Chloroplasma
Chloroplasma.  IT IS FUN!
part of a dragonfly.

U n d e r n e a t h  M i d n i g h t

I know a place where it’s bright.

It’s pink and green and neon and I can’t get away from the lights. They sicken me. There’s a stench of sweet, strong perfume, it’s so sugary, so saccharine, and there’s blood, and the smell of the blood and the perfume is heavy on the air, and the air’s thick and I can’t see through it, just the lights, the unnatural blinking lights are all I can see, phantom shapes weaving in and out of reality and violating my existence. The blood’s dark but everything else is bright, so bright, pink and yellow and red and white and blinking, assaulting my eyes from wherever those repulsive colors come from, and even the blood glistens on the white, white surface, because it’s so bright. It’s so damned bright. Maybe it’s not just damned, because maybe it’s already in Hell, from Hell, and that’s where it’s coming from, that’s where it’s reaching out to dig its claws into my soul and never let go. It follows me until finally I’m back in the shadows where I can breathe, but I can’t stay forever, I can’t stay at all, because I have to go back to the fake glaring lights and the putrid mists of sweet, sweet smells. I want... I want to see the sun. I can’t see it because the sky’s not there, we covered up the sky, and all we have are the infernal lights. And we can’t breathe real air, because we took that away, it’s out there with sky, but we’re in here, and we breathe the sticky, repulsive perfume, and there’s nowhere to get away from it, and I did it, I did it myself, and I see the way to undo it. It’s right in front of my eyes, and if I could just, just reach out my hand... but I can’t do it, I can’t move my hand, the smell and the garish lights are swirling demonically around, and I’m still here with them, and they won’t let me get out, not today, not ever. My eyes can’t even see them anymore. I know they’re there, I’m seeing with more than my eyes, and I’m smelling not with my nose, but with everything, with everything I have, and I try to shut it out but it’s too late. I hear the buzzing of a neon sign somewhere above my head as I run.

I can’t get away from the damned lights.


curly thing.
one's hair on trees and one's hair on people.
IMAGE MAP OF YOUR DOOM.