There is a sound that many of us hear throughout our lives. It’s a keening, a high-pitched call, the rumble of our names on the lips of monsters and hellions. They cry out from the pit, screaming for your blood, for the things that makes you whole and sane.
They grapple amongst themselves, luring us closer the outs edge with lies and deception and cunning.
They terrify us, because we know not from where they come and why they crave our blood.
But then, someone, some words, some situation, or some revelation comes along and carries you to the Pit’s edge and shines a light down on the things that cry out your name in the night.
And as you peer down, you see the monstrosities that pine for your life and a horrible realization strikes. Underneath the claws, the serrated fangs, and the leathery wings, the monsters all wear the same face as you, as dark and grotesque as they are.
One is called destitution, one called pain, and another called self-loathing. All familiar faces after all. Faces you thought you would never have to see because you buried them in a pit and covered them over with bad habits and denial. You scream, YOU CAN’T HAVE ME, yet they continue to wail until the syllables of your name sound like a horrendous thing.