Coasting by the side of the highway, sheltered in a 1981 Ford Thunderbird shell, a man slouched behind the steering wheel. Shifting his gaze, he turned his head. As sun glinted upon his face his beady black eyes surveyed his surroundings. His gnarled lips pulled back to expose neglected teeth. A rotten slab of meat probed against them until breaking free. As the malformed bone fragments slid over rough terrain and collected in his lap a steamy cloud ballooned from his slit nostrils. From temple to chin, a rainbow ripple washed his features away. They left unstructured ivory in its wake.
With a flick of his index finger concentrated smoke billowed from two eyes centered in a silver skull ring dressing his knuckle. It drifted beyond the dashboard for fresh summer air then spiraled skyward where it bled across the firmament. They snaked barbed threads in the region of the sun and pierced through layer by layer of its fiery body until it sputtered like a huge bulb and dimmed.
His other hand hung out the window with its palm emitting diamond seeds that simmered upon their release. In their upset uneven rosy strands peeled away and nestled against pavement below. The car rolled to a stop.
Now a working muscle glove the remnants burrowed beneath tar. That what was a hand slithered back inside. Its owner rolled his head from side to side as a chasm divided the shapeless structure, yawned and birthed whipping tentacles. Their metallic suction cups slapped wildly about the cab.
Asphalt merged with tissue. Ascending out of the frothy mash horns pierced sunshine blades before the astral veil raped the sun. Then gloom claimed every corner and stretch. It forced the moon to awaken from slumber, sank fangs into her until her body shone crimson and as howls paraded disorder the source from which they generated made themselves known.
The bulk of the Thunderbird sparked and hissed as it crumpled, collapsed inwardly like a tin canister. The tentacles contained by its cab converted into lightning, their proprietor an electrical column that palpitated and exuded cosmic cinders that ruptured like fireworks. An array of color blasted in all directions, painted trees, grass and buildings alike; bleeding muscle writhing around twisted bone.
Hell was born.
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The Ancient Chronicles: Short Stories
HorrorA mysterious entity born from chaos breaks free from a hellish womb. The stories within are documents of a other godly race that no mortal can possible begin to fathom. These are the Ancient Chronicles.
