Blood Masquerade
The warmth of this tide is overwhelming. Knees cave in, the chest falls, and darkness creeps in with a distant sound. Buzzing, heavy, and sunken noises vary. But the pressure...
Oh, the pressure is always there.
Inch by inch, the body crawls through a pathetic range of motion. The eyes drown in cold blood, and teeth grind into a pulpy mash. Lack of oxygen stimulates unforgiving cranial compression that concentrates the pain. The frigid, stale air burns like a thousand torches blowing in the wind.
A guttural yell, then a progression of shallow breaths.
Oh, the pressure.
Sometimes it may seem to disappear. Teasing mercy! The blood clears a path in the throat for projectile vomit. Tears made of lava and ash stream down the body, swirling together into the pit of red feces. The flies crawling on the lips search into the mouth, the ears, and the nose.
Too soon for the maggots, but the carrions watch.
Truly grotesque! A blood masquerade!
The drums begin.
Every beat fractures the flesh like an earthquake. The steady and relentless hammering of a nail. Bones shift, slipping in the crimson mass. The unyielding pressure magnifies with every strike.
More. More! MORE!
Cracking and twisting, the skeleton starts to pop. Slow, creaking breaks and sudden ruptures of blood create a majestic cacophony with the beat. Abrupt screaming completes the musical scale.
Oh, the pressure.