prometheus72
Greenlighter
- Joined
- Apr 1, 2009
- Messages
- 36
Restitution
He looks far too casual, appearing to be no better than the guileless monsters all around him. These obnoxious, ignorant, sweaty creatures gorge and laugh, and he takes no action. He knows he should be angry, disgusted, bitter towards them; but these emotions fizz and bubble to his face as a simple and humble expression. This carbonation of sentiment is disposed of, bursting from his mind into the humid air around him. The swine are all lying down, basking in the harsh daylight as he subconsciously does the same. He and the savages alike are on a ring of grass supported by the walls of the stadium, containing something esoteric. In the center of everything, a colossal inky sphere gravitates above a colorless void. The sphere flows within itself, smokey and gaseous as it absorbs light from the unbearably bright sun. The infestations around him seem to lack the very human fear that is getting more powerful within him, they laugh and point and applaud the sphere, as it continues to absorb light, slowly dimming the light. He wants to make them realize that the ghastly sphere doesn’t deserve their applause, doesn’t deserve their smiles and laughter. He tries to stand up, to scream, to make the vermin around him aware of what is happening, but his mind and body are bound to where he lies. He struggles even harder,
screaming thunderously within his thoughts, a shattering disturbed wail. In a pure state of panic and horror, the man continues to fight himself, keeping his sincere expression and position, chuckling entirely against his will. And all the while, the brutes around him laugh even harder while the blackened sphere absorbs what light remains. The sun has gone along with any heat associated with it, a flawed darkness envelops everything. The man feels like he is on the verge of death, he gives way to what he his body has been instinctively yearning. His chuckle turns into hysterical, sickening laughter. The man notices tears of shame and helplessness coming, which he can only feel in his vivid thoughts. Within his thoughts, he is sobbing, completely disabled. Retreated into a misshapen fetal position. He and the others’ laughter is now at its ear-piercing peak, the sphere is more massive and grim then it should ever have been capable of being. In this moment of undisturbed derangement, the sphere completely vanishes, and for a second there was is light anywhere. The man lets out a last hysterical cry, as the sphere implodes, destroying every last one of the helpless souls. Left behind there is undisturbed nothingness. No color, no sound, no existence. Not even thoughts or feelings left behind from the people who were prisoners of their consciences. A completely clean slate. Anything may exist in this nothingness. But then again, nothing may exist in anything.
He looks far too casual, appearing to be no better than the guileless monsters all around him. These obnoxious, ignorant, sweaty creatures gorge and laugh, and he takes no action. He knows he should be angry, disgusted, bitter towards them; but these emotions fizz and bubble to his face as a simple and humble expression. This carbonation of sentiment is disposed of, bursting from his mind into the humid air around him. The swine are all lying down, basking in the harsh daylight as he subconsciously does the same. He and the savages alike are on a ring of grass supported by the walls of the stadium, containing something esoteric. In the center of everything, a colossal inky sphere gravitates above a colorless void. The sphere flows within itself, smokey and gaseous as it absorbs light from the unbearably bright sun. The infestations around him seem to lack the very human fear that is getting more powerful within him, they laugh and point and applaud the sphere, as it continues to absorb light, slowly dimming the light. He wants to make them realize that the ghastly sphere doesn’t deserve their applause, doesn’t deserve their smiles and laughter. He tries to stand up, to scream, to make the vermin around him aware of what is happening, but his mind and body are bound to where he lies. He struggles even harder,
screaming thunderously within his thoughts, a shattering disturbed wail. In a pure state of panic and horror, the man continues to fight himself, keeping his sincere expression and position, chuckling entirely against his will. And all the while, the brutes around him laugh even harder while the blackened sphere absorbs what light remains. The sun has gone along with any heat associated with it, a flawed darkness envelops everything. The man feels like he is on the verge of death, he gives way to what he his body has been instinctively yearning. His chuckle turns into hysterical, sickening laughter. The man notices tears of shame and helplessness coming, which he can only feel in his vivid thoughts. Within his thoughts, he is sobbing, completely disabled. Retreated into a misshapen fetal position. He and the others’ laughter is now at its ear-piercing peak, the sphere is more massive and grim then it should ever have been capable of being. In this moment of undisturbed derangement, the sphere completely vanishes, and for a second there was is light anywhere. The man lets out a last hysterical cry, as the sphere implodes, destroying every last one of the helpless souls. Left behind there is undisturbed nothingness. No color, no sound, no existence. Not even thoughts or feelings left behind from the people who were prisoners of their consciences. A completely clean slate. Anything may exist in this nothingness. But then again, nothing may exist in anything.
