100 words –
The heathen hoard clambered over the remnants of the consciousness wall, bringing madness to the chaos already imbedded there.
Reality is readily routed. The dreamer tries to break the dark ties, but only finds loathsome things like nightmares. Ghastly memories rooted in time tip-toe through their unconscious mind.
Unforgiving monsters stalk the sleeping brain, seeking tears by using fears built up through the years. Slumbering memories of sadness step around madness every night in a silent fight against nightmares and fears.
The gods comment: “Poor humans. They’re so frail that their minds are held hostage when they go to sleep.”
200 words –
The interior lights were all turned off and a sense of something ancient lingered in the room. The lone resident was huddled next to the nearly dead fireplace holding onto a black iron poker. One charred log was still smoldering and a faint trail of smoke slithered into the darkness.
“Come out and show yourself,” the old man said in an unsteady tone tinged with fear.
No sound issued from the dark corner where the old man’s eye’s struggled to see what was lurking there. He sensed a presence. Whatever was in the corner, it was watching him.
Once he fancied he saw two glaring eyes. After standing for hours his legs were getting weak. It wasn’t responding to his repeated question, “What do you want?”
Polarized with fear and indecision, the man grew weaker. The black iron poker became too heavy to hold and fell onto the wooden floor with a loud thud.
No response from the dark corner.
A faint light slowly filtered through the curtains bringing a new day. In the yellow glow the corner revealed it’s occupant. A cat on a chair.
But the old man didn’t know that. He was sprawled on the floor, dead.
Hate is an acquired trait.
We’re not born hating the world around us. An infant has a clear conscience with the ability to love without reservation.
But so-called civilization infuses us with hate, as we struggle to survive in an unjust world. Blinded by hate, people lash out over ideologies and beliefs of others. Hate’s sidekick fear, leads the way and opens the doors to our eventual destruction.
Being cursed with the ability to hate, often for no good reason, is mankind’s bane. It’s an inverted cross to bear for all those who give in to hate without a fight.
When Harold saw the thing slithering out from beneath his bed he felt both vindicated and horrified.
His parents wouldn’t listen to him the first time he became aware of it’s presence. That’s why he wasn’t on the bed tonight and hiding behind his chest of drawers with a baseball bat.
When the thing slithered on top of his bed and wound itself around his pillow, he rushed out and smashed it into a bloody pulp!
The next morning.
“Have you seen a boa constrictor around?” his mother asked. “Billy next door said his pet boa escaped.”
“No,” he lied.
The man in the mirror was changing every time Randy looked.
It was a slow transformation. His once calm and bland features turned into a landscape of worry wrinkles. His blue eyes became murky gray.
He knew the change was about more than just growing old. Something was evolving in his mind. Something dark that slithered around his consciousness just out of sight. Fear of the other. People with different beliefs and colors.
Randy’s world, rooted in another era, was gone and he missed it so much it made him angry. Hate crept into his heart like a venomous snake.