The dark ground comes to life at her feet

 Where I come from is not exactly a country or a specific place on the Earth’s surface. I think my existence comes from a more intimate, darker place that cannot be physically reached. At least not by a mortal human being. You have to be dead to get into my little heaven underneath the ground.

    Where I come from is a very dark, grim, ugly place. And I absolutely adore it. I couldn’t imagine anything more stunning.

    Where I come from is where you don’t want to end up. And the vast majority of the humanoid population will find themselves here. That is when the fun begins.

    This is the place I know, worship, and therefore dislike leaving. So, I don’t do it often. But once in a while, this rare need comes up, and I must do the inevitable. It’s the same with people when they are obliged to get out of their homes to get fresh air into their rotten lungs. And some movements into their lifeless limbs. For if they don’t, they might stay lifeless forever. Sooner or later, they will anyway.

    After the end of their tragic, sad life journey, I am the one they’ll meet. Some of them, to be more proper. Everyone’s reaction is different. Some of them are more desperate than others. And how I love all those desperate, distressed little souls. Trying to find peace at whatever cost. Some souls, on the other hand, keep their wariness and suspicion from the old human times. But at the end of the day, or century, they are all the same. They all break. They all seek the same things they couldn’t have as living human beings and certainly cannot have as the restless walking deads.  

    Peacefulness. Harmony. Serenity. Happiness. Pleasure. Passion. Joy. Freedom. Ecstasy. The state of Nirvana. Bliss. These are the things people want. These and many more. Much more. Human beings are greedy nowadays. And after death, they are even of poorer quality. Talking about greediness and stinginess, but also especially literally speaking. Their looks aren’t what it used to be. A couple of thin hair decorating their broken scalps. A bunch of teeth trying to save the smile of the deceased. The decayed, moldy meat falling off their aching bodies. Too thin of the limbs barely able to carry too thin of the skeletons. The clothes rotting away and penetrating the bones and what’s left of the skin.

     Looking at their poor, pathetic selves, some of them might’ve even looked better in their afterlives, in all honesty.

    As already hinted, I rarely drag myself out of hell, but when I do, I do it so I could sow the seed of destruction everywhere I go. But I never go far. Ever. I only visit a place close to my heart. A beautiful dark cemetery full of mysteries and restless souls. Full of lost souls who would seek advice and peace. So, I would provide. I would direct them right into hell. People will move from their personal hell to the literal one. That would be a case of out of the frying pan, into the fire. I find those devastating, lethal flames of inferno dreadfully irresistible. One year down there is like 30 years up here. They wouldn´t be very grateful. They never were. When they spotted me sometimes in the halls, while I was walking with my bare feet on the cold surface of the rocky ground and them being behind bars, they weren´t exactly excited about their new placement. Quite the opposite. I would hear them cry in agony and scream in misery. Ah, music to my ears. But it was still not enough. Not enough satisfying. I wanted more of a torment, more of wretchedness. How I loved the melancholy that was always present wherever I appeared.

    This annihilation craving is something you are born with. Some individuals just give into it more easily than others. Earlier in their life than others. People are usually required to feel bad or, even worse, ashamed about it. I feel freed. Freed, for I don’t have to pretend. Freed, for I don’t have to wear any mask or costume. Many people might find hell as their personal paradise. If they weren’t there for their punishment and torture, naturally. Humans would have to be directly born there. Be raised and grow up amongst us. Too bad they were born in this mortal world full of pain and masquerade. Full of lies and anarchy. Well, I lure these deadly creatures with lies about a better future, too. I guess these two places aren’t that different after all.

    That is what I decided to do now. Take some despair with me. The despair of adulthood hand in hand with the anguish of the children. Whenever I stepped on the cemetery ground, the weeps and whimpers and wails and whispers would intensify. That is the time when the dark ground comes to life at my feet. When the dead ground is being slightly less deceased and a little bit more living again. And even though they can feel something’s not right, they are too desperate to listen to that last tiny piece of common sense they managed to preserve. They are tired of grief and distress. They want to feel carefree, euphoric. Even if it was only for a couple of moments, that’s how frustrated they are. And that’s good. That’s very good. Eventually, they will approach me, and I will be there. Waiting. Ready to help. And when they’re also ready to feel alive again, that is the very moment when I will send them right into the throat of darkness. And sooner or later they will realize this betrayal, and of course, they will want to come back, to climb back up, but the tentacles of the darkness will be already wrapped around their bodies and minds and there will be only I who could help them. But I am on the side of the wickedness. This is where I always belonged. This is where I always felt at home. And when the souls are finally dragged, the only evidence of their presence is their nails being stuck in the ground. But as I descend back home, I can hear the weeping and screeching again. Ah, how I missed the misery.