Dark Creature

The dark visage leers in the lightless corridor. Consciousness is confused by an imagination injected reality. To the somnambulent viewer, its image recalls dreary secrets: these deep devils thrive in the subconscious. They are barely realized but inordinately and irrationally felt: engines that rev mood producing smoke and steam, clouding the delicate mental atmosphere with stagnant smog. The expression is frozen, unmoving in time. Its unchanging nature adds to its daunting surreality. A sneer, mouth downturned like a wilted stem, glints in the slinking moonlight bombarded by sneaking shadows. The nose is hooked, angling nightmares. The eyes are indiscernible hollows in the blackness of night. They stare, registering all and expressing naught.

The frightened child trembles, sleep-starved attention transfixed on the ghoulish face pasted at the corner of the room. Too frightened to scream, too terrified to move-his young sanity is upheaved by overheat and exhaustion. The child weeps for innocent morning in the midst of this imposing evil that so ruthlessly questions the foundations of courage. Yet the moody morning refuses to listen to the adolescent cry and remains egocentrically out of reach. And thus the child grows alone, devoid of the sun's clear rationale.

What dark creature is born this night? It is pale, timid, afraid. It harbors death in a soul which blocks love with hard armor. The creature prays for light but is ever at home in shadow. Its sunken face hellishly haunts generations to come.