La. La. De. La.
His eyes open, and he's not sure what the hell he is anymore. If he's human. Or something else.
And it suddenly occurs to him that such thinking is convoluted. Of course he is human.
And of course he doesn't know.
He, or shall we say It, blinks, and It doesn't see things in a rainbow of color. No. It sees things in red. Just the dark red of blood and death and.
Whatever other adjectives for red kills and feasts on those with morals.
So what is he? And of course, he catches himself calling himself a 'himself'. He is not a he. He is an It.
So what is it? What am I? The thought reverberates across Its head, and suddenly It realizes that It doesn't have much of a mind anymore. It remembers that in a once-life-long-ago, It had a wife and two kids. Or was it two wife or no kids. Or did it just have a dog.
Do dogs taste good?
It finds itself barely able to hold on. Its conscious is slowly being eaten away by pure. Raw. Instinct.
It's hungry, as its long, black appendage reaches to the cold and hard marble floor, grabbing what It can so as to throw Its indiscreet, shapeless form forward in a sort of mock motion.
And that's when It feels it. Senses it. Tastes it. The scent of human.
But wasn't I human? Wasn't I a 'him?'
The thought is demolished by the hunger coursing throughout Its body. It wants to feed.
Moving at speeds thought nigh impossible, It propels itself through the twisting halls and turns of Its damnable dominion of non-Euclidean geometry. For a while, It is amazed at Its level of travel, but Its train of thinking crashes when through Its haste, It sees other like it.
Mindless beings crashing into the walls, attacking and eating each other because of their hunger. It avoids the others like the plague, because he remembers. And then It forgets.
Another turn, and there's the human. A little girl of eight years old. She is staring the non-Euclidean geometry of the hell down, her mind being destroyed and reassembled by the infinite bafflement of her hell. Her little body is trembling while her arms hold onto a red backpack for dear life. Her mouth whispers intangible mumblings that sound strangely like 'M(persona)mmy.'
But the girl is lost in her own psyche. Staring and staring and losing and losing. It stares at the little girl, lost deep in guilt at what It is about to do.
Then the hunger courses throughout Its body, and Its shapeless form throws itself at the little girl. Physically, the girl does not scream. Her mind will not let her. Her body is calm as the formless shape crushes the bones in her body by Its massive weight while her mind is in hysterics at what is happening.
And her body waits patiently as the darkness burns her skin, eats away at her muscles and then her broken bones. As everything becomes one.
It's funny that she doesn't feel any pain. She realizes that her psyche won't let her.
And soon, there is nothing left of the little girl, save her red backpack. She is now a part of It. It wants Its hunger to go away. But it doesn't.
It transforms to pain.
It groans. It screams. Its blood chills when It hears Its own inhuman screeches.
A process of birth is taking place, It realizes, as Its body splits apart into two as if the mitosis of a eukaryotic cell.
And suddenly, there are two dreaded beast where there was one. Its shape is on the cold floor, writhing in pain, body limping everywhere. But once It rears Its body together, does It notice the other beast opposite of It.
It suddenly looks into the closed eyes of the indescribable beast, fear coursing throughout Its body. It screams like a banshee, as It scurries the opposite direction.
The beast's thoughts are gathering.
Her eyes open, and she's not sure what the hell she is anymore.
De. De. La. De.
Rihana and Lovecraft