You shout.
A blaring- bloody pain magnifies through your skull and stomach. Spreading wide, sharp and fast while also cutting deep and agonizingly slow.
Your throats cracks and you feel like it's splitting in half from the inside- tearing flesh apart while trying to vocalize the words in your head.
You scream into the void hoping the darkness will carry your voice and not silence it. The sound however is unsteady, so raw it wavers from the effort you make, but the darkness only continues to swallow your pain as if it had been deprived its whole life until this moment.
You pray to a god you don't believe in because what else are you supposed to say when the air in your lungs is suffocating you? When it feels like your ribs are playing your lungs like a piano, forcing terrible melodies from your torn throat? When the screams are so terrible if you had been laying with anyone but the darkness- they would of called it bloody murder? What are you supposed to do when you're screaming at the hole you've made inside yourself? The hole the monster lives in?
But this was murder, wasn't it?
You were dying and you knew it, knew it because you were screaming so loud anyone who was laying six feet below would of heard.
You continue to scream for yourself and the darkness- a triumphant call from death.
A call no one is going to answer because oops, it's too late.
What are you supposed to do now? Now that your ribs have punctured your lungs and what little air that was trapped inside is has now joined the air outside of it? What are you supposed to do now that your throat has torn itself apart? Now that you're no longer breathing?
What now?
Now that you're gone.
Now that you're someone new.
Someone who is no longer human.
What are you supposed to do now that you've become the monster that spent so long dwelling inside you?
.
