Bleeding Out

Sacrifice

"The boy is a danger to the whole congregation!"

"He is a greater risk on the outside! Besides, he is a powerful asset to the Great Work. He may yet be of service to us!"

"You've seen what he can do, what he can create. He simply cannot be allowed to remain!"

"But he could expose us! If the outside world learns what we are..."

"But he is possessed by-"

"IF THEY DISCOVER WHAT WE'VE DONE, WHAT YOU'VE DONE TO HIM--"

"ENOUGH! We all know what has occurred and what must be done. We all share responsibility for the sacrifice..."

Darkness. Ears ringing. The cold, gray concrete beneath me. The stench of rot and garbage. The dream that is but a faded memory, and the memory of a fading dream.

I wake in a different gutter. The crumbling ruins reach into the darkened sky above me, my home an endless labyrinth of dismal alleys. A heavy atmosphere of disasters recent and yet imminent burdens the shadows between walls. Grifters, roaches, and rats scuttle from wastebin to wastebin, hiding from Hunters and scavenging for food. Far down the cramped and filthy lane, a dumpster fire burns. A group of Grifters were probably huddled around it, cooking a stray dog or their own dead. This world is disgusting. Sometimes I miss the Congregation. My thoughts return to the dream, the broken memory growing like mold. Somewhere, a malfunctioning radio hisses ominously, paralleling the white noise rattling about my skull.

Hunters.

The Grifters flee in terror, the rats and roaches disappear into cracks along the crumbling walls. The Self-Devouring City is my world though. Some eat whatever they find, some kill eachother for food. I do not need to eat. Tonight the Hunters become the hunted. Cliché, I know, but the VOID demands a sacrifice. I may not eat, but I'm always hungry.