In The Dark Of Day

how we go, how we stay

There was something inside and he couldn't see it. He could feel it, but he couldn't see. Them. Crawling. They were crawling all over him, touching him. Trying to get inside. The Hive. The aliens. It was awful. It was horrible. It was beautiful.

It was dark everywhere. There hadn't been sunlight in days, weeks, hours, minutes. But there were things crawling all over him. Dry, scratching legs. It hurt. It burned. It felt wonderful.

And then they were gone, and he was alone.

No. Not alone. Not anymore. Something was still in the room, something awful, something dark, something beautiful, something wonderful, something amazing. Something inside. Fingers grabbing him by the arms, by the shoulders. Shoving him against a wall, and grabbing his face and holding.

Something inside.

There as nothing there. There was nothing THERE. He was imagining this, and there was nothing there.

There was something there, something in the room. Something holding him against the wall. Something holding him against his will. Something he wanted. Something he needed. Bliss. Love. Anger. Fear.

But there wasn't anything.

He couldn't see.

It was dark and he could see everything.

He opened his mouth to scream, and no sound came out. He hit the wall again, and no sound came out.

It let him go, and he didn't move. Couldn't move. Wouldn't move. Didn't move. Couldn't see, or wouldn't see. Couldn't speak or wouldn't speak.

Couldn't breathe.

Wouldn't breathe.

There was no light, no sun. The world was dead. The world was chaos. There was nothing there, but there was something. Something inside and he couldn't-