MicroHorror

I wonder, what happens when night falls? Can I keep myself from coming apart? As I try to focus and find the answer, suddenly like a razor wire it tightens around me. My mind splits. I’m on the other side now.

I grab a hammer. Raising my arms up into the night I bring it down. Pulverizing the lid off my own skull, I enter inside searching for the answer, tearing at the brain trying to see what hides inside. “I can see it!” The answer to my question lies behind my dying eyes. What happens when night falls? The lights go out.

The deteriorating bodies write with their own blood, infinite numbers of hands dipping into selves until they run dry. Upon the insides of black solid walls these stories of horror bleed through, using every drop, so the words can finally be seen and read. New sentences appear constantly on every face of all the walls and levels, a tower of a building that is unending and always being built higher.

Pores run clear of crimson fluid, eyes crack, bones convulse, flesh dissolves. So excited, one sticks his meatless fingers into his eyes, thrusting them into gray matter, ending his existence without another thought.

Bloodsoaked walls, bleeding from expression, out of blood ink; the Devil’s library waits for the new residents of Hell to come and let their tortured tales bleed through.