A Silence So Divine

60. Fifty Seven

Fifty Seven

Eden

Every sense I’ve ever known has warped into something other, a conglomeration of overwhelm. There is no sight, no touch, no sound, smell, or taste. It’s a resounding anguish, one that is inescapable. I am merely a vessel of pain—no beginning or end.

My thoughts have fled, too, leaving me utterly alone and at the mercy of whatever malefic force has overtaken my being. It’s like a parasite, the Darkness. Seeping into my pores, burrowing beneath sinew and muscle and etching itself into my bones.

It is pure, unrelenting torture.

In the flicker of consciousness I cling to, I beg the Fates to grant me the sweet release only Death himself can offer.

You know the end.

You know the end.

You know the end.