The Lung of The Underworld

A personal omage to the fictional universe of horror created by Ambrose Bierce, Robert W. Chambers and H. P. Lovecraft.

All of existence was an illusion. Not outside itself, since that space was filled by which was never seen before, but inside each sentient being. A trait shared not only by humans but by every organic life form that held self-awareness in the universe. It's not as easy to lose control of oneself as it is to gain control of others, yet the entire structure of reality was shifting, from it's innermost backbone to the most exotic outskirts of the cosmos. Each point-like particle and each planet and galaxy shared the same fate, demise. Everything was spireling out of control, as it would have never been possible before, when entropy hadn't reached it's peak. It was maddening. But what was the cause ? What was this force surging from within our bodies and minds, this intangible nature that seemed so unstoppable ? 

We, humans, spent our scientific era calling it entropy, the intrinsic chaotic tendency of all matter. Another illusion, as it turned out. However, when it reached it's peak as we thought it had, it revealed itself as a sort of unseen hand, one that lifted a curtain from our eyes. We could see through a blindness we never knew we had. It was a finely tailored veil of deception that encompassed us all. Surprisingly, not only our eyes adapted to the transinet fashion of existence but also our thoughts and so called values. Everything seemed preposterous, all that had been and all we believed in was gone, removed. And we understood it logically. It was a wonderous moment of intelectual bliss for every being involved in this strange process, but it quickly vanished, as we were levitated away from Earth as one. Each and every human that lived and had ever lived returned to life and learned that death was only a necessary evil for the continuation of the illusion. As we moved through space and time we learned the truth, not told directly but perceived intuitively. The time for upfront confrontation was still to arrive. 

After coursing through the increasingly more disperse scenery of the universe, we were transported to different locations and separated individually. From that point foward I could only speak for myself, for I only knew the particular description of my circumstances. 

I was placed in the middle of a remarkably Earth-like prairie. The autumn breeze and the dried-out plants suggested a feeling of comfort and an indistinguishable sensation of belonging. It felt like home. Then, abruptly, destruction ensued and took hold of the otherwise peaceful state of the landsacpe, turning it into a turmoil of unnatural anarchy. The plants, the trees, the streams of water and the rocks that defined their path, that not so long before stood vivid and alive near me, began to dissolve in a consuming dark fire until there was nothing left but ashes. Even the skies and the clouds burned. I was left untouched, for some reason. At the moment I thought it was a method of torture. For once, my perception was correct. After all the fire had virtually extinguished the scarred land began to tremble. The remnants of the trees crumbled. The ground started to crack, but not randomly, since the cracks established a pattern that consecutively collapsed. A gargantuan chasm took the place of what preceeded it, but it didn't stay as such for long. Something from far bellow was ascending. The roofs and the deteriorated chapels and towers came first, then the walls and the streets. It was a city. It was Carcosa. 

Never in my life had I heard about Carcosa, but somehow, I knew what it was. I could understand it. I could grasp its faint silhouette. It resembled to a city in shape, but something else emaneted from it, a psychosphere that felt too real. It was as much of a city as it was a concept, both physically and philosophically. Upon entering the city I stumbled on some small wooden constructs, contemplated and compared their shape to those of pyramids, and proceeded further and deeper into the city. 

Every street, every house and building showed signs of a decay that stopped somewhere in time. It got as old as it possibily could. I reached the center of the city. Like the exterior and the rest of the interior its arquitecture remained vaguely ancient and covered in roots and wooden branches. In the innermost ring of the central circular square was another wooden construct, but this one was different. Not in shape or constitution but in location. It was pefectly centered and adjusted, so much that it felt like everything revolved around it. Curious to discover some distiction between it and the other I had seen earlier I lifted it, and by doing so, I felt a hit of profound horror. It was spontaneous. The burned sky exploded from an origin point and became dark, but only until slow swirling blue clouds filled the void. The sensation of horror only grew in me, as the blue mixed with dark in what seemed like an upside-down vulcano, and the black stars started to rise. Then, there was utter silence. I fell in a pit of total dismay, pure fear I felt, as my eyes witnessed the descent of death taken form. The wooden object I had held until that point slipped through my shaking hands and shattered in the ground, and so did I. I felt the tissues and the sanity that had kept me together for all these years being ripped apart like fragil twigs. No tear, no scream, no plea for help would come out. My voice was stolen. Stolen by a monstruous creature of unspeakable and incomprehensible shape, plunging from the skies through what seemed like wings, until it landed on the ground with its tentacles, shattering not only the place of its landing but also my mind. I had been defeated without even attepting to fight. The mere presence of this being was enough to bend me to my knees, and even those could not withstand the pressure that it induced in reality. 

Death seemed certain, as it does know, but I have not been blessed with its grace yet. I have been stuck in what seems to be just a fragment of a second of all the eternity I have to suffer before actual obliteration. I'm barely able to write between the strict lines of reality that appear broken now, but I choose to do so in expectation to reach someone outside of me. Not for salvation, for there is none, neither for me or for whoever reads this, but to remind that person that my fate will be shared, and all of what Is or will ever Be will not escape the far-reaching tentacles of Cthulhu and its infinite purgatory of endless suffering.

Author's Note

Remind me of any grammatical or structural error. Or anything else the may help evolve my style and quality.

Reviews

[Stefano Segnan]

The flow of the story is easy to fallow and the imagery was quite vivid: I enjoyed it. The only thing is that for such a long writing you should add a paragraph or two; but I also have difficulty reading on a screen for a longer period of time so that could just as well be my problem.

[John C. Chill]

Thank you very much ! The problem is that I copied the text from a document in my computer, and now I don't know if I can change how it looks.

[John C. Chill]

Ok, afterall I can edit the text. I hope it's better now :)

[Stefano Segnan]

It is indeed (:

[Solar]

It has a good psychological chill factor - reminded me of Poe's writing.

Perhaps another spell-check - a few here and there.

'I have been stuck in what seems to be just a fragment of a second of all the eternity I have to suffer before actual obliteration.' evokes the sheer horror of the situation as it unfold.

[John C. Chill]

Thank you for your considerate evaluation and constructive criticism. :)

[Solar]

you are welcome - i look forward to more.