Huh? Not making any sense? Because of the nature of these little flash fiction vignettes, I thought it would be helpful to index previous back stories and journal entries. Although Artiste’s tales are non-linear, it can help to read some pages in groups by threads of associated content. Of course you could just read them randomly, and trust that it will all come together at some point.
The beginning back story is always a great place to start:
• The Artiste Gullible back story
For this particular installment it also may help to read: (Something random?)
↓ Transcript
[image] A man kneels with his hands above his head in praise, in front of a large squid looking creature.
[text]In the southern hemisphere, on a Patagonian island, a village leader promised me deliverance by petitioning the only creature on earth who had control over time and space. Intrigued, I followed him high into the snow-capped mountains; into the maw of an unbelievably sized cavern. Our steps echoed hollow, and deep within the damp, cool, blackness until we stopped on a raised dais just short of a large oddly shaped looking glass.
My guide mumbled under his breath as he lit torches on either side of the crude platform. To my horror, the growing shock of light revealed a leviathan the size of a zeppelin, lying on a bed of skeletal remains. My unbelieving face gaped back at me from the inky pupil of this creature.
I ran stumbling, and screaming, the world askew, towards a pinhole of light, a lifetime away from my grasping outstretched hands.
“Cthulhu sleeps,” my guide’s voice echoed in diminishing cantor, “… and we are his dreams …”
[text]In the southern hemisphere, on a Patagonian island, a village leader promised me deliverance by petitioning the only creature on earth who had control over time and space. Intrigued, I followed him high into the snow-capped mountains; into the maw of an unbelievably sized cavern. Our steps echoed hollow, and deep within the damp, cool, blackness until we stopped on a raised dais just short of a large oddly shaped looking glass.
My guide mumbled under his breath as he lit torches on either side of the crude platform. To my horror, the growing shock of light revealed a leviathan the size of a zeppelin, lying on a bed of skeletal remains. My unbelieving face gaped back at me from the inky pupil of this creature.
I ran stumbling, and screaming, the world askew, towards a pinhole of light, a lifetime away from my grasping outstretched hands.
“Cthulhu sleeps,” my guide’s voice echoed in diminishing cantor, “… and we are his dreams …”
If your imagination and artistic talent weren’t enough, you’ve won my undying respect for referencing Lovecraft.
Thank you for that. It’s been said that all great horror stories harken back to Irving, Poe, or Lovecraft. It is easy to build on a proven foundation of greatness.
I never did trust squid…