The Void

The void opened up on the floor this morning right by the bed. It made a hollow, sucking sound. The light disappeared from the room like the event horizon of a black hole. First, everything fell in, then the horrors climbed out. The first was Sickness, festering and asthmatic, sweaty and viscous, it climbed onto the couch and laid down, coughing and blowing its nose. It tried to stand, but fell down from fever.

Next, Time moved, with the slowness of continental drift, up out of the void and into the room. And Time stayed there, repeating the same motions over and over again, slowly condensing the radius of movement into smaller and smaller circles. A life was narrowed down and down, until it just turned around in one place, unable to move.

Rage moved faster, springing up with torches to burn everything around. The room, the house, the block, the town, all consumed with a fire lit by a hidden purpose it did not show. Afterward, all that was left was ruin.

Thirst stopped by briefly, looking in every direction. It drank anything that it could find—liquids, media, bodies—and then tried to sit down. However, soon there was nothing for it in the room, and it had to leave, and a trail of attractive bodies followed behind.

In the myth, Hope is at the bottom. It comes after all the vices have scoured the world, keeping people going. This time, however, it poked its head up out of the void, looked around, got discouraged, and sunk back down. Maybe another day.

Then, the void snapped closed. The horrors all vanished, and the room returned to normal light. It was later than it should be in the day, so I got up and ate breakfast.