Condolence failures

I have no excuses for this except that it was fun to write, and I hope no-one comes across this needing only the first parts of the thoughts below.

* * *

My thoughts are with the surviving family.

Because my thoughts are this floating pale yellow amorphous thing I can detach and send to observe people while I drool and twitch on the floor. I try to keep it in, but it wants out.

I’ll keep them in my thoughts.

Yes, a hairy portal will open in my forehead and they will be sucked in, their terror-contorted faces bathed in the blood-red radiance from within; a great moaning wind will carry them to the claws that clasp and unclasp, to rift valleys of ebon contemplation and suffocating tightening tunnel-mazes of paralyzing foetid black terror: they shall be in my thoughts, and they shall never be seen again.

I’ll say a prayer for them.

“O great Shishio, who taught us the weak are the food of the strong; I know a couple of people who are not very strong right now…”

My condolences go out to them.

Yes, all spread, nine feet long, steel-tipped and jagged, my condolences extend to them, ready to snap shut at the first sign of… wait, I think I have the wrong word here.

I feel their pain.

Yes, I feel their pain. The machine works, professor. You are a genius. Please shut it off, please. It hurts. Let’s try it on the pleasure of that hot lady next door now. Please?

Words alone cannot express my sympathy.

Thus I painted this. I used the blood of everyone I love. And my dog Puffy was the brush. I tried to copy Munch’s “The Scream”, but he ended up smiling and giving the finger. I think it is better this way, and it really looks like you. I don’t know where the hermaphrodite zombies came from. A pretty good mural anyway… hey, when does the pastor come? I didn’t have time to ask him for permission, and the church front was the only big white wall in town.

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