Moths

It smells… wet.

My senses overload immediately when awoken, filled to the brim with wet, dense air. From the position we lay in it can easily be seen that we are in a field, this feels normal, normal as normal can be I suppose. The long stalks of wheat border my vision, jutting toward the dull overcast sky, as if they were reaching for a god that was not there. Why would you say that? Why would they reach in such a way, if the only result is to be used for harvest, do they not know they assure their own demise? If they do, then they are content with their fate, why not, then, are you? I sit up with haste, hands support my upper body and sink abit into the moist ground, I look at my right hand and see it is covered in fresh blood. Why is it there is always blood on my hands? What have I done? You know what you’ve done….

I look around, wheat for what seems like miles upon miles. What is this place? This is not the field I know, the field I know is barren and flat, devoid of life. I stand slowly, the ground squirming like a newborn infant under my bare feet. It begins to rain slightly, light drizzle blurs the horizon and makes moving in any direction a gamble. Why must you always feel the need to move? Why must I stand still? Good things come to those who wait. No, good things are taken by those who act. The ground breathes with every step I take, the wheat parts for me seemingly before I step through it, the air is crisp and wet. I suddenly realize I am holding things in my hands, in my left, a mirror, looking at my reflection never was a thing I quite enjoyed, but now it seemed to comfort, a sort of assurance I suppose. In my right, a broken umbrella, bent in a way that lets it open about half way then snaps shut when let go. I continue walking, the rain picking up, if only the umbrella worked, this rain is unbearable. I hear something. Suddenly without warning, a body drops from the sky, not unlike the others that fell some time ago, this one too was devoid of any hands, feet, or a head. Unphased I keep walking, knowing they only want to tempt me further into the abyss. Before I can successfully move forward I notice that the body is vibrating. Upon further inspection I see that this is no body after all, but instead, a collective of moths, all forming what seems to be a mutilated human corpse. Once this is revealed the moths disperse, but do not fly away. They begin to fly around me in a swarm,covering me completely and eating away my clothes, I hear them, they say to keep moving. I continue walking with this new found entity still swarming around my being. The others say not to trust the moths, they say to kill them, to burn them and be rid of them, I see this as jealousy, the others are jealous that I have a new friend. This pleases me, but I know in the end it will only make things worse. Upon that thought a fog erupts from the loose, wet dirt and fills the entirety of the area, leaving my field of vision limited to only about 3 feet in front of me in any direction. I look around in a frenzy, I must keep moving it’s not an option, my new friend collects entirely on me, helping me calm down and continue pressing on. Soon after, I see something moving in the fog, it seems to me that I am not alone at the moment, to see another person after all of this time, my its been too long, too long indeed!

I press toward the person I saw, trying to speak but only guttural croaking and gasping emitting from the very bottom of my throat. I stop where I stand, suddenly frozen, desperately grasping at my throat to let my voice be heard, I must see this person, they must be seen! I fall to my knees, wincing in immense pain, blood beginning to drain from my nose and ears, its suddenly impossible to breath and my eyes feel as if they are popping out of my head. This ordeal goes on for some time, until I am again laying on my back in the field, with a blank face, expressionless, and thick fog pouring out of my mouth, into the dense, frigid air. Suddenly a figure appears before me, a woman, in a long white robe, she emits a dull blue glow, her face meets mine. Her features are naught of note, almost a face that one may forget the moment you stop looking at it. She looks sad, or maybe disappointed? She tilts her head at me, almost out of curiosity. What do you think she wants? With any luck she’ll put an end to us. She smiles at that remark. I am in shock, she can hear them, no one has ever been able to hear them. The others are silent for once. I am completely enthralled by this spectre. She lifts me up and lets me stand on my feet, for once the ground is solid and sturdy. This is wrong, something is not right she is not to be trusted. That just plainly isn’t true, she just helped me up did she not? The fog is gone is it not? I do not believe she has our best interests in mind. Even if that were true she can hear you, so you’d best watch that tongue of yours. She smiles lightly, then moves behind me. She lifts my left hand, just so that I can see myself and her behind me in the mirror. I see the both of us and am content, though it is short lived. Slowly I see my own face begin to disintegrate, rotting slowly, muscle and bone tearing and cracking, eyes falling out of my head and tongue dropping out of my mouth as my bottom jaw makes its descent towards the ground. This is a new one. I turn around and see that the spectre has formed itself into a grotesque, and bloody monster, a ghost of nightmares and terror. The horror grabs my throat, and lifts me up, feet off the ground. Gasping for air as I did before. It stands up straight, ending up being close to 9 or 10 feet tall by my amateur estimation. Wicked, devilish horns jut out from all over its body. Composed primarily of what looks to be just meat... pure, raw, bloody, meat. The face. The face is worst of all. A perfect human face, but distorted and crazy, the lips curled past human limits, the eyes wide and if I had to guess, lacking eyelids. I see a knife sticking out of the top of its head, and multiple stab wounds surrounding it. I quickly grab the knife as I wriggle in this monsters grip. Raising my hand, I let out all of the air I had left in reserves and plunge the knife deep into the head of the spectre as it crushes my windpipe and drops me. I lay there, unable to breathe, this monstrosity laying on top of me, and I think to myself in my final moments that this is good, this was supposed to happen, now I must ease my own pain. I realize that what must happen is not pretty, but necessary. I take the knife, and slide it across my wrist slowly, feeling my skin tear cleanly under the blade, almost unzipping it to let everything flow out. Yet instead of blood, hundreds upon hundreds of moths empty from my wrist. Engulfing me completely, making my vision go black. I stop breathing and am finally at peace in the darkness….

Suddenly though, it begins to smell… wet.