In the cold morning light of the funeral home, a lone woman hugs an vaguely humanoid airbag connected to a laptop by USB. Slowly it compresses around her body with all the approximated pressure of her distant relative’s grief.
i keep raiding tombs until they no longer have any contents but i still keep raiding, just raiding empty tombs
In a sense i am raiding my own tomb by being dead inside it, perfectly still
Oppressively projecting tomblike characteristics onto objects in my environment in order to raid them.
Treasure proliferates around me in response to my existence–it breeds only to be stolen
possible hallowed things: Stones, Fountains, Sunlight, Glades, Certain Graveyards
hallowedness seems to be based on a confluence of the above, else it risks being merely…hallowedesque
in order for something to become Profane, it must first be Hallowed. can we avoid creating Profane things if we don’t Hallow anything in the first place?
also looking into whether things can be fallow and hallowed (i think they can…)
Profane-Hallowed things?
purest sunlight on a leathery black blood book–a lovely green glade storing tombstones for the upcoming plague
I had offended a race of beings who thought of humans as sub-sentient, as funny animals. I was to participate in some game involving a tree and strings tied to the tree. The odds of me winning the game were very small. It was very arbitrary. Their punishment for losing the game was for me to have the organs of consciousness excised, my brains put into an underwater casket, suspended in inanimate thought forever. You see, their method of burial was to put the brain in an underwater tomb. They had these channels in their structures that these caskets were placed in. For their race, this eternal contemplation was bearable and good. I tried to explain to a matriarch of theirs (using a friend as translator), that this was unbearable for humans. He said this to her and she just kind of laughed and went on with her business, for she could not understand my sentience. It was very horrible for me to contemplate the idea of this eternal prison of the mind.
I went to the graveyard this Saturday, the Mountain View Cemetery. We walked past the graves, towards the mausoleums that lay in the shade on the far side, set into the side of a hill. They were overgrown with moss. Their doors and gates were rusted, their interiors covered with dust, dead leaves, spiderwebs.
I climbed the hill so I could walk across the mausoleums. I found something there. At first I thought it was a massive root. But as I neared, flies scattered. The thing had two parts. The first, the underside, was red and pink marbled with white, like mangled meat. The second was a huge brown protuberance, brown like a wet potato or the cap of a mushroom. The entire thing was bound, strangled with red and black ribbon.
I believe now that it was a massive tongue, like from a cow or a horse. The underside was the torn muscle from beneath the tongue.
_
P.S. In the columbarium I found a rock. At first I thought the rock was festooned with shiny obsidian or some other polished black mineral. It was actually water reflecting the light through the glass ceiling, filling the holes in the rock. The water looked like nesting leeches.