FEED
Us and them.
Us and them.
Us or them.
Us . . . them . . .
The large figure paused just outside the window, panes green with grime, broken and cracked along the chipped frame. Its bulk was unsettlingly large, impenetrably black, with the soiled daylight - an ugly hue of vomit and pale, pale orange - fanning out behind its irregular silhouette. Its shadow was cast on the wall within the crumbling warehouse; a grotesque image brought to life in a single second, and free to stalk the earth for an entirety afterward. Because once conjured, they could not be killed. Horrors of the mind were inescapable not just because of the lingering fear and existential dread they stirred up, but because they walked the land in physical forms now. Like long, dead fingernails picking at strips of skin and peeling them back slowly, slowly so that the pain was dull, then acute, then dull again, but always constant, always there as a reminder.
