Default avatar user thumb

George Tom

India

Message to Readers

Does it seem to fast? Is there enough content to evaluate it's meaning?

Host

February 19, 2018


 
 Bustling neurons tell me a story; I draw unsanitised fear through my sucker. My thin, filamentous body wraps around the soft folds of the brain as I plumb its depths and feed off the intercepted neural messages. The bitter-sweet aftertaste of yesterday’s nightmare still lingers in my mouth. “Danny is a coal-black Rottweiler,” the neurons tell me. “He runs towards you, baring his deformed bloody teeth and your hand finds its place in his bone-crushing jaws.
But does it always have to be this gory? Perhaps a light snack will do instead, something like a cracker with a dollop of sour-cream; like the thought that chilled the marrow and sent a delightful spasm through my body: Thick, viscous goop climbs up your feet, works its way to the hips, the chest-- now it's plugging your nostrils. You cannot breathe, wait you can’t see either, you feel light-headed, you choke—
“You’re a sick sycophant”, you say. “A disgusting sadistic parasite.” I cannot entirely deny this. Some days, thoughts turn mundane-which is rarer than you think-and I do secrete a nightmare stimulant. But nine times out of ten, you’re the story teller; I just read the open book. Go on, you’re appalled. Curse me, but one day I will atrophy and dissolve into the very thoughts I read and I will find my way into the outside world. Then you will unsuspectingly gather those verbal ideas and foster those thoughts as your own. Then I will grow and read your stories. You are the monster, my storyteller-- my beloved host.

                                                                               END

Print

See History
1

Login or Signup to provide a comment.