Bogleech.com's 2013 Horror Write-off:
Submitted by Aonymous
I float away. My mind is free from its prison of bone. I see what was not meant to be seen and more. I become part of the air and sky.
Then I am back.
The device in my hands is made of flesh but its skin is hard, smooth, shell-like. It crunches like a bird skull between my teeth. My mouth is filled with the taste of warm copper. I drink deep. It is a sweet thing.
It rolls and rolls and rolls against my tounge, soft and concave, a perfect fit. She runs and circles and screams as they claw at her. But how could one fear something so beautiful? To be touched by perfection is a blessing, not a curse. Embrace it, I tell her. She fades away.
There are wires in my chest. Hard lines of metallic yellow stand out against a retangular cage of ribs smeared with dripping red wetness, they themselves burried in pulsating walls of muscle. I carefully adust the yellow with silver tongs so that I might unlock the door. I must go deeper into the darkness.
The world within the world streatches on and on and on. I-
Wait, what was that?
The invisiable ones return.
I die and rise again and die and rise again and the cycle repeats in the land of ice and darkness until my mind teeters on the yawning edge of madness. Wild cries tear loose from a mouth I do not feel and reverberate against pilliars of ivory that are my hands, not teeth.
The behemoth rises. The whirling blades launch their assult. No blood is shed on this side of the glass.
Moving on. The fish man. Ignore the mist, shoot the eye beneath the face. A firm pattern. Such a regular, firm pattern, like clockwork.
But I can't grasp it. It slips away.
Red light flashes. I link with the lifeblood, the beginning and end of all things. Blue returns. This is good, but I cannot remeber why.
It's all so hot, you know. But cold at the same time. Cold as the ocean that laps against the window, hot as the thing in my hands, alive and dead yet not undead.
A misspelling. An odd place for it, alongside the caged eye of the infernal beast.
Logic and sense and reason facture away in great puzzle pieces that are reformed into a carnival of fangs and tentacles. I dance here. I dream here. I have never slept better than when I lay beneath their watchful gaze.
The world is rebirthed. Flat mouths, graceful as seels, fall in legions before me. I throw shoes and other blunt objects at them. Their corpses laugh and engage in lively conversation.
I stare deep into the portal and fall again.
Life is temporary, but the ever intertwining strands are forever.