Halloween post!

Were you eagerly awaiting this? Well, you probably shouldn't have been. In any case, a very happy (or spooOOOOooky) Halloween!

So, I'm gonna attach a preface to this for a few reasons. First, a preface makes any piece of writing seem more important than it would be without. Second of all, I can explain the plot of this story in two sentences, and it's unpleasant. A guy goes up onto a mountain alone. He gets hypothermia and starts seeing stuff before he finally dies. There's a poem at the end explaining it, so if you want to read it (I don't see why you would, since it's average as far as poems go and only reiterates what I just said) you may. If you'd rather not read this haunting story, wait until tomorrow since I guess I'm obliged to post something then.


All he could feel was the bitter cold, eating away at him. He thought about where he was, thoughts drifting through the vast space the cold had left in his mind. Breathing slowly, his breath almost crystallizing when it hit the icy air, he pondered why he had bothered climbing this mountain alone.
At 22,000 feet up, most storm clouds should have been far below him, but he saw them form all around, encompassing him in a dark gray. Tendrils of fog detached themselves from the main body, whipping around, feeling him. The man shuddered at the touch, backing up into a mass of cloud. The cold darkness enveloped him; he tried to scream but the sound was drowned in immense thunder roaring everywhere. He was nowhere, he was nobody, he was nothing.
Lightning cracked around him, screaming at the foreigner in its midst, striking him, striking through him. He felt as though he was on fire. He was on fire. No, that was just his mind running wild again. Was this even here? Where was he? Who was he? Why was he? Were those eyes he saw in the mass of clouds?
The man inhaled again, after what felt like hours. He began to choke, suffocate on the ice that had pulled itself inside him. His blood was freezing in his veins as shadows started dancing around him, chanting, screeching with the wind while the thunder roared and the lightning screamed. Light began shining through the clouds, eating them, devouring until there was nothing but harsh cold light with lightning still striking and thunder everywhere.
Where the lightning had not burned and scarred him, the strange light did. It provided him no warmth, only more suffering. The shadows he had seen, the eyes, ran around him cackling madly, shouting curses upon his name, his family, everything of his. They were from the fog, its spawn, feeling him gently before scratching, ripping his eyes and tongue out while he held onto his throat, gasping for breath that wouldn’t come past the ice. His nose didn’t work; he was trapped.
Poking him viciously, the creatures grinned and picked him up. One took a knife, and started removing his fingers and toes, then hands and feet, arms, legs. He tried to fight the cold, fight the fog, fight his inner will to let go. He fought for breath, struggled to move but there was nothing to move anymore, no more besides his head and torso now. He felt warm blood trickling down his face, into his gaping, decaying mouth.
As his charred, bleeding body froze, his flesh rotted and his insides melted. A slight cut on his neck broadened into an abyss he was falling into, flailing with arms and legs he didn’t have for a grip that wasn’t there. Further into his mind he drove himself, trying to avoid the pain and destruction that tore him to pieces outside.
The man found that inside was no better, for everything in his mind was starting to decay, too, sickly and deformed from the touch of the fog. He found himself chained to a table, so firmly held a prisoner in his own mind, incapable of suicide in a place where that should have been the easiest thing to do. Coming up to him, the fog offered one small final mercy. Putting one hand on his jaw and the other near his sternum, the creature lunged for his throat.

I feel you there,
I feel the cold,
I feel the darkness
Taking hold.
I can’t see you,
I don’t know why
I feel this warmth.
I die.

Before-Halloween-Post

This poem's called Salvation, and I daresay it means something.


I hear your name,
I see your face,
I lose myself
Inside this place.
I see your eyes,
Your lovely crown,
You will be saved
Before you drown.

I am but flesh
And twisted bone,
With mind of ice
And heart of stone.
I have no soul
That I can see,
Please prove me wrong
And set me free.

I will save you
Or I will die,
I hear your plea,
No need to cry.
I’ll rescue you
And bring you home.
Forget me, please,
And freely roam.