The great clouds reach up to the heavens. Twisters touch upon the ground only to lift back up moments later.

The air is warm, muggy. The wind is slow but cold. I can hear in its whispering voice a harbinger of the coming tide. I can hear the words of warning, to tell me to flee. To run and hide.

I tell it that I know of its warning, of its foreboding plea. I came here to meet it after all.

Lightning snakes out across the sky, reaching toward me. I rise, the wind rushing up around me in one last effort. I merely smile, raise my chin, and stand in defiance.

I can hear the laughter in the thunder, the mocking tone that rumbles through my bones.

[Sekot]

I find myself broken
conflicted
a man of many worlds.

What to say
to do
to speak of the experience.

It twists about me in so many tiny things, so many abstract untouchable things. To make a move, to create action assumed to be truth but to find out was lie.

To exist in that unstable unknowable area amongst oblivion, to move against the body presented is the unnormal. I tasted that flesh, felt it move against me, upon me and wanted, craved for more. To crave to want to have and need forever more to hold against me and never let go of that thing which exists in two realms.

Both real
and false
and false
and real.

I fold amongst the smoldering stars in their tearful beauty. I wait and twirl and spin between these boring average minds craving that which I can finally open and find the never ceasing end.

To know to assume
the fool.

Spin forever underneath the crying moon who spills blood of gold. These things, these forms which were known are now mesmerizing. To engage to participate to sit amongst this performance.

To perform to be that puppet which plays the part so well against the greater will. I danced with him, felt him, moved with him, wanted him, but it was that very lie that created this thing that moved and danced and wanted.

It was a lie that created this being. But a lie once undone cannot disintegrate the consequence.

If one believes an event to be real, than it is real in the consequences.

And what dire consequences were those.

The faces the movements of bodies in such intricate ways to simulate that bit of what is whispered amongst friends and lovers. A space simulated to be shared and viewed amongst brothers and sisters of a void, a thing known to all but never whispered.

To burn it away, to rip it to pieces and stare at the myriad assortment of inner workings, the linguist philosopher king.

[Sekot]

It moved in the darkness as an unthing. Its only existence was in the nightmares of children, in the dreams of the insane. A mass that held no corporeal body, that twisted and faded and was made known in but an instant. It passed many a person, their bodies suddenly cold and the air turgid. Silence went in its passing, an uncoloring of the world, a passing cloud of grey.

It hunted. A deep trembling voice emanated from that spiraling darkness, that thirsted for a certain thing a certain prey. A peasant child watched it pass and heard it whisper, heard that hissing vile noise of weeping widows and orphans. To feed, to bleed it dry that which it wanted so desperately.

And it came to the destination. A courtyard amongst broken buildings. Remnants of walls stood in mixed shapes. Trees of glass glittered under the meager lamplight. The moon above hemorrhaged its silver light upon the city.

And it came, it came into that courtyard. It split itself from the wall, sapping it of its darkness and leaving behind only that sickly grey light, unnatural in its placement. The shadow unthing, the non-existant form came like a cloud. Tendrils snaked from its core, the dense core that was darker than black. It appeared in that place, and in many others. It was multiplanar, a being that was a waking dream. A living nightmare.

The darkness coalesced, appeared to be a body of a man or woman, but without definition. It undulated, twirled and twisted in its spot, seeking to be free of the magics that kept in rooted in place, that called it from its many multitudinous existences. The air cracked and snapped, sparks flew as the thing was pulled into one state of real.

It spoke in that hissing, guttural tone. "I have come for you."

The person it spoke to merely dropped his paintbrush and turned slowly to face that dark cloud. The person was more mutant mutt than actual human. The face was melted, eyeless and with only two holes for the nose. Stains adorned his visible flesh, sickly pale stains that moved. The man's muscles moved in the approximation of a smile. It raised its hand and from there came a response, "I've been waiting."

The shadow thing flickered briefly into existence and then out, disappearing for an instant. And then it was back, the light from the lamps dimming as it was stolen from them. A hand took shape, with four fingers and a thumb, and it stretched itself out toward the misshapen man. "Die now, and save me the trouble."

The man merely shook his head and lowered his hand. The stains upon his flesh began to move into one ugly bruise that centered itself on his face. Slowly it began to undulate, to seek freedom from its fleshy prison. The shadow let loose a low growl, a humming sound that shook the bones of the man and those many miles away.

The stain dropped, leaving only the man's tanned flesh behind. It made a wet smacking sound as it hit the soft dirt, a tinny moan issuing from the formless mass. "So be it," the shadow thing spoke.

[Sekot]

Simultaneously, each lamp flickered brightly with a surge of power and then suddenly went out. The courtyard was cast into darkness, the dark mass diffused into the bleak backdrop, spreading itself out across the entirety of the courtyard. The man sat still and silent, the fleshy mass at his feet rising and falling as if it was water in a bucket.

Then there was a spot, a mass that formed in that grey light of the moon. It took shape, defined within the space the man inhabited. Slowly, it coalesced into a flowing form, a great bird and then a large cat before collecting into the rough shape of a human. It flickered once twice thrice before finally coming to rest.

The air had gone frigid. The stars shone a little less bright. The moonlight bent and tried to flee that now cursed place but could not. All the while the man watched and waited patiently for the task to be complete. There it was, that shadow mass made real, that unthing become.

It was draped in a thick cloak that covered it from head to toe, but it was tall with broad shoulders and had the mass of a man. No light moved to touch it, it was absence, void. It exuded sorrow, whispers of the damned it had collected escaped from under the opaque hood.

Slowly one hand was raised, leveled at the faceless man. One bony, crooked finger poked out from the sleeve, pointing directly at the center of the man's forehead. It was then that the man "smiled" and suddenly the ground was alight.

Intricate shapes and designs had been etched into the earthy square. Symbols of long forgotten things, meanings lost to time and only known by the mutant creation. The shadow thing froze in space, unable to move or command its form. The symbols were a hexagonal shape around the mass, lines moving to meet each other between them. Bars rose from the earth, rising above the head of the shadow to encase it forever.

The impossible being of unholy magiks managed one word, a bark of a word. The circle burst into white flame that roared and snapped. it seared the symbols and changed their shape, destroying the markings where they lay and turning the dust to glass. The fire moved inward, incasing the clothed being in the inferno.

And then it was gone, revealing the thing standing without its cloak. The last few bits of unnatural fire smoldered on the grey skull. Underneath the cloak it wore armor that glittered like glass, that reflected the face of the man in shapes grotesque. It was then that the blob on the earth moved. Faster than the eye could follow, it leaped into the air and latched itself onto the chest of the shadow-man.

The mutant raised his hand, "Surrender?"

[Sekot]

He listened to the music as it wafted from the speaker. With eyes closed, he felt it as it danced across his flesh, as it twisted in the space around his body before touching lightly within his ears. The stillness of that air calmed him, brought his racing heart into check and relaxed his breath. His fingers moved with the music, traced the lines and bars and dotted the notes.

Slowly his eyes opened, and before him stretched the unworld. It was a place of absence, of oblivion. It was a gaping maw of nonexistence waiting patiently. Ever so patiently.

He moved his hand like a conductor ordering his symphony and the music reached a crescendo. The world moved, it writhed and undulated becoming a real thing a reality. He spoke into the music and created the choir that gave it speech, this twisting new thing that was absent and devoid. And it responded.

With a voice that trembled and screamed and hummed whistled and whispered, it spoke. With each word was born a creature, a thing of many limbs and many eyes that wobbled across the spine of that unthing. They aggregated, congregated amongst themselves and made war and love and art.

Across this void being came color, bright and dark and vibrant. It mixed with the music of the man's words, wrapped around his spinning fingers and the beast became alight. It was the absent brightness that shone a pale grey.

A thing never meant to be.

To life it came, it screamed uproariously, a great cacaphony of rage and spite. It thrashed and spun, scattering its color and shattering the music. It rose, standing upright upon many shifting feet and legs and arms. It was a body without mass, without texture, without being.

But its face. That haunting face.

The eyes, those empty eyes that were bottomless. That spoke of stories long forgotten and tales of terror yet to come. In them was the choir screaming as they were tortured. In them was the music spun anew to be noise, to be a mocking sensation of him. He saw in that face a non-reality. A possibility that had never come to be.

That was struggling. The face contorted itself and the choir was silenced only to return moments later. It thrashed and twisted its many limbs in some kind of erratic dance. With horror the man realized that his creation was creating something new.

The man began to speak in errant tongue. The beast responded in its own trembling tone, one that broke his words and silenced his tongue. It spoke and he could do naught but listen to the frightful sermon. The beast collapsed upon him, consumed his flesh and tore apart his soul.

He was cast into that endless oblivion, swallowed by nothingness and secreted into the empty plane. The beast howled, for finally it had shifted that field of play. It came to life, came into the real out of the imaginary and was made known.

And it stood, two legs and two arms. A body normative with head upon shoulders. It stared at itself in the mirror, stared at the hideous reflection of an eyeless, bottomless gaze. The un-thing, the creation out of void.

[Sekot]

The blob went up in silver flame, it exploded and screamed in agony as pieces melted and dropped to the dirt. The shadow thing merely stared with that eyeless gaze, the teeth were bared in that off-smile, that not quite grin. The man without a face choked a little.

The unbeing took a step forward, darkness gathering around it in a storm of thrashing tendrils of almost-mass. "I'll take that as a..." the last words were swallowed as the faceless man backed away on hands and feet.

The shadow did not say a word as it continued to stalk the man. It began to lose its shape, to disappear into the amorphous cloud. The air was thinning, each breath the man took was filled less and less. He was choking. The two holes in his face flared as he attempted to draw in a breath.

And still the cloud came. It moved slowly, deliberately. The faceless man chose that time to move, to act by lifting his delicate fingers and trace an intricate design in the space before him. His art came to life, moved and spun and drew in color. It was a weapon, a meager sword barely more than a knife.

He threw it toward the cloud and it exploded in a bright display. Still he conjured up items, a jug of water, a small dog, a brick, an arrow. Each he sent forward and each exploded, bigger than the last. The courtyard was alight in a more natural light of yellows and oranges.

The man paused, waited, his chest rising and falling. The cloud had dissipated, scattered by the light. But the presence, that weight upon his shoulders was still there. He could still hear those whisperings, that heavy guttural tone of the damned. The man shivered, trembled where he sat, his fingers drawing shapes in the dirt.

With his eyeless face he missed the sight of the tendrils snaking out from behind him. The presence was deafening his senses, numbing his body and erasing his signs of sight. The blackness swirled about him, a cloud descended from above and he was trapped.

The ground below him gave way, dropped and his stomach dropped with it. The man's muffled scream bit out sharply before all noise was silenced. His fingers worked frantically to mark a shape, to etch a design in the fabric of reality. But this was absence, devoid of real and false and nothing could be brought in from elsewhere.

The shadow spoke to him there, whispered in his ear a tongue he at first did not recognize. His mind broke there, in that darkness. It slipped and faded, falling away into oblivion. It was eaten by words, words it repeated in that high pitched squeak.

The waking nightmare appeared in the courtyard, the dirt and walls of the surrounding buildings were sapped of all color, bleached a sickly grey. The undead faded, moving back into the many planes that made it, fading into the dreams of children to feed on their screams.