There is a great beating pulse inside of this twisted mass of muscle something that seems unstoppable in a moment, and yet here it lay- dead.

At the moment of its creation all who knew it could tell that it was flawed- bones jetting out of dry, cracked skin. It bled profuse and dark red from sockets where eyes should have been. It was tossed away- after being cut open, stitched up. It crawled from the trash and wore its stench proud as its movements on twisted limbs carried it from place to place. Dim streetlights flickering shown in moments the horrifying figure dancing from building to building, through windows the people stirred- in fear they recoiled, in disgust they armed themselves, in dismay they failed to destroy it. It could not be stopped, yet it did nothing to destroy. I have seen it a few times, dancing in dark corners where gutters leaked filth and acidic water that wasn’t fit even for rats to drink. In moments it disappears- but I feel it inside, beating away at my thoughts. It could not be real…

As the days passed it grew further out of sight, further out of mind, further outside the realm of possibility- and along the sidewalk I continued to roam. Endlessly it seemed- though cracked and broken the concrete remained. My feet moved unhindered over cracks and ruptures that jetted out beneath like thirsting roots from a mighty tree seeking to bring life to the pace I kept. But it could not be that my eyes would sway from their destined path even though the fog was thicker that a wool blanket and the lighthouse dimmer than the smallest candles weakest fire. My footsteps seemed to repeat several times over, my pace slowed- creatures made entirely of tongues, held together only by tape and exposed veins slumped out of the fog in droves. At every roll on the concrete they recoiled in disgust, as if at the center was a brain interpreting every taste from every tongue. These creatures reminded me of that terrible dancing beast; the one with sockets in its head that bled like fully opened faucets.

There were no lessons to learn any longer, my book had grown full- I shoved it back in my pack… nothing could have taught me more of these beasts in the fog- figures with stretched limbs and long faces, decapitated legs, masses made of singular organs some held together with manmade contraptions, and all living in agony. Why was it so, that my footsteps grew louder, the pack on my back heavier- my body pouring sweat and muscles aching in exhaustion- the fog growing thicker, the light I followed snuffed out. I fell down as the concrete beneath my feet turned to ash- the heat increased my life had passed. I still heard and felt everything, I still felt as if I was moving towards the light that I had just witnessed fade into nothing.

That passion that I had held to move forward moved on from my physical form, it continued walking as I soon realized many others had done- making sound and twisting their flesh- becoming beasts that held one purpose- so many lost and none with eyes to find paths, I thought for a moment I was a rare exception- with eyes on my head, a brain for reflection. But it was all lies that I had been digesting, for the greatest fool of all was I. I was born by a beast of taped together organs, and in my finest moment of reflection- laying dead along that path. I had seen now more than ever- that my sockets bled from the moment of creation.