I have always been a more visual person than anything else, and have rarely drabbled in the thought of creating a coherent story. With that being said, I felt like this was rushed and lacking in detail, but I hope whoever reads it enjoys it.
Critique is always very welcome.
At first there is color.
Beautiful swirls of oranges and blues, purples and greens. Kenny can't even fathom how such a simple imagery could be so profoundly gorgeous. In the confines of his mind he finds a retreat from the bleak desolate hell that is his white trash life, and the physical pain of death that eats away at him from the inside like an insidious cancer. Sometimes living can be so crushingly frustrating, but then again dying is in no way any better. In this moment none of that matters, though.
Kenny loves good dreams; Revels in them. Reaches up with his hands and grasps at the wispy edges of these beautiful pictures as his mind slips into the vice-like grip of unconsciousness. No death here, or drunken parents screaming and throwing bottles at each other. No high older brothers shouting back, with a silently weeping little sister hiding herself away in the midst of it all. It feels so good. Better than any paint he's ever huffed or plant he's ever smoked, and if he had the choice he would let this go on forever.
He floats blissfully in a space of weightless momentum, mind conveying a world where every nook is bright and colorful, and Kenny clings to this fantastic feeling of warmth and happiness and why can't his waking moments feel this good—
And then he feels a tug. It doesn't come really from anywhere, but regardless it pulls him down. Distinctly sinking in a space that was directionless only a few moments ago.
The last thing Kenny sees is the splintering visage of a beautifully colored landscape.
Next there is a suffocating shroud of darkness, and Kenny experiences a feeling of cool dread, as if this has happened before.
His bare feet are now suddenly grounded on a harsh and unforgiving pavement. The boy opens his eyes and recognizes the scenery as his native redneck mountain town, or at least what is left of it.
The road looks like someone took a knife and carved it up, long gashes and torn up asphalt marring the entire surface. Cars ripped apart and upturned, the scene framed by the wrecked hollow shells of crumbling buildings and black acrid smoke drifting to the red sky in great billowing clouds. Kenny realizes that he is standing in something wet, so he looks down and is overwhelmed by the metallic copper stench. Red. So much red there is red everywhere…
A BEAUTIFUL COLOR.
The statement is blaringly bold and Kenny feels another tug, his body slowly turning on its own accord to confront the space behind him. What greets him makes his throat close up in mute horror, breathing hitching in shallow terrified gasps as trembling hands reach up to pull his ratty worn parka further over his face.
A river of blood trickling slowly from a great mound of corpses, the crushed and broken bodies strewn haphazardly atop the equally eviscerated road. Kenny winces as his eyes land on the familiar faces of his friends and family and all of the townsfolk, faces twisted up into expressions of pure horror and shock. None of that compares to what perches on top of the gory mound.
Wickedly curved talons slowly curl and crush the bodies lying beneath them as Kenny looks upwards, and a part of him shrivels up in reminiscent fear at the sight of this great monstrosity. It has the huge and misshapen body of a hulking scaly beast, with a maw that is like a maelstrom of teeth and drooling tongues. Multitudes of eyes swivel in slimy oozing sockets, focusing in on the boy who immediately turns his head to look away.
AS IF IGNORING YOUR DESTINY IS EVEN REMOTELY POSSIBLE.
At first it feels directionless like so many other things in this nightmare, but Kenny pales with horror when he realizes that it does in fact feel like it is coming from his own mind, and when he hesitantly looks back to that ugly monstrous face he is rewarded with a sick fanged grin.
FEEL NO SHAME IN GAZING UPON YOUR OWN FACE.
His face? His face?
No.
A bark of laughter erupts from the beast, the noise so raw and loud and grating that it leaves the inside of Kenny's head aching. He shakes it in denial and in an effort to clear his jumbled thoughts. The action only serves to amuse the beast further.
A DISGUISE SO FINELY CRAFTED EVEN IT BELIEVES ITS OWN RUSE.
Disguise? He is no disguise. He is Kenny-
MASK.
He has friends and family-
A ROLE FOR AN ACTOR-
No! He has thoughts and emotions and-
A TINY FRAGMENT OF AN INFINITE MIND, DEDICATED TO THE SOLE PURPOSE OF HIDING AN INEVITABLE TRUTH FROM THESE TINY MORTAL WORMS-
"NO!"
He's shaking and gasping for air that refuses to come, and that horrid beast lets out another bubbling amused laugh and Kenny takes a step forward with his bare feet sliding in the sticky red that coats the ground screaming that it's WRONG because he has ALWAYS been himself and NOTHING ELSE-
And then he feels it.
God damnit he feels it. The same dreading emotion that he felt so long ago when he was staring into the face of the dark lord spawned from some hellish alien nightmare. The same feeling when he finds himself in the dead city of Ry'leh and he can't shake the feeling that he's been there before…
Kenny chokes.
Chokes because all of a sudden he can taste the coppery flavor of blood on his mouth and the crunch of tiny fragile bones beneath his claws and he's felt this all before and done this all before in countless nightmares from-
LAST NIGHT AND EVERY NIGHT BEFORE. LAST NIGHT AND THIS NIGHT AND EVERY NIGHT AFTER UNTIL THE DAY COMES WHEN HE CALLS AND MY FRAGILE FAÇADE IS NOTHING MORE THAN A THIN LAYER OF MORTAL-SHAPED SKIN. THE KING WILL COME AND SEAT HIMSELF UPON HIS THRONE OF SKULLS AND BONES AND ALL WILL BE HELL WHEN THAT SMALL PIECE OF MY MIND FINALLY WEARS AWAY TO NOTHINGNESS AND REALIZES WHAT I WAS BORN TO DO WHAT I WAS MADE TO DO. EVERY DEATH I SUFFER A LITTLE MORE OF MYSELF TAKES HOLD AND A LITTLE MORE OF THAT HUMAN-SHAPED MASK FADES AWAY. IN HIS HOUSE AT RY'LEH DEAD CTHULHU WAITS DREAMING AND THAT DREAM IS FILLED WITH CHAOS AND DESTRUCTION AND WHEN HE WAKES HE WILL ASCEND AND WILL ACCEPT ME FOR THE SON THAT I AM AND ALL WILL BE DEATH—
Kenny shoots upwards from his bed with a terrified start, sweaty, gasping and choking on his own breath as he struggles to calm himself down. There is a strong taste of copper on his tongue, and beneath that the stale taste of fear.
A shallow sigh escapes him as he finally calms down enough to take in his surroundings, utter disappointment staring him in the face as his eyes roam over cracked peeling walls and dirty thin bed sheets. The boy huffs and rubs the back of his neck, figuring that his anxiety is some residual trace of a nightmare that struck him late in the night.
He wishes he knew what the nightmare was about, because he can never seem to remember them.
The cuckoo is a type of bird that occasionally takes a parasitic route in rearing its young, waiting for a neighboring bird to leave its nest so it can sneak in and plant its egg among the other bird's clutch. There the imposter egg develops and hatches into an infant cuckoo, destroying its surrogate siblings when it is strong enough and feeding off of its surrogate parents like a disguised overgrown leech.
The cuckoo is not the only creature that is fundamentally capable of doing this, of course.