MicroHorror

Dedicated to the memory of Patrick T. Web

Those he seeks are found balancing on the edges of desolate circles, scattered along the outskirts of subculture values and ideal existences. They wander alone, pathetic and desperate. They’re tired of boredom; the monotony of existence apparent on their faces, it tugs at their skin and wilts their features.

He identifies them by their delicate souls, clearly exposed through glazed eyes. He appears as one of them: lonesome and unwanted, curious but timid, and always emotionless. Thus, there is no alarm, nor judgment concerning his presence. When he approaches, the despairing being–understanding, accepting its disposition–departs willingly.

They’re escorted to the boundary of this realm, where they step inside the darkness. Within this perpetuity, mind and body divide, and euphoria consumes all senses. Upon arrival, there is no struggle at its request, and individual immortality is surrendered to oblivion.

He is the most sorrowful of thoughts, every regretful human tendency, and the peddler of anxiety. The coming of the end will never arise for this usher of self-eradication: he is eternal, as humanity’s miseries forever feed this vile essence.