The Weeping Child
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The sobs will reverberate. They will echo. You will walk cautiously into the street, when in all actuality the thought of being hit by a car will be the last thing on your mind. You will step lightly, continuing to listen for the source of these cries. You will stop in the dead center of the road and slowly lower your eyes to the ground. There, between your wet leather boots, you will see a manhole cover. You will blink wildly as you try to process the situation. It will only take a second. It will feel like aeons. You will fight against the tightening of your legs and you will drop to your knees. The cover will be heavy, but you won’t notice with the adrenaline bursting through every pore. The sobs will grow louder and more pronounced. You will strain to find this child, but impossibly, the dark only gets darker as you press your sight further. You will reach down and command, “Give me your hand. Give me your hand.” Through your heavy breathing the sobs will faint, enveloped, drowned in the dark. The silence will terrify you. A large, wet, muscular tentacle will ooze from the blackness and grip your arm. You will instinctively struggle and fight this thing, only to realize that your struggle causes its grip to tighten. You will feel your fingertips swell with blood nearing to burst. A strange calm will wash over you as the creature begins to pull you gently. You will begin to cry as you relent in acceptance. You will whisper your goodbyes to your loved ones, and you will apologize to the child whom you could not save. As you are dragged into this strange deep beneath the city, you will feel rejuvinated. Your skin will slowly tighten around muscle and bone. Your hair will turn soft, and your lungs will inflate effortlessly. Through the blinding dark, a single point of light will birth into existence. A star. It will pulse, slowly at first, like the beat of a sleeping heart. The pulse will grow into a strobing, slowly still, but quickening, until the intensity causes the explosion of a starfield. Forces of gravity and magnetism twist and contort this immense universe around you. In the chaos of formation and destruction, things begin to take form. Small things. Familiar things. Walls will surround you, the floor will rise to meet your feet. Furniture and appliances materialize around you. Soon you will find yourself in a place you have not seen in decades. The house in which you grew up. The place of your youth. But it is different now. Everything is blurred and grey, as if you were inhabiting a faded memory. The dry smell of dust will permeate. You will call out to your mother and father. And you will get no response. You will turn and run towards a window. Looking out you will see only barren desert. Strong winds kick up whisps of salty, bleached white sand. It will be immediately apparent that nothing could possibly survive here. After a moment you will realize that you are standing on your toes, straining to peer over the windowsill. You are smaller now. Younger. The youngest you can remember being. Confusion and fear will strike you deep in the heart. Again you will call to your mother and father, and again you will get no response. The outside light will begin to fade, and this place will grow dark. Your only reaction will be to huddle in a corner of the room. As the darkness deepens around you, you will close your eyes and begin to whimper. Your sobs will reverberate. They will echo. The familiar place will fade away, and the wretched stench of mildew and sewage will set in. A wet chill will brush your skin. Up through the chasm, you will hear the faint footsteps of a lone passerby as they walk the streets, between the glowing puddles of lamplight. Photo source: Manictastic |
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