The Mirth Of A Mad God

Malicious laughter echoes in my ears

It curdles my blood

It rattles the fillings in my teeth

And makes the knives and forks jump up and down in the cutlery drawer

It is him again –

The God of Wrong Things

 

‘You be doctor, you be pharmacist, you be solicitor…’

He roars at close range

Right into my face

His eyes glint maniacally

His round baby-face is slick with perspiration

His breath fast and feverish

His teeth are like rows upon rows of alabaster tombstones

Illuminated at midnight by a malignant full moon

 

‘You be teacher, you be accountant, you be civil servant…’

He shrieks hysterically,

Bringing clumps of plaster down from the ceiling all around me

The house shakes with his malign mirth

The mirth of a mad god

Whose power is all but absolute

In this sad world

An evil god

A pitiless god –

The God of Wrong Things…

 

 

Image: Peter Mohrbacher.  Copywrite: Wizards of the Coast. Erebos, God of the Dead

 

 

 

 

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