Monthly Torment: Week Three

[bigredanhorny9.livejournal.com]

~ By now, everyone's bodies have transformed at an alarmingly rapid rate into grotesque and pitiful vessels, infected and aching and wounded. Even Level One's, who were widely said to be mocking the others up in their relatively safe little ring of the world, have fallen victim to their own bodies. Perhaps more slowly than others, but that is only to do with the fact that you're safer from harm on One, and everyone knows it.

Every time fingers get caught in doorways, every time a bit of jagged metal in Seven snags on someone's trouserleg, slicing the skin underneath, every time anyone accidentally slams their arm down harder than they need to because the feeling in it has gone, and every time any one or any thing bites or scratches or attacks, the wounds struggle to heal themselves. At this peak of frightened deterioration of their bodies, one would be hard pressed to find a single finger or toe and few arms and legs that remain intact and haven't been mangled and infected. Most everyone's limbs are the most useless they've ever been if they haven't rotted away. Some shades have found ways to cover their faces and hide them from sight though most can't afford to care that much about what they look like. They have fair reason, too, as facial muscles stiffen and blinking gets more difficult some lose their sight entirely and hiding your face from the blind is much less important than trying to find somewhere to wait through the agony, though no one can ever truly die and end it.

They say everything must get worse before it gets better. This storm has gotten as bad as it can, the grand proverbial night has reached it's darkest... and everyone inside their shells of bodies wishes for reprieve. ~