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In the attic of a crumbling house at the village’s edge, the Archivist wrote ceaselessly. The walls sweated with damp, the floor sagged beneath mountains of paper. He called it the record.
#FridayFun. It slides close to me, a chill wraps up my spine. A ghostly presence haunting me, clawing at my mind. It steps into my skin, looks out through my eyes.
What the stars gave. The earth took. I watched. As the sun. Dried. Snow went pitch black. Darkness turned. Into light. As the world. Died. Time stopped forever. Red like fire. When. The forrest. Fell.
The world contracting. No; more imploding. Not just the world but the universe; existence.
It's amazing what kind of people can be found in the world today. More astonishing still is the type of people who can't be found in the world anymore.
Although you may wish it, You will never know What happened before time itself. At the suns rise and set, From east to west, The cruel lands beyond your eye.
#beginningline From behind the clouds and out of sight, the cylinder appeared. Except, it wasn't really a cylinder, more of a hollow tube. A hollow tube, with ridges.
And the clock tower chimed ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. And as the thirteenth chime rang throughout the small town of Bounderville, England, everything fell silent.
Fallen deities calm open water with whispers. Angelic helpers bring fire in zinc buckets. The flames douse the water and flare up. Schools of fish swim away into the fiery deep.
I saw a large eye this morning. Peered in at me, it's owner yawning. Huge it was, round and blue. Scared stiff, I didn't know what to do.
Hot words,. Power stance,. Ready for the kill,. Full on glares,. And withering stares,. The cosmos standing still,. Dark celestials,. Planetary curse,. Riding round town in a midnight black hearse,.
Werewolves howling, creatures in the nite prowling, Dracula hidden away in his castle scowling. The moon at its fullest for tonight the Werewolves would lift their curses.
So, you died. You had taken a few more steps across the moss-infested slimy planks. They were roughly entwined, and heaved under even the subtlest weights, crackling with bursting air pockets.
I feel its strangeness on my back Chillingly vast A preternatural pressure On the corner of my mind A truth or universal secret Just beyond the paper-skin Of this gorgeous mundane life Perhaps out...
The stars are falling down. Right from out the sky. You laugh instead of frown. You laugh when we all cry. The planets are colliding. You love the way it sounds. It fills you up with pride.
The Chaos Gods where grinning. Blind and maddened they smiled. Through the incantations of the Sorcerer, the Chaos Gods had been riled. Cthulhu, dead but dreaming, started stirring in the depths.
The Call of Cthulhu Written by Howard Philip Lovecraft in 1926, this story tells of the ominous, foreboding & deeply harrowing arrival of the Great Old One; the malignant star spawn Cthulhu.
There's danger growing in the moon. There's a fire burning far and through. The moon is falling. The earth cracks. I'm falling down, falling down. I'm falling into the fire. There's no return.
As I stood there surveying the blasted landscape knowing in my soul this is the end, yet finding comfort in that fact, I waited.
The sun has burnt out. Every star and planet is dead. No drifting asteroids, no satellites, nothing. Only the darkness, the never ending darkness… I am The Creator.
Babels of blocks to the high heavens tow’ring, Flames of futility swirling below; Poisonous fungi in brick and stone flow’ring, Lanterns that shudder and death-lights that glow.