I heard an automated audience choke, livid with laughter, as I pushed the stage button in memory lane. And the obscene sea roared in response.
Their insipid waves are necessary to ease my pain while the reaper, Fatigue, licks me dry. How he crowds me; how I wish to slaughter his haunting form.
My fists beat boomingly on his crab shell, which returns unsatisfactory raps to my enraged ears.
How he clings, claws clasping my heart and throat. Shrieking oranges fade to purple and then to red, and the pressure steams upward from my abdomen.
Beady, black, crustacean eyes stare back into mine, black with the sleep I crave, but cannot earn. Its antennae drift, lazily across my skin, slowly as if submerged, drawing shudders from my breast and goosebumps to my suffocating skin.
As I implore my higher powers to brush him off, pleading face teared, the audience just roars dumbly back.
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