Writing

Demon

It crept up on me, like some ungodly web-crazed tangle of black leginess, tumbling toward it’s own terrifying self-satisfied destruction, tearing at foe and family, burning with violent intent, it flew and paced and waited and goaded and exploded upon me. A fear, frigid and intense, like lightning slowed to a gasp, irrational, illogical, impossible and permanent and scarring, towering above me and opening far below, a chasm of being, awash without mercy, aghast at my own petty insignificance, a spec of raw emotion in a whirling chaos of nihility. Anger, fear, love, contempt, all indistinct and incomplete. Ambition, thwarted soon as thought of. Annihilation, impulsive life denied of. A tower of indeterminate control. Power without form. A raw compst heap. A blip. Fear itself. Awful. Artifice. Imposition. Fear. Itself. What else?

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