To Rid the Disease

The Crimson King turns the black cog another notch.

Confusion dominates among the swelling tidal waves of thought and let loose a fire throughout calm meadows. The driving prose swarms with shadows and enigmatic dread. Superimposed faces in the rain all shouting for the same thing. They drown in a dark pool, their voices muted but not gone. So many things now they call for. Each one separating focus and splitting attentions. The volume fades to silence and I am alone.

Things speed up and the momentary silence is gone. Too many things happening at once to know what to do, only time to react.
Move; Counter move.
Speak.
Be silent.
Look.
Close your eyes.
Swing blindly.
Spit fire.
THINK!
Feel.
Fall.
Nothing left to fear. That's what I tell myself. It's comforting to lie.

Grab the cog...turn it once more. Let chaos reign in the great halls of peace. It is salvation through the destruction of stagnation. If I embrace it, I may be able to dig a little deeper, see a little more clearly in the darkness. I must find the antagonist that holds the cog so that I can expel him from my calm center. There is only a little farther to go...each step becomes weighed down with dread and guilt. Fear; the tendrils that grasp at my limbs attempting to pull me back to my safe little box. Their thorns tear at my flesh and I bleed endless concerns out of the wounds, distracting from the task at hand.

Somewhere in the darkness a figure slowly takes shape. It towers overhead, looking down with a cold piercing gaze. I am immobile. Frozen. Terrified at the sheer mass of the enemy I face. He grabs the darkness and tears this strange reality out of existence and I am left with only cold sweat contrasting a humid night. The vision is gone, exhaustion has broken my will.

Next time, Crimson King...