Stirring, Fitfully

There were times, often late at night and deeply seated into the void, when the thing in his spine would stir, fitfully. The fluid around it would seem to boil and pop, filling the space around it with frenetic energy and a sound deafening in the vacuous space, a sound to mask the absence of everything. Beneath the massive static of that sound the thing would whisper in a voice like a stifled scream. The whisper carried lies that he could not but claim as truths about the nature of all things and the terrible ways they all carried about within it.

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