Tagged: Peter K. Rothe

Our church worships at the altar of the Unholy Trinity. Its gospels are delivered as a trio of dark drabbles, linked so that Three become One. All hail the power of the Three.

Part 1: All In Their Head

Headaches worsen. Scans reveal mass deep within brain. Not a tumour any specialist recognises.

Suggestion: Bullet penetrated skull as child, lodged. Mystery as to when or where.

Prepare to operate: Head shaved, anaesthetized.

Strange thoughts, feelings as they drift into dark oblivion.

Wake to find themselves bloody, head oddly numb, alone on narrow forest path, pieces of flesh dangling from their fingernails.

Gingerly, reach up: Piece of skull jutting out, half cut away.

Vomits.

Faint hum. Not a sound, but a vibration within their skull.

Somehow, they just know where to go, begin to walk, a bright light awaiting them.

Part 2: New Life

Grateful for scientific advances, given a new life where, once, death would’ve been only outcome. Of course, more metal than meat, but glad to be alive, no matter how rebuilt.

Only, things haven’t been so good of late. Twitchy. Almost as if his implants had a life of their own. And, the dreams…

The processors don’t run themselves, the doctors say, but he has doubts. Blackouts. Confusion.

What is happening?

Then, one day, he spasms, collapses.

Skin begins to bulge, rip, tear.

He screams as he dies; his titanium skeleton pulling itself free.

Bloody birth. Stretches, welcomes its new life.

Part 3: Polaris

We feel fear when the Pole Star shines bright above the northern horizon, knowing it heralds portals between our time and others, the star acting as a pharos for misplaced souls.

Do not allow your sleeping spirit to slip away in the night, following that star’s glow into strange pasts or stranger futures. Jungles, primordial and concrete, Ice Age tundra, and more await incautious dreamers.

And, such portals open both ways and things crawl through, alien in thought and form. Should you travel upon starlit paths, you may return to find you cannot waken, your body host to another mind.

Our church worships at the altar of the Unholy Trinity. Its gospels are delivered as a trio of dark drabbles, linked so that Three become One. All hail the power of the Three.

Part 1: Awakening

Emily, beloved daughter, the light of our world. A small placard grafted to a slumped stump of serrated wood. A pink pointe shoe sways in the frigid wind.

She had her mother’s grace – a memory that provided nourishment through terminal days. Days waiting for grief to start – a bottomless pit that sought for succour in dark, forbidden rituals. 

She stirs in a pit of shallowed grit, the shoe a waypoint, back to her dad, back home.

The soil contracts and groans, giving new birth to his beloved Emily, ushering her out of darkness into a world of fragile lights. 

Part 2: Hunger

A savage hunger grumbles within her. 

Her first victim, a familiar face. He weeps with joy when he sees her, even when she sinks her teeth into his succulent flesh. A visage which awakes within her a spark, a memory of who she is. 

Daddy now sways with the mindless ones. Not daddy, anymore.

Unlike Emily, whose soul clings onto necrotic flesh. She vows to change, to stop feeding, to yield and wither, to do the right thing. But Emily knows. The moment that carnal, maddening, hunger returned, and it always did,  Emily would recede and the monster would reign.

Part 3: Voices

She feasts on living flesh. Fresh souls help to quell her thirst, she awakens. Covered in soil and of meagre frame as she contemplates the cruel acts wrought by her own hands. Acts beyond redemption.

She studies the day’s hunt. Meat stirs, awakened by her infection, they rise. Fresh souls were getting harder to find. So few left for her to taste.

Yet, within her, those she ingested weep as a singular voice. A familiar voice. They call her from within, singing, ‘Emily, beloved Emily, light of our world.’

In vain they plead her to stop the never ending night.