Darkness.

Silence.

I looked around, endless fields, the wind whispered songs of nature as they danced along the wind with ease. Yellow and green brought together in a cosmic harmony, bringing a serene excellence to this empty plain. The dark harness of the sky draped beyond the horizon. Stars filled the empty space to imply something greater beyond mere perception. There was a small journal sitting beside me and I thought to make use of that. It’s calm here, not even the sound of bugs roaming along or birds happily chirping break the silence. Winding gravel paths draped among the hills just barely visible in the night with pale blue hues. I walked, I watched as the flame rose up from beyond and found itself moving back down through these beautiful golden complexions before giving way back to the pale rock and its shining accomplices, casting fragments of light back to the ground. Most of this plain is obscured from me, during the day an intense fog clouds things in the road so that I may not see It unless It wishes to be seen. As I traversed this plain I came upon a small tent and what seemed to be the shadow of an old man cast on the leather walls. Before I could enter my vision blurred and the world seemed to crumple in. When I awoke there was no tent to speak of. Sometimes I hear a rustle in the grass, hoping for it to be any kind of life, only the wind persists. The nights here are awful, as the winds pass along I hear the cracking of bones and flesh. As the days pass and transform into that of the infinite, I have settled into routine. The walking, the watching, the endless screams that bellow as the cries mimicking that of a once dead deity pierce beyond my ears and rip at my soul. Sometimes its a house, other times what looked to be an old broken down factory or that of a skyscraper that reached to the heavens to contact God, yet it falters short of His glory and is cast back down to us. It beckons me, calling out in mocking voices of panic and desperation. The first time I saw It, was a small shack with the voice of a man inside, he needed help getting out. Before I could step off into the sea of nature, the door creaked open for only a moment. What I saw inside for that second felt like an eternity, what I can only assume to be it's eyes, were like shining pale fractals, holding the infinite inside each terrible pupil. It's body seemed to be that of an abyss. Like a maw of darkness and sharp edges held behind the wall. I think it noticed, as I sprinted far along the road to distance myself. At the edge of my visions I could see the shack warp and change into a black cloud before sinking deep into the fields. The night is the only time when the fog is lifted and this world allows me to see past itself and into nothingness. They watch me during the night, I know this is because those stars seemed to have blinked if only for an instant. Sometimes I wonder if this is a kind of hell, I never hunger nor thirst while It watches and waits for me to give into my weakness and open one of those doors. This isn't living, it never was. I only convinced myself of this so that I wouldn't give into It. But It wears me down, each endless day of sorrow and night of paranoia lend my mind to think what would happen if I simply opened the door. I contemplated my options during the night but as the day came back I noticed something odd on the road, another journal. This one was bound in a moss green with old yellow pages held within. As I read some things sent chills down my spine. The edges of the pages seemed to house the insane rattling thoughts of a madman. Scribbles dashed fervently throughout the last pages of this journal. I wanted to run I wanted to cry I wanted to forget this purgatory and give myself up. My home appeared in the center of the road and as I opened the door and the house consumed me, the only things that persisted in my mind were

darkness.

silence.