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Info
Written by
poltatherian
Author page if you must indulge further :) Poltatherian's Pelagic Pantry
Content warning: This article contains copious amounts of human and insect body horror.
And he took bread, and when he had given thanks, he brake it, and gave to them, saying, 'This is my body which is given for you: this do in remembrance of me.' And the cup in like manner after supper, saying, 'This cup is the new covenant in my blood, even that which is poured out for you.
You wake up with a banging head, a jumble of ideas ramming their way inside, you feel as if your brain could explode any minute.
But it doesn't.
Your eyes remain shut as you feel your way around the dusty walls.
You don't know where you are.
You don't know why you're here.
You don't know who you are.
Yet you don't feel lost, it's as if the walls are guiding you where you need to be, the small cracks and crevices in the concrete drag your weak hands through them. You walk until your thigh hits wood, you recoil, and another burst of knowledge gnaws its way along your cerebellum, deciding to go the other way, you sprint across the floor, creaking & buzzing beneath as you crash from wall to wall, blood gushes from youre nose as the exposed bones of your fingers scrape away from the cracked windows, you're head assulted over and over again with……something, something cruel yet beautiful, something content yet dissatisfied, something large yet small.
You walk over to the only place without the smell of your blood, your feet crushing a screaming pile of teeth and gums beneath you. You lurch over one of the wood rows as your breath gets shorter and shorter, your kneecaps sprain open as you try to move your feet away, succeeding only in turning them even further backwords as you hit another piece of wood.
You pass out.
You wake up standing in darkness, you hear wood creak, the faint smell of grapes permeating the space, you take a step, if only to confirm your own existence, yet you fail, your foot only going through the black.
But you don't fall. You begin to walk upon the darkness, it doesn't feel like you're moving, but you have to try, you have to try. That's what you need to do; you don't know why you need to do so, but you do & continue your futile stride, only stumbling over on your own feet as the exhaustion catches up.
You look up to see a man, his hair the dazzling gold of a summer wheat, a showing of his beauty, his adornment loose yet fitting, a showing of his humility, his hand lowered towards you, a showing of his kindness, his wings shine a million colours, a showing of his cacophony,
his face that of a disgusting bug, a shownig of his treachery.
You take the man's hand as you hear the buzzing growing louder, the smell growing thicker. The man brings you up, moving to the side as if to show you the blasphemy & heresy engraved upon his very soul, carved in glass, a cicada on a cross bolted to the very darkness all around you, glares at you as if you were the insect treading on this being's beautiful garden.
You walk with the man as he brings forth a tree from the darkness, a single red apple dangling from a single chitin branch. He stabs his beak into the apple as it squirms and sizzles before bursting into a sonata of cicadas, rushing over to cover your body,
crawling under your clothes, your skin, your eyes, your tongue, your soul, as you begin to convulse, violently ripping & tearing at your very being, the bugs jittering just below your reach.
The man looks down on you, taking off his crown of thorns as he grabs both sides of your head, even more cicada coming from his stigmata, digging into your eyes.
Your eyes roll back as you pass out once more.
You hear a voice in your head, clearer than your own thoughts, but the voice does not echo among the darkness because it is not spoken, for you know what it said.
You know where you are.
You know why you are here.
You know who you must be.
You stand in front of the man once more, and the darkness drapes itself over you like a cloak. This is a place of belief, and that thing has no true belief of its own, so it is weak, it does not dream like you of the lonely nights, your hunger only satiated with a drop of chicken broth left there the night before, he does not know of the prayers just to survive one more night, as your only hope coughs up his own teeth, he does not know of family, yet not like you dont know family.
It does not know true faith, so it laughs in the feces of faith it shat out from the minds of believers, thinking it to be all there is.
What happened was not a confrontation, for none wished to change or challenge; it was not a fight, for none thought nor knew of the beauty of combat; it was not a dance, for none wished to collaborate.
It was a struggle, not a struggle to live as none were truly alive or dead within the darkness, no, it was a struggle to impose, to impose one another's being into the other in the purest sense.
Hands grabbed hands, teeth chewed cloth & skin, legs cracked, and wild groans emanated from the darkness into the far reaches of the void, flesh popped, bones snapped until only the soft sounds of breathing remained.
You stood over the man, moving your hand to wipe off a fluid from your chin, only to be hit with the taste of a fine wine.
You think for a moment and decide.
You sink your teeth into the man's clothing, tearing and chewing it like a cheap wafer as you stick your tongue into its left hand, suckling upon the sweet honey nectar like a fresh babe. Your tongue, dissatisfied yet, begins to sway inside the man, pushing further and further to find more, the futility of its actions only clear as your hands jump towards the man's shoulder, twisting and turning it until a wet pop rings out in the darkness, as you rip the man apart, chewing on every piece of chitin & flesh you could reach.
A loud buzzing screams out from the darkness as a billion bugs swarm upon you, their attempts futile as you relish in the taste of every ganglion, sparing none for seconds as you reach into the cloud of buzzing for your next mouthful.
Some attempt to crawl out, none are successful, their wings ground up as seasoning to flavor the taste of the esophagus, their eyes a refreshing drink that clears out your mind, their legs as forks and knives to shovel more and more and more and more and more of them inside of you.
And then it stops.
You inhale.
You exhale.
You are satiated.
You know true purpose.
Extranormal Event 462278: 23 minutes of heavy rainfall composed of wine & tympanic muscles from various insects in Galway Ireland. Nearby churchgoers during an SCP-2852 Black-level event were seen floating upwards. The sounds of chirping cicadas were reported to be heard during the event.
SCP-3004 & SCP-2852 have been reclassified as neutralized.
They're hungry, you see…gnaws and bites and claws and crunch crunch crunch…old food is better than no food, see? They're very hungry and keep getting hungrier.
