Prompt: Write a chapter that makes no sense until the last sentence
The melting walls stream into the pestilence of the floor; the ceiling drips with crimson honey. Outside, the swirling vat of the black sky teems with bulbs of roses and violas, never-ending blossoming and decay, blossoming and decay, one giving away to another; more death, more flora.
Does he know—
The dying plains stretching into the horizon beyond the jagged opening rise and fall, rise and fall. The core of the world groans, seams split and dikes form across the bending earth.
—talking and not—
Umber ash and gray dust flitter from the flora above, drifting, covering, filling the broken world. They become oceans, seas, creeks and lakes, all moving towards the center of the eye.
—all of this?
A maelstrom of browns and blacks, grays and whites, twisting, turning, digging deep into the retina.
Don’t think so—
The pink matter beyond seeps syrup, coalescing underneath.
A blaring light passes through the pool. A mirror, reflecting what’s out, not in.
The world trembles. The syrup turns black. Pink to pale gray.
I don’t think—
His face is—
The weight of the gods crushes the world. The ground trembles as tar rises, crashing, flooding the plains.
His lips are—
—but he’s not—
—call an ambulance!
Black fog rolls in over the world, consuming all, destroying all.
—found someone in—
—he’s not breathing—
Monochrome, dull light blinks within the gloom. The flora perish, pedals wither and drift, lily pads on the dead water.
—think he overdosed—
The world rattles, sighs.
Read my previous prompt, “In His House at R’lyeh, Dead Cthulhu Annoys Kayakers.”
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