When The Lights Fail

It walks the fields.

Bruised and battered it has become, this thing eons old, a mere conception in the universe given life as an occasion of mirth. Only a tenuous grasp does it keep in between worlds, and as it delves on it rids itself of time, its madness is eroded and the true sanity takes place. This incongruous mass moves on over endless dead fields. With hollow winds that once comforted but now blow and shriek, it is pushed through endless age. In dreams ancient beings speak to it, things that have poisoned the ground and made the blackness encroach through atmosphere and mind. They give no hope for respite but are the only authority. No voice calls out, for it has lost all will. The city of gibbering things waits for it beyond the cosmos, so it continues on.