Last Breath of A Dying Man: pt 3 of 7

By Michael Wicks


Date: May 13th, 1939

From the Journal of John Montgomery, Yale University linguistics expert.


Date: May 13th, 1939       

Second night in a row that I’ve had the dream; ever since I read through Othello’s notebook, I can’t rouse the feeling that I’m being watched while I slumber. When I retire, all I can see are the eyes of the countless staring back at me, screaming in agony. Just how many people were privy to the secrets of this horrid bastard; how many fell to his fallacious testimony of a god. The records show around 36 deaths due to this madman, but records don’t account for all the missing that I know he defiled. The eyes, Jehovah, just get these eyes out of my head. The voices stop while waking, but the sounds drown my sanity in a sea of cacophony, Gott helfe uns alle. The dream started the same way as last night's; a man, in all white, appears to me in a sea of blackness, he speaks to me in a language that I have never heard before (haunts me most). He then begins to ascend, whilst the black sky turns into a tessellation of monstrous eyes, leering in every direction; yet I can’t shake the feeling they were all focused on me. Then the music begins. Some pied piper, leading pathless souls skyward, plays music which is like nothing I have ever heard before; loud is an understatement of the subjection I am forced to endure. I have yet to see the creator of these sounds, but I fear he will appear to me soon. The sounds have been permeating through my body today; I just want it to stop. Please. Just stop.


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