Post by xuchilbara on Jan 17, 2011 15:48:32 GMT -5
The cthulhu, while uncommon, was a literary theme a lot of writers liked to play with. In all instances, the cthulhu was something that no one, at least no human, could see in its true physical form. Upon seeing it in its true form, the human mind would be overwhelmed by such beauty or ugliness, such delight or horror, and be assaulted by so many writhing contradictions and mounds and tentacles of illogic, that it would drive the viewer insane, making them catatonic and mute, save for convulsing and sputtering gibberish.
If one could step outside the bounds of this reality, observe this town's history and the history of those that interacted with it, would they come to the conclusion that art mimics reality? That cthulhus lived here? That a cthulhu was behind all this? That the town itself was a cthulhu?
The horrible noise and static being broadcast over the radio and their cell phones, was it really just electromagnetic interference? Or was it the sound of this cthulhu? Was it the sound of it? Was this its roar or growl? Was this its breathing, its heartbeat? Indeed, the noise had a pattern to it, a rhythm, and it only seemed to have started up around the same time something made its presence known.
That something was a duo of deformed dogs, skinless and mad with pain. They too defied logic and reasonable explanation. They should be on the ground, at the most writhing in agony, at the least dead from their condition. But here they were, alive, active and ready to rip the trio to shreds. Worse, they were joined by a third dog, which walked out from the depths of the fog behind the pair that initially appeared. Were there more? Maybe.
But it was only those three that charged, and as with any pack, one took the lead. It led them straight toward the tall demoness dressed as a nurse and was rewarded for its initiative with a kick to the. Crying out in a whimper, it flew back, hitting its two comrades in the process. All three dogs eventually got to their feet though, shaking and shivering from their pain, fluids dripping from their skinless bodies. They charged again, this time one going after each of the others. Or rather, one dog per person to fight.
If one could step outside the bounds of this reality, observe this town's history and the history of those that interacted with it, would they come to the conclusion that art mimics reality? That cthulhus lived here? That a cthulhu was behind all this? That the town itself was a cthulhu?
The horrible noise and static being broadcast over the radio and their cell phones, was it really just electromagnetic interference? Or was it the sound of this cthulhu? Was it the sound of it? Was this its roar or growl? Was this its breathing, its heartbeat? Indeed, the noise had a pattern to it, a rhythm, and it only seemed to have started up around the same time something made its presence known.
That something was a duo of deformed dogs, skinless and mad with pain. They too defied logic and reasonable explanation. They should be on the ground, at the most writhing in agony, at the least dead from their condition. But here they were, alive, active and ready to rip the trio to shreds. Worse, they were joined by a third dog, which walked out from the depths of the fog behind the pair that initially appeared. Were there more? Maybe.
But it was only those three that charged, and as with any pack, one took the lead. It led them straight toward the tall demoness dressed as a nurse and was rewarded for its initiative with a kick to the. Crying out in a whimper, it flew back, hitting its two comrades in the process. All three dogs eventually got to their feet though, shaking and shivering from their pain, fluids dripping from their skinless bodies. They charged again, this time one going after each of the others. Or rather, one dog per person to fight.