About: Something Evil This Way Comes/ Rebirth: Echoes of a Dreary Past I

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About: Something Evil This Way Comes/ Rebirth: Echoes of a Dreary Past I Sponge Permalink

An Entity of Type : owl:Thing, within Data Space : 134.155.108.49:8890 associated with source dataset(s)

Whispers in the dark. Surrounding, caressing, smothering in their black embrace. You have no recollection of who you are or how you arrived in this realm of endless nothing. You are alone within a world of oblivion, a void landscape vacant of any and all defining features. There is no horizon, no sky, no ground. There is only you. You, and the whispers. Whether they are the voices of malevolent spirits or tortured minds you do not know; you are simply aware that they are calling, calling to you, calling your name in some archaic and long-forgotten tongue.

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rdfs:label	Something Evil This Way Comes/ Rebirth: Echoes of a Dreary Past I
rdfs:comment	Whispers in the dark. Surrounding, caressing, smothering in their black embrace. You have no recollection of who you are or how you arrived in this realm of endless nothing. You are alone within a world of oblivion, a void landscape vacant of any and all defining features. There is no horizon, no sky, no ground. There is only you. You, and the whispers. Whether they are the voices of malevolent spirits or tortured minds you do not know; you are simply aware that they are calling, calling to you, calling your name in some archaic and long-forgotten tongue.
dcterms:subject	Something Evil This Way Comes Black Diamond Fiction Project Phoenix
abstract	Whispers in the dark. Surrounding, caressing, smothering in their black embrace. You have no recollection of who you are or how you arrived in this realm of endless nothing. You are alone within a world of oblivion, a void landscape vacant of any and all defining features. There is no horizon, no sky, no ground. There is only you. You, and the whispers. Whether they are the voices of malevolent spirits or tortured minds you do not know; you are simply aware that they are calling, calling to you, calling your name in some archaic and long-forgotten tongue. How did you get here? You do not know. Where is here? You do not know that either. Your mind is a blank slate, occupied by one sole remnant: a name. Your name. You cling to it like a drowning man clutching desolately at a piece of wreckage, tossed about in a malignant sea. The voices begin to fade, and you feel yourself slipping, slipping, sliding into the white depths of nihility. You grasp feebly at this pitiful excuse for consciousness, but it is like trying to grasp a greased rope. You are slipping, slipping, slipping... You remember this with the sudden realization of one waking up from a long, dream filled sleep. The whispers are gone, but you almost wish they were back. Anything would be better than this bleak, endless void, stretching out into black infinity, into who knows what Eldritch depths... The cloying silence is interrupted by an impossibly familiar sound, seeming to exist in incalculable contrast to this alien no-place. It is the ringing or your cellular phone. You fish it out of the pocket of your jeans, amazed that you still have the thing. Your iPod and book bag are, excuse the pun, gone with the wind. You flip open the phone to see that you have received a new text. You look at the letters for a long time, shining in the blackness like the beacon of a lighthouse painted against the night sky. Though short, this text seems to contain some incomprehensibly profound and horrific meaning. There, in plain black letters, are these four words:

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