The Door

Raphael stared hesitantly at the crooked shadowing of a darkly lit doorway. It's tatting of prevalent death, formulated of a skeletal archway in an endless peripheral decent. Its painted lapsing of a once brightened burnish, hanging chastised and defeated. A bluish coating gripped the surface of its drawing in a revered togetherness.
The entrails of beasts and fallen angels cloaked its reflective fabrication. Joining in a collective unity to form the conclusion of its boundless creation.

The door was much different than the others. Its gruesome unsettling tore at its sealant of a parasitic blackness. As if something other worldly lived within its inherent concealment of perplexing mystery. A dark gleam radiated from within an ominous functioning. It's lock, oiled of the festered souls that reared their heads to an absolute in a jarring unworthiness. Blood-red hinges defined the painted abrasion of meager flesh. Cleansing the singed bones that death did randomly now betray.

It's clan of brothers and sisters stood unceasingly in loyalty beside it. Their scrupulous power emanating like a beacon outwards within a blinding god-like force. Joining invisible hands that dissimulate the rattled palms of the wilted dead on their journey to another place. Another gestured equation in the diligent hearts of their imminent judgement.

Where paupers dressed as kings and the rich slithered to the becoming of worms in a dirt laden unfolding.

The sunset was a sphere of a frightening immensity. Its closeness stung the sky in a swarm of tainted reds and blacks. Slitting the night apart by the trained fingertips of its hostile rebirthing. Its quiet mirage of shifting shapes and shadows sprawling upon its false rendition. Delivering a tattered cloak to dissuade the eyes from the bitter truth it harbored. It's false world of mumbled mimicry. Of ocean blues and stars that shined as black diamonds.
Its ragged face denouncing the torrent fable of its other insatiable euphoria. It glistened downward from above on the stalking plane of the various doorways that pulsed upon an awaited commanding.

Various souls stood in unison, single file before them. Cloned of an unnatural cessation, gifted of the grafted harboring; their hides stained by the bleached empowerment of a painfully stapled outward persona. Their eyes, a ravenous execution of darkly embittered injecting. The spreading dye cast into the retina whiteness now coated of various browns, reds, and greens. The now disguised innate spectrums devised of a mortal's prominent shading. They were polished, refined, and perfected to the deepest detail.

The dark beings approached in a resistant armada of readiness. They stood as if hypnotized, incubated within a dancing macabre exerting of inwardly focused programming.

The quenching tendrils of sluggish bores cradled the culprit unwrapping of the possession of their inward movements. Inserting their greenish antenna into the cerebral cortex of each drafted device. Downloading the consolidation of their own awareness. They were the "drivers" of each bodily creation.

The bores were a self-absorbed creature. Centuries old, they were a race of endless toiling and prolific scrutiny. Their small frames, gray with a tinted hint of green. Their long snouts protruded outwards as their 3 eyes laid just below their two antennae.

In their power of creation, they drive the "Sporalex". A false rendition coupling the entire outer and inner make up of the individuals they would assume.

They stood there one by one lined in unison. In an attempt to feign their next excessive venture in the shaping of their monthly chore.

Some were children. Some were mothers and fathers. Some were babies propelled along the winding trail in carriages. Their clothing neatly starched of a grave tinged whiteness. The black rushing of a limitless energy exertion bellowed upwards from their tattered ears. A compiling legion of smoked trembling entered the air above them. The reticent probing of biological machines engulfing their throttled chassés. Masking the training film of a chaos soaked atmosphere. It shrieked of a foul, ominous lightning. Black and gray entombing its concoction of a silent rebirth. Shining perpetually in its sky of trained habitation.

The bores marched forward.

They were the forefathers of human existence. The mining principles of a banquet dinner serving the coddled remnants of dilapidated flesh and blood. Coined to acquire of mortal cells joining in a gestation of withered miserableness.

Their fastened seat belts unraveled of intestine and carved veins upon the blade of cauterized implanted scissors. Repairing the throes of a distinct shredding to the preparing of their new day in their temporary professions. Re-cutting the outward edges each time into the image of another person. Another replica stated to observe the i.d. card insertion into the hidden slots in the backs of their plastic necks. Its mechanical foliage hinted of an elongated orifice to maintain the programmed equivalent of a new creation.
Then through the monumental exorbitance of a chosen doorway they marched steadily.

Clutching the assignment of their hollowed purposes. Trusted into a bitter launching additive. Driving forward, the addictive haul of limitless power and control.

Each individual chose a door.

A destiny and role associated to the human world below. Timing in an uncluttered unity. Assuming the dark standard of a mortal's perilous flight.

Their existence in copper chains and brass shackling. Emerging from the dark expanse of their impaired mental refraction. Plugging into the carding initiated by the cracked window of their fragile human minds. Opening the doorway in an obsessive power now activated by the key of their own projecting. Blindingly focused on the task upon the journey they now proceeded towards.

Into darkness...
Into light..

Into the world of humanity unspoken.

Through the door that shines in blackness eternal. To that world of picket fences and fine houses. The dreams of little children and the casting of soul scarred miscreants. Starving of love in the hearts of emaciated fools.

Their conquest of centuries the study of mortality in the soul of a man and woman. Learning the basics of their nature. Disassembling the specimens they would encapsulate them and harness them with binding and rusted chains. All to the summoning of that spark of divinity that composed their life and existence. In dreams, in reality, in nothingness,

The bore were there to conquer and destroy.