The luminous tips lick the sky, tearing upward in a struggled attempt for more. More air, more life, anything more it could devour. They reach around the large pillar of black smoke, a remnant of what had once thrived yet now lay smothered beneath. The cloud spirals to the heavens, choking every beauty in its effort to escape. Escape by any means. Evade the ravaging fingers of death, glowing death. Escape. Yet the fingers scrape down every inch of the haze, rushing it away, pulling it back.
The lustrous arms dance carelessly, flitting from side to side in an indifferent samba. They know not that they destroy, that they torment. They simply mesmerize, like a siren’s call through a rock-strewn canal.
The body lumbers slowly, consuming everything in its path, leading the arms, the finger tips. It takes its sweet time, savoring every destructive movement, every bite into the natural state. It demands submission. It demands victory. Charring every ounce of life, reducing it to dust. Turning green to grey. Reeking of decay.
Silently, it creeps. Your tired body is easy prey. Crawling slowly, it begins with the soles of your boots. The scent of burning rubber leaks into your nasal cavity, but your weary body does not wake. It proceeds, nibbling at your clothing, saving its appetite for your sweet, pink flesh. It lingers on your legs for but a moment before prying into your carcass, ripping skin from bone. As it tears into your abdomen, you stir. You feel suddenly the agony kneading your ribs, tickling your spine. You open your mouth to scream for help, but help is gone. The flames leap down your throat, entering you, consuming you. Seizing in an awkward attempt to survive, you refuse to accept you demise. The fire moves on, leaving you, ashes in ashes. You gasp and whimper, struggling for every breath. In your final moment escapes a cry for everything you left behind.
Death has come.
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Submission Name: Inside Demise
