***Trigger warning: Before you read this, know that this story was partly inspired by
Edwin Emmanuel Bradford The basis for my stories is randomly generated, so they aren't always pleasant.
Emile felt the sweat still soaking his entire shirt. The
dream had come to him again, and again, it left him exhausted.
For
what seemed like countless nights, his sleep was interrupted by the same
horrific, nightmare. He had had these same dreams, once long ago, but they had
gone away. For some reason, they now returned.
He lay there in bed, resting comfortable on
his clean linens, when it came.
It
didn’t have a face, it barely had a shape. It was human, Emile suspected, or at
least close enough to one.
The
thing would come for him, and do . . . things.
Tears
welled up as the torturous memories came flooding to him, of recalling the
utter revulsion the thing produced within him. It was an instinctual, something
seeded deep within himself.
It
couldn’t be human—nothing could do such things and still call itself human.
Emile could feel his own heart racing, his chest heaving. Mustering what
strength he could, he made his way out of the bunk room, through the large
antique doors, and finally outside.
Fresh
wetness from a passing squall covered the ground, leaving small puddles to
reflect the moon.
Emile
looked up at the large, glowing orb. Small clouds from his own breath came and
went as fast as they were formed.
It
relaxed him though, made him feel at ease. It was quite the opposite of how the
thing made him felt. Staring upwards, he lost himself, and his surroundings.
He
never heard the approaching footsteps behind him.
A
familiar hand placed itself on his shoulder.
“Welcome
back, my child,” the owner of the voice said to Emile. “I’m glad you decided to
return to study here after being away for so many years.”
As
the instinctual revulsion welled up inside of him, Emile dropped to his knees,
crying in that abhorrent moment of clarity that was now upon him.
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