Saturday, July 14, 2012
Unnoticed by the transient in the cramped, dusty abode, a long, black needle pins itself from under the ledge of the table; an appendage, creeping with a slow, searching method, wills to wait with seething patience. To what bulbous, disgusting body did this spiny mechanism attach itself? To what thirsty barbs formed for one aim only: to plunge themselves into pools of blood-drenched flesh? What venomous eyes lie unseen, hiding behind the long-suffering, feeling leg, wheeled along with malice and an insatiable desire to consume, till that bloated bag burst at the seams, if that were possible, digesting some hapless prey interfering in its corroded path? This tale tells not, as the visitor, in haste to consummate his journey, starts from the lonely table, grabbing the last crust of dry bread from the day of the great experiment, which left the entire area empty and filled with ghosts, like torn curtains flapping in a whispering, moaning wind. He marches out the door, confident and expecting, never to return.