How It Begins
It begins like I’m drying out. Pieces of me liquefy and trickle out, run onto the floor and are absorbed into the carpet. I slowly become a desiccated and fragile thing. A slight bend and I break in half. A little pressure and I crumble into powder.
Then my surroundings begin to go. The colour leeches out of things. Nothing is rich. Nothing is warm. The world is dead and I breathe its ashes.
There is no great pain at this beginning. I have no energy to struggle or cry out. There is nothing of resistance. I am hollow.
Hollow vessels but wait to be filled. I dimly fear what might force its way into me. That black poison. The world no longer dead but un-dead, re-animated and horrific. Fungal spores in the air, maggots and rot just beneath the skin. Decay within and without.
Then I will know pain. Then I will struggle. Then I will cry out. Then I will beg for mercy in silence. But not yet. This is how it begins.