For Thy Peace, My Soul

13.

Tabby staggered through the churning cauldron of grappling flesh and sordid, filthy clutching fingers. Digits reaching out to touch her soft, sweat soaked skin. Air puffed out my nose in little snorts of disgust.

Yes, even I can be disgusted.

The gut twisting pulse of this beast threatened to peel fiber from bone. To yank and pull the secret organs of one’s self and spill it all out to the floor below for the spastically jerking rave zombies to revel in as if it were confetti.

Oh, Tabitha! I would that you could cast aside these self-hating, escapist antics and take that which is your destiny.