Monday, November 8, 2010


As the doctor worked, his horror grew. It grew till it filled him completely. It ran in his blood, both with and against the flow. It peered out from behind his pupils. He felt it cut against his insides when he turned. When he walked, his horror seemed to leave behind a trail of frozen slime. And it creeped out into his work. Every little piece he touched was stained by his it. His breath formed a fragile but indestructible shield in which his horror flourished with the pale, sickly quivering of its cover. The dormant cells were crystallisations of his fear and revulsion. And the moment they were finally set alive by an electric spark, the doctor’s sanity exploded with equal intensity. Was it a wonder then, that the creation was ugly? Born against the force of so much ill-feeling, his muscles were quite twisted. His heart had come alive at the pinnacle of extreme paranoia, so it beat with a hot madness. And his eyes, on opening, reflected the first thing they saw- blind horror at the phenomenon of life. The poor monster. He never had a chance…

(Submitted by Ayush)

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