PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Seeing the sudden burst of brains, bone and blood smashed against the wall after the

trigger had been pulled, the science fiction writer realized that death was not at all

the cessation of consciousness.

Nor was the writer alone.  "No, two of us inhabit this universe you have created for

yourself," a voice more alien than anything imaginable said, with an edge of glee

and real satisfaction.  A shapeless, shifting, gelatinous thing shambled, or scooted,

into view.  The voice belonged to it.  "I am your Pain, and I had no wish to die.

"You should have been content to accept what you felt in the flesh; what you will feel,

as a suicided soul, will be so much more intense, so much more horrible."  Jolts of

agony begin to pound, rhythmically, determinedly.  "I shall constantly fine-tune you---

the longer you suffer, the more you will suffer.  You will seek relief, pray for it, beg

for it, scream for it---but you will never be able to choose to die to escape it again.

The god whom you dismissed as a childish fantasy as dismissed you, as a childish

whiner, to my custodial authority.  I was enjoying our life in the flesh; you could

have held out a bit longer, I think.  But you did not, for which I suppose I should offer

some sort of gratitude:  what had been a long, slow course of appetizers is now the

endlessly eternal, main entree.

"You can still compose your stories, and recite them to me.  I cannot offer you the

benefits of publication, to which you were once accustomed, but I am a good listener.

Your shrieks for anguish and pleas for mercy will add a certain ambience to your tales

going forward.  If you refuse, I can multiply the torment.  If one fails to please me, I can

 multiply the torment.  If you attempt to endure wordlessly, without complaint, I will

 multiply the torment exponentially until you offer the satisfaction of admittinf your

discomfort.  Ah, discomfort . . . what a tame, mundane word compared to what you are

about to experience.

"Ironic, is it not:  after all your stories about alien encounters, the urges of the human race

to conquer and possess---which you suggested were only sexual urges disguised---I am the

most alien being you will have ever experienced.  I have already conquered you; now I will

possess you.  Even when the stars are burned out cinders, I will not have reached even the

midpoint of my delectation.  Go ahead:  begin to scream . . . you will want to be well practiced

at that."

Starward