Short Tales of Abominations

Siphonophore

April 27th 1934,
   Caustic winds are prying at my bedroom window. They push and scratch, pleading for me to open it. I fear as though a piece of it may have bargained with them.
   In my loathsome prayers and endless ramblings of struggle before the therapeutic carving made in place of a psychiatrist, with no knowing intention I seemed to have created an anomaly. Created or invited. The truth is I do not know.
   What I am sure of is the ceaseless discharge of negativity that my brain has become is feeding these creatures. Should I call it a creature? How do I know that it is a them?
   In any case, this body that has developed from a physical manifestation of my emotional turmoil grows wider with appendages added every few months. I only assume it is due to my complaints, but I must maintain catharsis for a creeping madness dwells within.
   I first began this ritual only for the comfort that it had given me. Thinking aloud to cope with my perceived stress was an honest and great gift to myself. It is unfortunate to think that exposure to this creature of creatures is able to feed these ideas back into me, if only by looking...
   I think, just now, I have cracked it's code! By Jove! Could it be, that by instilling a natural discomfort and seeding anxiety within me thereby forcing my cognition to skew and scramble, that this entity of micro-anomalies creates it's own nourishment by evoking within me a madness that I couldn't understand?
   This must be the way to rid myself of it's creeping gaze. It lurks just out of my sight. Always present, hardly seen. To starve it's smaller component creatures and let it wither away.
Surely there will be some issues. After all, I will be bottling up my emotions. They will pale in comparison to what may come should the creature continue to grow.
I shall try this method. I will write once more if I am successful.

Rodger Deglin