Sequence III: Perdition - Nothing But a Shadow.
Posted: Sun Aug 07, 2005 3:58 pm
WARNING! This is a Sequence Complete: Kylerryth thread. There may be any and all of the following involved: physical, mental/psychological, emotional, and/or landscape/widespread violence; mutilation; threats; nightmares; sundry illnesses; and general strangeness.
"O Gods," the farmer intoned, "forgive us our sins and let thy grace be our sole fortune."
"The Gods be praised," his wife and children murmured in reply.
"O Gods," the farmer continued. "We thank thee for the rains, for while they were plentiful, they provided the moisture needed to give life unto the earth and the crops again, all in due time. We thank thee for our lives, O Gods, and we praise thee despite trial and tribulation, for our faith hath not faltered."
"The Gods be praised," his wife and children murmured again.
"Let us eat," the farmer said, and the family released each other's hands so that they could break their fast.
"Father!" exclaimed the farmer's youngest daughter after some minutes.
"Yes, dear?" said the farmer, looking up from his plate.
"There's a bug on the table." She pointed at it, her face screwed up in disgust.
The farmer stood and leaned forward to get a better look. It was indeed a vile specimen: a cockroach almost as big as his thumb, its antennae waving in what could only be described as a curious manner, as if the alien-seeming creature was unsure of not only how it had come to be there, but why it was there, as well as what was around it.
Then, as if seeing him for the first time, the cockroach raised its front half and hissed at the farmer. Startled, he jumped back slightly and landed in his chair with a thump. His daughter stared at it in wide-eyed disbelief.
"Foul thing," the farmer muttered. He bent to pull off one of his leather half-boots, and--
And he paused, staring uncomprehendingly at the sight beneath his table.
Through a finger-width crack in the floorboards it seemed as if all the insects of the world were pouring out over the floor, a silent flood of ever-changing hues that carefully avoided coming into contact with the feet and legs of those seated at the table. He saw spiders and scorpions; saw fruit flies and huge hornets; saw them all emerging, crawling, seething with purpose. The farmer could not take his eyes off the sight, not even as a swarm of wasps lunged at his face. When he opened his mouth to shout in alarm, then scream in pain, they filled his mouth and stung the inside of it; they filled his throat, and stung that as well, and then the interior of his belly. The farmer flung himself backward, spilling out of his chair and writhing on the floor in agony, choking on the insects even as his mouth, tongue and throat swelled from the multitude of stings.
As light and life faded from him, the last sight the farmer's eyes beheld was his wife and children being similarly assaulted while the floor and walls pulsed and shifted.
When concerned neighbors stopped by the farmer's house the next morning, having not seen their friend working on restoring his decimated fields, their knocks were answered by silence.
When those concerned neighbors touched the front door and found it unlocked, they ventured inside, calling the farmer's name. Curious -- and a little afraid -- they searched the house.
When those same neighbors arrived at the dining room, they discovered why there had been no answer from their friend -- or any member of his family. There was aught left of them but their skeletons, their bones gleaming a sickly reddish-white in the burnished blood of dawn.
* * * * *
"O Gods," the farmer intoned, "forgive us our sins and let thy grace be our sole fortune."
"The Gods be praised," his wife and children murmured in reply.
"O Gods," the farmer continued. "We thank thee for the rains, for while they were plentiful, they provided the moisture needed to give life unto the earth and the crops again, all in due time. We thank thee for our lives, O Gods, and we praise thee despite trial and tribulation, for our faith hath not faltered."
"The Gods be praised," his wife and children murmured again.
"Let us eat," the farmer said, and the family released each other's hands so that they could break their fast.
"Father!" exclaimed the farmer's youngest daughter after some minutes.
"Yes, dear?" said the farmer, looking up from his plate.
"There's a bug on the table." She pointed at it, her face screwed up in disgust.
The farmer stood and leaned forward to get a better look. It was indeed a vile specimen: a cockroach almost as big as his thumb, its antennae waving in what could only be described as a curious manner, as if the alien-seeming creature was unsure of not only how it had come to be there, but why it was there, as well as what was around it.
Then, as if seeing him for the first time, the cockroach raised its front half and hissed at the farmer. Startled, he jumped back slightly and landed in his chair with a thump. His daughter stared at it in wide-eyed disbelief.
"Foul thing," the farmer muttered. He bent to pull off one of his leather half-boots, and--
And he paused, staring uncomprehendingly at the sight beneath his table.
Through a finger-width crack in the floorboards it seemed as if all the insects of the world were pouring out over the floor, a silent flood of ever-changing hues that carefully avoided coming into contact with the feet and legs of those seated at the table. He saw spiders and scorpions; saw fruit flies and huge hornets; saw them all emerging, crawling, seething with purpose. The farmer could not take his eyes off the sight, not even as a swarm of wasps lunged at his face. When he opened his mouth to shout in alarm, then scream in pain, they filled his mouth and stung the inside of it; they filled his throat, and stung that as well, and then the interior of his belly. The farmer flung himself backward, spilling out of his chair and writhing on the floor in agony, choking on the insects even as his mouth, tongue and throat swelled from the multitude of stings.
As light and life faded from him, the last sight the farmer's eyes beheld was his wife and children being similarly assaulted while the floor and walls pulsed and shifted.
* * * * *
When concerned neighbors stopped by the farmer's house the next morning, having not seen their friend working on restoring his decimated fields, their knocks were answered by silence.
When those concerned neighbors touched the front door and found it unlocked, they ventured inside, calling the farmer's name. Curious -- and a little afraid -- they searched the house.
When those same neighbors arrived at the dining room, they discovered why there had been no answer from their friend -- or any member of his family. There was aught left of them but their skeletons, their bones gleaming a sickly reddish-white in the burnished blood of dawn.