The Beast – Dark Prose

It’s as if everything is enveloped in a dark void – life itself doesn’t seem to exist and neither does reality. It’s a cruel fate to be a beast of burden in a world so full of so many demands and so many rules. But then you get up and you wipe away the blood and sweat, and you keep going. With aching limbs and bated breath you hope to catch a glimpse of the dawn that seems to always be just beneath the horizon – never rising. It’s as if the dawn fears the beast as much as the beast fears itself. The beast is illusive but it’s hidden in plain sight. The beast is never where you expect it to be even though you’ve known the truth all along. That horrible noise. The rumble that starts low and grows in volume to a pitiful crescendo. The beast is wailing but yet it still remains hidden. The clock ticks along with the beating of its heart. Faster and faster as the beast spills its own blood. Time is running out. And then everything becomes silent. The world, reality itself, the mind, the soul. The dawn finally rises, but only for long enough to see… That the beast is me.

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