Whispers from the Abyss
“Whispers from the Abyss”
I glide through the darkness—an ancient hunger wrapped in shadow. The world beyond the veil is weak, fragile, clinging to its brief spark of life. I am the end that waits patiently in every heartbeat, the cold breath behind every sigh.
Tonight, I find a new feast.
A trembling vessel, warm and alive, bound by fear. I drift closer, my presence like the chill before the storm, unnoticed but undeniable. The pulse of their soul is a beacon, a flicker begging to be snuffed out.
I rise, a shape born of nightmares, stretching tall above the frail form beneath me.
I watch their eyes—wide, helpless, staring into the void I embody. They think closing them will save them. Foolish.
I do not take life.
I take something far worse.
I harvest memory.
Hope.
Light.
Each stolen fragment dims their existence—bit by bit, until the shell remains, empty and broken.
They pray. They plead. Their desperation tastes sweet, but it does nothing to halt my feast.
When I retreat, it is not mercy.
It is merely the pause before the final cut.
And here is the cruel truth they do not know:
I am not just the end.
I am what follows after.
When the light has fled, and the soul lies shattered—
I am the voice that whispers in the hollow dark.
The echo of your own forgotten fear.
The shadow you cast when no one is watching.
You think I come for your death? No.
I come for your loss.
And when I return, there will be nothing left of you but silence.
The Crazymad Writer Writes Again 