The Daemon Tells His Tale
By Jason Zavoda
Your world is cold and plain as the skin of a virgin stretched on a drying rack. What I can tell you of the places beyond thought and behind reality would make you cry tears of blood, make you scream till your throat was stripped raw, pleasure you beyond pain and understanding.
Can you see the colors of death? Can you taste the sublime flavors of damnation or hear the unending chorus of those trapped between the veil of life and the curtain of eternity? You would have me rip a handful of threads from the weave of fate and place them in your grasp though each strand would flay your soul. Truly I would laugh at such a sight and bask in the radiance of your torment.
Would you sail with me on the boat of dreams past the boundary of the sane? Take bleeding wings sewn with the severed silver thread that binds your spirit safe to Earth?
The mystic heavens have no place for mortal travelers. To hear of what far fabled lands reside beyond the birth of the moon and the far reaches of the outer dark will set you on a path that will forever take you from the world of man.
There is no safety in words. They will not shield you from the horror of the empty dark. The words are a doorway, a gate to fear and wonder, that once opened can never be closed.
I will tell you of places unreachable filled with the nameless and the unimaginable from which there is no return.