Abyssal Undulations

It can be seen, sometimes, just at the edge of vision.

That subtle shudder in the fabric of reality.
Undulating coils pushing at the membrane.
Writhing amidst a susurration of grasping things.
The quickest of glimpses into the underpinnings of the waking world.
A cyclopean mass, corpse white, seething with the madness of aeons.
Insinuating itself into the crevices of rationality.
Corrupting with its tenebrous touch.
A sickly sweet miasma of unspeakable things.
The walls are wearing thin.
The crescendo is building.
Sanity wanes, swept asunder by the laughter of dark gods.
Caught in the undertow of the void: those tractless gulfs between the stars.


It is there, at the edge of sight, betwixt the waking and dream.

And it hungers.